pet SE aoe i fe orUNIVERSITY OF Vv Tn X032054000LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA Ss GIFT OFee Cee eee ee En HOO 9d yom nts p pan) ae ampipepe be LLY SIL SLITS Lo N ¥ N x N AN N A y s ep Pie SD ee ey a er Se, S end ae NtSatara etme eee N » A N ‘ NSoe pA prey. S 5 A) Ny AY Ns SyWAVERLEY Novela Globe Cadttion BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR—WOODSTOCK BY SIR WALTER ,SCOTT, Barr. i FOUR VOLUMES IN ONE BOSTON HOUGHTON, OSGOOD AND COMPANY Whe Wibversiove Press, Cambridge 1880RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE: STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY H. 0. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY. . eS SSE SANBRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR.LAE ane eee 5 N ic N SN 5 NN , S 5 BY : 5 Q S S N N % . SSS a ok ‘ ~ AD MPAA AS seAhora bien, dizo tl Cura: traedme, senor huésped, aquesos hbros, que los quiero ver. Que me place, respondié el; y entrando en su aposento, sacé dél una maletilla vieja cerrada con una cadenilla, y abriénaola, halld en ella tres libros grandes y unos papeles de muy buena letra escrites da mano.—Don QurIxoTE, Parte I. Capitulo 82. It is mighty well, said the priest: pray, landlord, bring me those books, for I have a mind to see them. With all my heart, answered the host; and going to his chamber, he brought out a little old cloke- bag, with a padlock and chain to it, and opening it, he took out three large yolumes, and some manuscript papers written ina fine char acter.—JARvVis'’s Translation go es Seger oe BR Pee. AS ates i ASR ieCLE 3) a A S A ae Ss SARE SAN 5 . oe a a S : . zs SE RCEy verse— = ic earls sos reps THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR INTRODUCTION—(1829.) THE Author, on a former occasion,* declined giving the real source from which he drew the tragic subject of this history, because, though occurring at a distant period, it might possibly be unpleasing to the feelings of the descendants of the parties. But as he finds an account of the circumstances given in the Notes to Law’s Memo- rials,t by his ingenious friend Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe, Esq., and also indicated in his reprint of the Rev. Mr. Symson’s Poems, appended to the Description of Gallo- way, as the original of the Bride of Lammermoor, the Author feels himself now at liberty to tell the tale as Le had it from connexions of his own, who lived very neir the period, and were closely related to the family of tke Bride. It is well known that the family of Dalrymple, which has produced, within the space of two centuries, as man) men of talent, civil and military, and of literary, political, and professional eminence, as any house in Scotland, first rose into distinction in the person of James Dalrymple * See Introduction to the Chronicles of the Canongate. t Law’s Memorials, p. 226. =~TEE EEE ae eR ee 6 WAVERLEY NOVELS. one of .he most eminent lawyers that ever lived, though the labours of his powerful mind were unhappily exer- cised on a subject so limited as Scottish Jurisprudence, on which he has composed an admirable work. He married Margaret, daughter to Ross of Balniel, with whom he obtained a considerable estate. She was an able, politic, and high-minded woman, so successful in what she undertook, that the vulgar, no way partial to her husband or her family, imputed her success to necro- mancy. According to the popular belief, this Dame Margaret purchased the temporal prosperity of her family from the Master whom she served, under a singular condition, which is thus narrated by the historian of her grandson, the great Earl of Stair. “She lived to a great age, and at her death desired that she might not be put under ground, but that her coffin should be placed upright on one end of it, promising, that while she remained in that situation, the Dalrymples should continue in pros- perity. What was the old lady’s motive for such a request, or whether she really made such a promise, [I cannot take upon me to determine ; but it is certain her coffin stands upright in the aisle of the church of Kirk- liston, the burial-place of the family.” * The talents of this accomplished race were sufficient to have accounted for the dignities which many members of the family attained, without any supernatural assistance. But their extraordinary prosperity was attended by some equally singular family misfortunes, of which that which befell their eldest daughter was at once unaccountable and melancholy. Miss Janet Dalrymple, daughter of the first Lord Stair * Memoirs of John Earl of Stair, by an Impartial Hard. [.ondon erinted for C. Cobbet, p. 7. See ne be ESINTRODUCTION TO THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 7 rad Dame Margaret Ross, had engaged herself without the knowledge of her parents to the Lord Rutherford, who was not acceptable to them either on account of his political principles, or his want of fortune. The young couple broke a piece of gold together, and pledged their troth in.the most solemn manner ; and it is said the young lady imprecated dreadful evils on herself should she break her plighted faith. Shortly after, a suitor who was favoured by Lord Stair, and still more so by his lady, paid his addresses to Miss Dalrymple. The young lady refused the proposal, and being pressed on the subject, confessed her secret engagement. Lady Stair, a woman accustomed to universal submission, (for even her husband did not dare to contradict her,) treated this objection as a trifle, and insisted upon her daughter yielding her consent to marry the new suitor, David Dunbar, son and heir ta David Dunbar of Baldoon, in Wigtonshire. The first lover, a man-of very high spirit, then interfered by letter, and insisted on the right he had acquired by his troth plighted with the young lady. Lady Stair sent him for answer, that her daughter, sensible of her undutiful behaviour in entering into a contract unsanctioned by her parents, had retracted her unlawful vow, and now refused to fulfil her engagement with him. The lover, in return, declined positively to receive such an answer from any one but his mistress in person ; and as she had to deal with a man who was both of a most iletermined character, and of too high ¢ondition to be trifled with, Lady Stair was obliged to consent to an interview between Lord Rutherford and her daughter. But she took care to be present in person, and argued the point with the disappointed and incensed lover with pertinacity equal to his own. She particularly insisted =_am arm = pyeV Sippy Aree POL BELLAIRE PLAIN OI GED Se AAA ne aise ns seeggiy i Pas eee payee ey = WAVERLEY NOVELS. on the Levit:cal law, which declares that a woman shall be free of a vow which her parents dissent from. This is the passage of Scripture she founded on :— “If a man vow a vow unto the Lord, or swear an oath to bind his soul with a bond; he shall not treak his word, ke shall do according to all that proceedeth out of his mouth. “Tf a woman also vow a vow unto the Lord, and bind herself by a bond, being in her father’s house in her youth ; “ And her father hear her vow, and her bond where- with she hath bound her soul, and her father shall hold his peace at her: then all her vows shall stand, and every bond wherewith she hath bound her soul shall stand. “But if her father disallow her in the day that he heareth ; not any of her vows, or of her bonds wherewith she hath bound her soul, shall stand: and the Lord shall forgive her because her father disallowed her.”—Num- Hers aRX. 2, 9,4, 5. While the mother insisted on these topics, the lover in vain conjured the daughter to declare her own opinion and feelings. She remained totally overwhelmed, as it scemed,—mute, pale, and motionless as a statue. Only at her mother’s command, sternly uttered, she summoned strength enough to restore to her plighted suitor the pieze of broken gold, which was the emblem of her troth. On this he burst forth into a tremendous passion, took leave of the mother with maledictions, and as he left the apartment, turned back to say to his weak, if not fickle mistress, “For you, madam, you will be a_ world’s wonder ;”a phrase by which some remarkable degree of calamity is usually implied. He went abroad, andINTRODUCTION TO THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 39 -eturned not again. Ifthe last Lord Rutherford was the unfortunate party, he must have been the third who bore that title, and who died in 1685. The marriage betwixt Janet Dalrymple and David Dunbar of Baldoon now went forward, the bride shewing mo repugnance, but being absolutely passive in every thing her mother commavded or advised. On the day of the marriage, which, as was then usual, was celebrated by a great assemblage of friends and relations, she was the same—sad, silent, and resigned, as it seemed, to her destiny. A lady, very nearly connected with the family, told the author that she had conversed on the subject with one of the brothers of the bride, a mere lad at the time, who had ridden before his sister to church. He said her hand, which lay on his as she held her arm round his waist, was as cold and damp as marble. But, full of his new dress, and the part he acted in the procession, the circumstance, which he long afterwards remembered with bitter sorrow and compunction, made no impression on him at the time. The bridal feast was followed by dancing; the bride and bridegroom retired as usual, when of a sudden the most wild and piercing cries were heard from the nuptial ehamber. It was then the custom, to prevent any coarse pleasantry which old times perhaps admitted, that the key of the nuptial chamber should be intrusted to the brideman. He was called upon, but refused at first to give it up, till the shrieks became so hideous that he was compelled to hasten with others to learn the cause. On opening the door, they found the bridegroom lyings across the threshold, dreadfully wounded, and streaming with blood. The bride was then sought for: She was found in the corner of the large chimney, having no coveringCAE DE EE WAVERLEY NOVELS. save her shift, and that dabbled in gore. Therw she sat grinning at them, mopping and mowing, as I beard the expression used; in a word, absolutely insane. The only words she spoke were, “ Tak up your bonny bridegroom.” She survived this horrible scene little more than a fort- night, having been married on the 24th of August, and dying on the 12th of September, 1669. The unfortunate Baldoon recovered from his) wounds, but sternly prohibited all inquiries respecting the manner in which he had received them. If a lady, he said, asked him any questions upon the subject, he would neither answer her nor speak to her again while ne lived; if a gentleman, he would consider it as a mortal affront, and demand satisfaction as having received such. He did not very long survive the dreadful catastrophe, having met with a fatal injury by a fall from his horse, as he rode between Leith and Holyrood-House, of which he died the next day, 28th March, 1682. Thus a few years removed all the principal actors in this frightful tragedy. Various reports went abroad on this mysterious affair, many of them very inaccurate, though they could hardly be said to be exaggerated. It was difficult at that time to become acquainted with the history of a Scottish family above the lower rank ; and strange things sometimes took place there, into which even the law did not scrupulously inquire. The credulous Mr. Law says, generally, that the Lurd President Stair had a daughter, who “being married. the night she was bride in, [that is, bedded bride, ] was taken from her bridegroom and harled [dragged] through ‘he house, (by spirits, we are given to understand,) and soon afterwards died. Another daughter,” he says, “ was possessed by an evil spirit.” SSS Aga RHP RANS aS « Foe RN LES EO hae{NTRODODSTION TO THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 1] My friend, Mr. Sharpe, gives another edition of the tale. According te his information, it was the bridegroom who wounded the bride. The marriage, according to this account, had been against her mother’s inclination, who had given her consent in these ominous words: “You may marry him, but soon shall you repent it.” I find still another account darkly insinuated in some highly scurrilous and abusive verses, of which I have an original copy. They are docketed as being written “Upon the late Viscount Stair ard his family, by Sir William Hamilton of Whitelaw. The marginals by William Dunlop, writer in Edinburgh, a son of the Laird of Househill, and nephew to the said Sir William Hamil- ton.” There was a bitter and personal quarrel and rivalry betwixt the author of this libel, a name which it richly deserves, and Lord President Stair; and the lam- poon, which is written with much more malice than art. bears the following motto :— Stair’s neck, mind, wife, sons, grandson, and the rest, Are wry, false, witch, pests, parricide, possessed. This malignant satirist, who calls up all the misfortunes of the family, does not forget the fatal bridal of Baldoon. He seems, though his verses are as obscure as unpoetical, to intimate, that the violence done to the bridegroom was by the intervention of the foul fiend to whom the young lady had resigned herself, in case she should break her eontract with her first lover. the account given in the note upon Law’s His hypothesis is mcon- sistent with Memorials, but easily reconcilable to the family tradi: tion. In al Stair’s offspring we no difference know, They doe the females a> the males bestow : = ”ent aa AER ERE EO ae Ee Oe Eee WAVERLEY NOVELS. So he of’s daughter’s marriage gave the ward Like a true vassal, to Glenluce’s Laird; He knew what she did to her suitor plight, If she her faith to Rutherfurd should slight, Which, like his own, for greed he broke outright. Nick did Baldoon’s posterior right deride, And, as first substitute, did seize the bride Whate’er he to his mistress did or said, He threw the bridegroom from the nuptial bea, Into the chimney did so his rival maul, His bruised bones ne’e: were cured but by the fall.* One of the marginal notes ascribed to William Dunlot applies to the above lines. “She had betrothed herself to Lord Rutherfoord under horrid imprecations, and after- wards married Baldoon, his nevoy, and her mother was the cause of her breach of faith.” The same tragedy is alluded to in the following couplet and note :— What train of curses that base brood pursues, When the young nephew weds old uncle’s spouse. The note on the word wnele explains it as meaning “ Rutherfoord, who should have married the Lady Bal- %9 doon, was Baldoon’s uncle.’ The poetry of this satire on Lord Stair and his family was, as already noticed, written by Sir William Hamilton of Whitelaw, a rival of Lord Stair for the situation of President of the Court of Session; a person much inferior to that great lawyer in talents, and equally ill-treated by the calumny or just satire of his contemporaries, as an unjust and partial judge. Some of the notes are by that curious and labo- rious antiquary, Robert Milne, who, as a virulent Jacobite, willingly lent a hand to blacken the family of Stair. * The fail from his horse, by which he was killed. t I have compared the satire, which occurs in the first volume of the curious little collection called a Book of Scottish Pasquils, 1827 ; ESSA eng RVR NDINTRODUCTION TO THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 13 Another poet of the period, with a very different purpose, has left an elegy, in which he darkly hints at and bemoans the fate of the ill-starred young person, whose very uncommon calamity Whitelaw, Dunlop, and Milne, thought a fitting subject for buffoonery and rib- aldry. This bard of milder mood was Andrew Symson, before the Revolution minister of Kirkinner, in Galloway, and after his expulsion as an Episcopalian, following the humble occupation of a printer in Edinburgh. He fur- nished the family of Baldoon, with which he appears to have been intimate, with an elegy on the tragic event im their family. In this piece he treats the mourntul occa- sion of the bride’s death with mysterious solemnity. The verses bear this title,—“ On the unexpected death of the virtuous Lady Mrs. Janet Dalrymple, Lady Bal- doon, younger,” and afford us the precise dates of the ‘atastrophe, which could not otherwise have been easily ascertained. “Nupta August 12. Domum Ducta Au- gust 24. Obiit September 12. Sepult. September 30, 1669.” The form of the elegy is a dialogue betwixt a passenger and a domestic servant. The first, recollecting that he had passed that way lately, and seen all around enlivened by the appearances of mirth and festivity, is desirous to know what had changed so gay a scene into mourning. We preserve the reply of the servant as a specimen of Mr. Symson’s verses, which are not of the first quality :— — Sir, ’tis truth you’ve told, We did enjoy great mirth; but now, ah me! with that which has a more full text, and more extended notes, and which is in my own possession, by gift of Thomas Thomson, Esq., Register-Depute. In the second Book of Pasquils, p. 72, is @ most ttnsive epitaph on Sir James Hamilton of Whitelaw. |LA a Oe OLD. aE OE EEE Co EE EE eae ws SN . at ES WAVERLEY NOVELS. Our joyful song’s turn’d to an elegie. A virtuous lady, not long since a bride Was to a hopeful plant by marriage tied, And brought home hither. We did all rejoice, Even for her sake. But presently our voice Was turn’d to mourning for that little time That she’d enjoy: She waned in her prime, For Atropos, with her impartial knife, Soon cut her thread, and therewithal her life; And for the time we may it well remember, It being in unfortunate September; Where we must leave her till the resurrection, ‘Tis then the Saints enjoy their full perfection.* Mr. Symson also poured forth his elegiac strains upon -he fate of the widowed bridegroom, on which subject, after a long and querulous effusion, the poet arrives at the sound conclusion, that if Baldoon had walked on foot, which it seems was his general custom, he would have escaped perishing by a fall from horseback. As the work in which it occurs is so scarce as almost to be unique, and as it gives us the most full account of one of the actors in this tragie tale which we have rehearsed, we will, at the risk of being tedious, insert some short specimens of Mr. Symson’s composition. It is entitled,— “A Funeral Elegie, occasioned by the sad and much lamented death of that worthily respected and very much accomplished gentleman, David Dunbar, younger of Baldoon, only son and apparent heir to the right wor- shipful Sir David Dunbar of Baldoon, Knight Baronet. * This elegy is reprinted in the appendix to a topographical work by the same author, entitled “A Large Description of Galloway, by Andrew Symson, Minister of Kirkinner,’’ 8vo, Taits, Edinburgh, 1828. The reverend gentleman's elegies are extremely rare, nor did the huthor ever see a copy but his own, which is bound up with the Yripatriarchicon, a religious poem from the Biblical History by the kame author. : ~ eon 5 ‘ — Sc ; Pt, ome Shae wae Orne os “eS : Ss 7 yaa Sn Ss anesINTRODUCTION TO THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 148 He departed this life on March 28, 1682, having received a bruise by a fall, as he was riding the day preceding betwixt Leith and Holy-Rood-House; and was honour- nbly interred in the Abbey church of Holy-Rood-House on April 4, 1682.” Men might, and very justly too, conclude Me euilty of the worst ingratitude, Should I be silent, or should I forbear At this sad accident to shed a tear; A tear! said I? ah! that’s a petit thing, A very lean, slight, slender offering, Too mean, I’m sure, for me, wherewith t’attend The unexpected funeral of my friend— 1arged up to th’ brim A glass of briny tears ¢ Would be too few for me to shed for him. The poet proceeds to state his intimacy with the deceased, and the constancy of the young man’s attend- ance on public worship, which was regular, and had such effect upon two or three others that were influenced by his example, So that my Muse ’gainst Priscian avers, He, only he, were my parishioners ; Yea, and my only hearers. He then describes the deceased in person and manners, from which it appears that more accomplishments were expected in the composition of a fine gentleman In ancient than modern times: His body, though not very large or tall, Was sprightly, active, yea and strong withal. His constitution was, if right I’ve guessed, Blood mixt with choler, said to be the best. In’s gesture, converse, speech, discourse, attire, He practis’d that which wise men still admire, Commend, and recommend. What's that? you'll sey ’Tis this: He ever choos’d the middle way ‘Twixt both th’ extremes. Amost in ev’ry thing Ye did the like, ’tis worth our noticing:ee EE Sia ANd eae OOOO OF AN Se SE Then WAVERLEY NOVELS. Sparing, yet not a niggard; liberal, And yet not lavish or a prodigal, As knowing when to spend and when to spare; And that’s a lesson which not many are Acquainted with. He bashful was, yet daring When he saw cause, and yet therein but sparing; Famiiiar, yet not common, for he knew To condescend, and keep his distance too. He us’d, and that most commonly, to go On foot; 1 wish that he had still done so. Th’ affairs of court were unto him well known: And yet mean while he slighted not his own. He knew full well how to behave at court, And yet but seldome did thereto resort; But lov’d the country life, choos’d to inure Himself to past'rage and agriculture; Proving, improving, ditching, trenching, draining, Viewing, reviewing, and by those means gaining; Planting, transplanting, levelling, erecting Walls, chambers, houses, terraces; projecting Now this, now that device, this draught, that measure, That might advance his profit with his pleasure. Quick in his bargains, honest in commerce, Just in his dealings, being much averse From quirks of law, still ready to refer His cause t’ an honest country arbiter. He was acquainted with cosmography, Arithmetic, and modern history ; With architecture and such arts as these, Which I may cull specifick sciences Fit for a gentleman; and surely he That knows them not, at least in some degree, May brook the title, but he wants the thing, Is but a shadow scarce worth noticjng, He iearned the French, be’t spoken to his praise, In very little more than fourty days. comes the full burst of wo, in which, instead of sayin; much himself, the poet informs us what the ancients would have said on such an occasion :— . A heathen poet, at the news, no doubt, Would have exclaimed, and furiously cry’d out é oe an oa ee Sn AZAD PVR A aINTRODUCTION TO THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 17 Against the fates, the destinies and starrs. What! this the effect of planetarie warrs! We might have seen him rage and rave, yea worse, "Tis very like we might have heard him curse The vear, the month, the day, the hour, the place, The company, the wager, and the race; Decry all recreations, with the names Of Isthmian, Pythian, and Olympic games; Exclaim against them all both old and new, Both the Nemzean and the Lethzean too: Adjudge all persons under highest pain, Always to wa'k on foot, and then again Order all horses to be hough’d, that we Might never more the like adventure see. Supposing our readers have had enough of Mr. Sym son’s verses, and finding nothing more in his poem worthy of transcription. we retarn to the tragic story. It is needless to point out to the intelligent reader, that the witchcraft of the mother consisted only in the ascen- dency of a powerful mind over a weak and melancholy one, and that the harshness with which she exercised her superiority in a case of delicacy, had driven her daughter first to despair, then to frenzy. Accordingly, the author has endeavoured to explain the tragic tale on this prin- ciple. Whatever resemblance Lady Ashton may be sup- posed to possess to the celebrated Dame Margaret Ross, the reader must not suppose that there was any idea of tracing the portrait of the first Lord Viscount Stair in the tricky and mean-spirited Sir William Ashton, Lord Stair, whatever might be his moral qualities, was certainly one of the first statesmen and lawyers of his age. The imaginary castle of Wolf’s Crag has been iden- tified by some lover of locality with that of Fast Castle. The author is not competent to judge of the resemblance petwixt the real and imaginary scene, having never seen 9 VOL. XV. - i . i: —_—TEE Le ee a ee ae ae chet WAVERLEY NOVELS Fast Castle except from the sea. But fortalices of this description are found occupying, like osprey’s nests, pro- jecting rocks or promontories, in many parts of the eastern coast of Scotland, and the position of Fast Castle seems certainly to resemble that of Wolf’s Crag as much as any other, while its vicinity to the mountain ridge of Lammermoor, renders the assimilation a probable one. We have only to add, that the death of the unfortunate bridegroom by a fall from horseback, has been in the novel transferred to the no less unfortunate lover. |*,* Ir seems proper to append to the author’s Intro- duction, a letter concerning the Bride of Lammermoor, addressed, in 1823, to the late Sir James Stewart Den- ham, of Coltness, by his relation, Sir Robert Dalrymple Horne Elphinstone, of Logie Elphinstone. These bar- onets were both connected in blood with the unfortunate heroine of the romance. The letter was first published in the Edinburgh Evening Post for October 10, 1840. To GENERAL Sir JAMES STEWART DENHAM, Bart. September 5, 1828. My Dear Sir JAames,—Various circumstances have occurred which have unavoidably prevented my returning an earlier answer to your queries regarding our unfortu- nate relative—‘ The Bride of Lammermoor.” I shall now have much pleasure in complying with your wishes, m as far as an indifferent memory will enable me te do so.iS SRE 8 SS - INTRODOCTION £O THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 19 “The Bride of Baldoon,” (for such has always been her designation in our family,) was the Honourable Janet Dalrymple, eldest daughter of our great-great-grandfather, James Viscount of Stair, Lord President of the Court of Session in the reign of William and Mary; sister to the first Earl of that name, and to our great-grandfather the Lord President Sir Hugh Dalrymple of North Ber- wick; and consequently our great-grand aunt. She was secretly attached, and had plighted her faith, to the Lord Rutherford, when, under the auspices of her mother, a less amiable, but much more opulent suitor appeared, in the person of David Dunbar, eldest son of Sir David Dunbar of Baldoon, (an ancestor of the Sel- kirk family,) whose addresses were, as may be supposed, submitted to with the greatest aversion, from their being ungenerously persisted in after his being informed of her early attachment and solemn engagement. To this man, however, she was ultimately forced to give her hand. The result of this cruel and unnatural sacrifice was nearly, if not exactly, as related by Sir Walter Scott. On the marriage night, soon after the young couple were left alone, violent and continued screams were heard te proceed from the bridal-chamber, and on the door (which. was found locked) being forced open, the bridegroom was found extended on the floor, stabbed and weltering in his blood. while the bride sat in the corner of the large fire- place, in a state of the most deplorable frenzy, which continued without any lucid interval until the period of her death. She survived but a short time, during which (with the exception of the few words mentioned by Siz Walter Scott—* Ye hae taen up your bonny bridegroom iD the never spoke, and refused all sustenance. 4 —AAA PLL LLP OSE ee ee ne ene een POE SE ne »O WAVERLEY NOVELS. The conclusion drawn from these extraordinary cir cumstances, and which seems to have been assumed by Sir Walter as the fact, was, that the forlorn and distracted victim, seeing no other means of escaping from a fate which she beheld with disgust and abhorren:e, had in a fit of desperation inflicted the fatal wound upon her selfish and unfeeling husband. But in justice to the memory of our unhappy relative, we may be permitted to regret Sir Walter’s not having been made acquainted witha tradition long current in the part of the country where the tragical event took place,—namely, that from the window having been found open, it was conjectured that the lover had, during the bustle and confusion occasioned by the preparations for the marriage feast, and perhaps by the connivance of some servant of the family, con- trived to gain admission and to secrete himself in the bridal chamber, from whence he had made his escape into the garden, after having fought with and severely wounded his successful rival—a conclusion strengthened by other concurring circumstances, and rendered more probable by the fact of young Baldoon having, to his latest breath, obstinately refused to give any explanation on the subject, and which might well justify a belief that he was actuated by a desire of concealing the particulars of a rencontre, the causes and consequences of which he might justly consider as equally discreditable to himself. The unfortunate lover was said to have disappeared immediately after the catastrophe in a manner somewhat mysterious ; but this part of the story has escaped my recollection. While on the subject of this calamitous event, I cannot help offering some observations on the principal per. sonages introduced in Sir Walter Scott’s narrative, RASS EAE RC OA : cane tes ae Le St aL Se Ss LE PRS TE SSE nena ae — eeINTRODUCTION TO THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 2] all of whom are more or less interesting both to you ' and me. i The character of Sir William Ashton certainly cannot : be considered as a fair representation of our eminent and respectable ancestor Lord Stair, to whom he bears little resemblance, either as a politician or a gentleman; and hy Sir Walter would seem wishful to avoid the application, wher he says that, on acquiring the ancient seat of the Lords of Ravenswood, Sir William had removed certain ah old family portraits and replaced them by “those of King y William and Queen Mary, and of Sir Thomas Hope and % | Lord Stair, two distinguished Scots lawyers ;” but on a this point some less ambiguous intimation would have been very desirable, and having in the character of Lucy Ashton stuck so closely to the character of the daughter, the author should, in fairness, have been at more pains to prevent that of the Lord Keeper from being considered as an equally fair representation of the father; an omis- 3 sion of which the descendants of Lord Stair have, I . think, some reason to complain. In Lady Ashton, the character of our great-great | grandmother seems in many respects more faithfully de- lineated, or at least less misrepresented. She was an ambitious and interested woman, of a masculine character and understanding, and the transaction regarding her daughter’s marriage was believed to have been hers, and not her husband’s, who from his numerous important avocations as Lord President, Privy Councillor, and a ative assistant in the management of Scottish affairs, had probably neither time nor inclination to take mueh personal concern in family arrangements. The situation of young Ravenswood bears a sufficiently strong resemblarce to that of the Lord Rutherford, whePEE Denes = elrvie. P2 WAVERLEY NOVELS. was an amiable and high-spirited young man, nobly born and destitute of fortune, and who, if the above account is to be credited, as to the manner and place in which he thought proper to chastise his successful rival, seems to have been not ill cut out for a hero of romance. And as tc young Baldoon, of whom little is known beyond what has been related above, he seems to have a more respectable representation than deserved in the person of Bucklaw. The story was, I have understood, communicated to Sir Walter Scott by our worthy friend, the late Mrs. Murray Keith, who seems to have been well acquainted with all the particulars, excepting those to which I have more especially alluded; which, as a friend and con- nexion of the family, had she known, she would not have failed to mention; and in as far as his information went, (with the exception of his having changed the scene of action from the west coast to the east,) Sir Walter seems to have adhered to facts as closely as could well be ex- pected in a work bearing the general stamp of' fiction. But, if the memory of so disastrous and distressing a family anecdote was to be preserved and handed down to posterity in a story so singularly affecting, and by an author the most popular of our own or any other age, while it was surely of importance to avoid any such offensive misrepresentation of character as that to which I have alluded, it was at the same time much to be lamented that the author of the Bride of Lammermoor should have been ignorant of a tradition so truly worthy of credit; throwing so much satisfactory light on an event equally tragical and mysterious, and which, while cht have o & judicious management of the circumstances mi mereased rather than diminished the interest of the nar. : WSS RSE St x : PQA WPS a ee nS > SS SSS BSS oo inns 5INTRODUCTION TO THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 22 rative, would have left a less painful impression regard- ing our unhappy and unfortunate relative, “The Bride of Baldoon.” With best regards from all here, to you and Lady Stewart, I remain, my dear Sir James, Ever most truly yours, Rosperr DauRYMPLE Horne ELPHINSTONE. |le Srp es oe CE ee, A z eee ee ees ety Pete nes SteTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. CHAPTER I. By cauk and keel to win your bread, Wi’ whigmaleeries for them wha need, Whilk is a gentle trade indeed To carry the gaberlunzie on. Oxp Sona. Frew have been in my secret while I was compiling these narratives, nor is it probable that they will ever become public during the life of their author. Even were that event to happen, I am not ambitious of theAAA eee mE EEE ee ae a ae aI Se IDOE PE eS 26 WAVERLEY NOVELS. honoured distinction, digito monsfrart. I contess, that, were it safe to cherish such dreams at all, I should more enjoy the thought of remaining behind the curtain unseen, like the ingenious manager of Punch and his wife Joan, and enjoying the astonishment and conjectures of my audience. Then might I, perchance, hear the produe- tions of the obscure Peter Pattieson praised by the judi- cious, and admired by the feeling, engrossing the young, and attracting even the old; while the critic traced their fame up to some name of literary celebrity, and the question when, and by whom, these tales were written, filled up the pause of conversation in a hundred circles and coteries. This I may never enjoy during my life- time; but farther than this, I am certain, my vanity should never induce me to aspire. I am too stubborn in habits, and too little polished in manners, to envy or aspire to the honours assigned to my literary contemporaries. JI could not think a whit more highly of myself were I even found worthy to “ come in place as a lion,” for a winter in the great metropolis. I could not rise, turn round, and shew all my honours, from the shaggy mane to the tufted tail, roar you an ’twere any nightingale, and so lie down again like a_ well- behaved beast of show, and all at the cheap and easy rate of a cup of coffee, and a slice of bread and butter, as thin as a wafer. And I could iil stomach the fulsome flattery with which the lady of the evening indulges her show-monsters on such occasions, as she crams ler pars rots with sugar-plums, in order te make them talk before company. I cannot be tempted to “come aloft” for these marks of distinction, and, like imprisoned Samson, I would rather remain—if such must be the alternative— gil my life in the mill-house, grinding for my very bread eee Ss ne aTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 27 than be brought forth to make sport for the Philistine lords and ladies. This proceeds from no dislike, real or affected, to the aristocracy of these realms. But they have their place, and I have mine; and, like the iron and earthen vessels in the old fable, we can scarce come inte collision without my being the sufferer in every sense. It may be otherwise with the sheets which I am now writing. These may be opened and laid aside at pleas- ure ; by amusing themselves with the perusal, the great will excite no false hopes; by neglecting or condemning them, they will inflict no pain; and how seldom can they converse with those whose minds have toiled for their delight, without doing either the one or the other. In the better and wiser tone of feeling, which Ovid only expresses in one line to retract in that which follows, I can address these quires— Parve, nec invideo, sine me, liber, ibis in urbem. Nor do I join the regret of the illustrious exile, that he himself could not in person accompany the volume which he sent forth to the mart of literature, pleasure, and luxury. Were there not a hundred similar instances on record, the fate of my poor friend and schoolfellow, Dick Tinto, would be sufficient to warn me against seeking happiness, in the celebrity which attaches itself tu a suc- cessful cultivator of the fine arts. Dick Tinto, when he wrote himself artist, was wont to derive his origin from the ancient family of Tinto of that ilk, in Lanarkshire, and occasionally hinted that he hed somewhat derogated from his gentle blood, in using the pencil for his principal means of support. But if Dick’s pedigree was correct, some of his ancestors must have suffered a more heavy declension, since the good man his a a — ed - “"ALA tintin Deena eee ee ee ee CEE Es A 28 WAVERLEY NOVELS. father executed the necessary, and, I trust, tne honest, but certainly not \ery distinguished employment, of tailor im ordinary to the village of Langdirdum in the west. Under his humble roof was Richard born, and to his father’s humble trade was Richard, greatly contrary to his inclina- tion, early indentured. Old Mr. Tinto had, however, ne reason to congratulate himself upon having compelled the youthful genius of his son to forsake its natural bent. He faved like the schoolboy, who attempts to stop with his finger the spout of a water cistern, while the stream, exas- perated at this compression, escapes by a thousand uncal- culated spirts, and wets him all over for his pains. Even so fared the senior Tinto, when his hopeful apprentice not only exhausted all the chalk in making sketches upon the shop-board, but even executed several caricatures of his father’s best customers, who began loudly to murmur, that ‘t was too hard to have their persons deformed by the vestments of the father, and to be at the same time turned into ridicule by the pencil of the son. This led to dis- credit and loss of practice, until the old tailor, yielding to destiny and to the entreaties of his son, permitted him to attempt his fortune in a line for which he was better qualified. There was about this time, in the village of Langdirdum, a peripatetic brother of the brush, who exercised his voca- tion sub Jove frigido, the object of admiration to all the boys of the village, but especially to Dick Tinto. ‘The age had not yet adopted, amongst other unworthy re- ‘renchments, that illiberal measure of economy, which, supplying by written characters the lack of symbolical representation, closes one open and easily accessible aves nue of instruction and emolument against the students of the fine arts. It was not yet permitted to write uponTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 5) brush, took up the crayons, and, amid hunger and toil, and suspense and uncertainty, pursued the path of his profes- sion under better auspices than those of his original mas- ter. Still the first rude emanations of his genius (like the aursery rhymes of Pope, could these be recovered) will be dear to the companions of Dick Tinto’s youth. There is a tankard and gridiron painted over the door of an obscure change-house in the Back-wynd of Gandercleugh —But I feel I must tear myself from the subject, or dwell on it too long. Amid his wants and struggles, Dick Tinto had recourse, like his brethren, to levying that tax upon the vanity of mankind which he could not extract from their taste and liberality—in a word, he painted portraits. It was in this more advanced state of proficiency, when Dick had soared above his original line of business, and highly disdained any allusion to it, that, after having been estranged for sev- eral years, we again met in the village of Gandercleugh, I holding my present -situation, and Dick painting copies of the human face divine at a guinea per head. This was a small premium, yet, in the first burst of business, it more than sufficed for all Dick’s moderate wants ; so that he occupied an apartment at the Wallace Inn, cracked his jest with impunity even upon mine host himself, and lived in respect and observance with the chambermaid, hostler, and waiter. Those halcyon days were too serene to last long. When his honour the Laird of Gandercleugh, with his wife and three daughters, the minister, the gauger, mine esteemed patron Mr. Jedediah Cleishbotham, and some round dozen of the feuars and farmers, had been consigned to immoer- ‘ality by Tinto’s brush, custom began to slacken, and if was impossible to wring more than crowns and halfee ee ee el Ant M tats dd Ete MEE eee aR a I OEE 52 WAVERLEY NOVELS. aw crowns from the hard hands of the peasants, whose ambition led them to Dick’s painting room. Still, though the horizon was overclouded, no storm for some time ensued. Mine host had Christian faith with a lodger, who had been a good paymaster as long as he had the means. And from a portrait of our landlord himself, grouped with his wife and daughters, in the style of Rubens, which suddenly appeared in the best parlour, it was evident that Dick had found some mode of bartering art for the necessaries of life. Nothing, however, is more precarious than resources of this nature. It was observed, that Dick became in his turn the whetstone of mine host’s wit, without venturing either at defence or retaliation ; that his easel was trans- ferred to a garret-room, in which there was scarce space for it to stand upright; and that he no longer ventured to join the weekly club, of which he had been once the life and soul. In short, Dick Tinto’s friends feared that he had acted like the animal called the sloth, which, having eaten up the last green leaf upon the tree where it has established itself, ends by tumbling down from the top, and dying of inanition. I ventured to hint this to Dick, recommended his transferring the exercise of his ines- timable talent to some other sphere, and forsaking the eommon which he might be said to have eaten bare. “ There is an obstacle to my change of residence,” said my friend, grasping my hand with a look of solemnity. « A bill due to my landlord, I am afraid?” replied I, with heartfelt sympathy ; “if any part of my slender bb] means can assist in this emergence “No, by the soul of Sir Joshua!” answered the gen- erous youth, “I will never involve a friend in the conse- quences of my own misfortune. There is a mode “y = Re 2 eee a”THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 33 which I can regain my- liberty; and to creep even through a common sewer, is better than to remain in prison.” I did not perfectly understand what my friend meant. The muse of painting appeared to have failed him, and what other goddess he could invoke in his distress was a mystery to me. We pared, however, without farther explanation, and I did not again see him until three days after, when he summoned me to partake of the foy with which his landlord proposed to regale him ere his depar- ture for Edinburgh. I found Dick in high spirits, whistling while he buckled the small knapsack, which contained his colours, brushes, pallets, and clean shirt. That he parted on the best terms with mine host, was obvious from the cold beef set forth in the low parlour, flanked by two mugs of admirable brown stout; ‘and I own my curiosity was excited con- cerning the means through which the face of my friend’s affairs had been so suddenly improved. I did not suspect Dick of dealing with the devil, and by what earthly means he had extricated himself thus happily, I was at a total loss to conjecture. He perceived my curiosity, and took me by the hand. * My friend,” he said, “fain would I conceal, even from you, the degradation to which it has been necessary to submit, in order to accomplish an honourable retreat from Gandercleugh. But what avails attempting to conceal that, which must needs betray itself even by its superior excellence ? All the village—all. the parish—all the world—will soon discover to what poverty has reduced Richard Tinto.” A sudden thought here struck me—I had observed hat our landlord wore, on that memorable morning, 3 VOL XV.ee EE eee eee 54 WAVERLEY NOVELS. oair of bran new velveteens, instead of his an ‘ient thick- sets. “What,” said I, drawing my right hand, with the fure- finger and thumb pressed together, nimbly from my right haunch to my left shoulder, “ you have condescended to resume the paternal arts to which you were first bred-— iong stitches, ha, Dick ? ” He repelled this unlucky conjecture with a frown and a pshaw, indicative of indignant contempt, and leading me into another room, shewed me, resting against the wall, the majestic head of Sir William Wallace, grim as when severed from the trunk by the orders of the felon Edward. The painting was executed on boards of a substantial thickness, and the top decorated with irons, for suspending the honoured effigy upon a sign-post. “There,” he said, “my friend, stands the honour of Scotland, and my shame—yet not so—rather the shame of those, who, instead of encouraging art in its proper sphere, reduce it to these unbecoming and unworthy ex- tremities.” I endeavoured to smooth the ruffled feelings of my misused and indignant friend. I reminded him, that he ought not, like the stag in the fable, to despise the quality which had extricated him from difficulties, in which his talents, as a portrait or ‘andscape painter, had been found unavailing. Above all, I praised the execution, as well is conception, of his painting, and reminded him, that far from feeling dishonoured by so superb a specimen of his talents being exposed to the general view of the publie, he ought rather to congratulate himself upon the aug- mentation of his celebrity, to which its publie exhibition must necessarily give rise.IWE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. Od “You are “ight, my friend—you are right,” replied poor ye his eye kindling with enthusiasm; “ why should [ shun the name of an—an”—(he hesitated for a pivase) = an out-of-doors artist? Hogarth has intro- duced himself in that character in one of his best engrav- ings—Domenichino, or somebody else, in ancient times--- Morland in oux own, have exercised their talents in this manner. Ana wherefore limit to the rich and higher classes alone the delight which the exhibition of works of art is calculated to inspire into all classes? Statues are placed in the open air, why should Painting be more nigeardly in displaying her master-pieces than her sister Sculpture? And yet, my friend, we must part sud- denly; the carpenter is coming in an hour to put uf the—the emblem; and truly, with all my philosophy, and your consolatory encouragement to boot, I would rather wish to leave Gandercleugh before that operation com- mences.” We partook of our genial host’s parting banquet, and I escorted Dick on his walk to Edinburgh. We parted about a mile from the village, just as we heard the dis- tant cheer of the boys which accompanied the mounting of the new symbol of the Wallace-Head. Dick Tinto mended his pace to get out of hearing—so little had either early practice or recent philosophy, reconciled him to the character of a sign-painter. In Edinburgh, Dick’s talents were discovered ard ap- preciated, and he received dinners and hints from several distinguished julges of the fine arts. But these gentle- men dispensed their criticism more willingly than their rash, and Dick thought he nee sded cash more than criti- herefore sought London, the universal mart mam: tle t in general marts of most of talent, and where, as is usual Sea Zaceuaaanactaaes 7 cena CSS a ac team cae Sane ia aaaeae EE EEE ee —_. yee Sa eee tanner ee AEE 56 WAVERLEY NuVELS. descriptions, much more of each commodity is exposed te sale than can ever find purchasers. Dick who, in serious earnest, was supposed to have vonsiderable natural talents for his profession, and whose vain and sanguine disposition never permitted him to doubt for a moment of ultimate success, threw himself headlong into the crowd which jostled and struggled for notice and preferment. He ¢lbowed others, and was elbowed himself; and finally, by dint of intrepidity, fought his way into some notice, painted for the prize at the institution, had pictures at the exhibition at Somerset House, and damned the hanging committee. But poor Dick was doomed to lose the field he fought so gallantly. In the fine arts, there is scarce an alternative betwixt \listinguished success and absolute failure: and as Dick’s zeal and industry were unable to ensure the first. he fell into the distresses which. in his condition, were the natu- ral consequences of the latter alternative. He was for a time patronized by one or two of those judicious persons who make a virtue of being singular, and of pitching their own opinions against those of the world in matters of taste and criticism. But they soon tired of poor ‘Tinto, and laid him down as a load. upon the principle of which a spoilt child throws away its plaything. Misery, I fear, took him up, and accompanied him to a premature grave, to which he was carried from an obscure lodging in Swal- low Street, where he had been dunned by his landlady within doors, and watched by bailiffS without, until death vame to his relief. A corner of the Morning Post no- ticed his death, generously adding, that his manner dis. viayed considerable genius, though his style was rather skcichy ; and referred to an adverti nounced that Mr. Varnish, a well-| sement, which an ’ and how is it possible for an author to introduce his persone dramatzs io his readers in a more interesting and effectual mariner, iLES ES LDA Te Sia a 38 WAVERLEY NOVELS. than by the dialogue in which each is represented as sup- porting his own appropriate character ? ” “It is a false conclusion,’ said Tinto; “I hate it, Peter, as I hate an unfilled cann. I will grant you, indeed, that speech is a faculty of some value in the inter- course of human affairs, and I will not even insist on the dectrine of that Pythagorean toper, who was of opinion that, over a bottle, speaking spoiled conversation. But I will not allow that a professor of the fine arts has occa- sion to embody the idea of his scene in language, in order to impress upon the reader its reality and its effect. On the contrary, I will be judged by most of your readers, Peter, should these tales ever become public, whether you have not given us a page of talk for every single idea which .two words might have communicated, while the posture, and manner, and incident, accurately drawn, and brought out by appropriate colouring, would have preserved all that was worthy of preservation, and saved these everlasting said he’s and said she’s, with which it has been your pleasure to encumber your pages,” I replied, “ That he confounded the operations of the pencil and the pen; that the serene and silent art. as painting has been called by one of our first living poets, necessarily appealed to the eye, because it had not the organs for addressing the ear; whereas poetry, or that spevies of composition which approached to it, lay under the necessity of doing absolutely the reverse, and ad dresse.. iis.if to the ear, for the purpose of exciting that iterest wnich it could not attain through the medium of the eye.” 3 Dick was not a whit staggered by my argument, which he coniended was founded on msrepresentation. “ De.« “:ription,” he said, “was to the author of a romance ee oe ao nt aTHE URIDE OF LAMMERMOOR 39 exactly what drawing and tinting were to a painter 3 words were his colours, and, if properly employed, they could not fail to place the scene, which he wished to con- jure up, as effectually before the mind’s eye, as the tablet or canvass presents it to the bodily organ. TT] same rules,’ he contended, “applied to both, and an exuberance of dialogue, in, the former case, was a verbose and Jiborious mode of composition which went to cons found the proper art of fictitious narrative with that of the drama, a widely different species of composition, of which dialogue was the very essence, because all, except- ing the language to be made use of, was presented to the eye by the dresses, and persons, and actions of the per- formers upon the stage. But as nothing,” said Dick, “can be more dull than a long narrative written upon the plan of a drama, so where you have approached most near to that species of composition, by indulging in pro- longed scenes of mere conversation, the course of your story has become chill and constrained, and you have lost the power of arresting the attention and exciting the imagination, in which upon other occasions you may be considered as having succeeded tolerably well.” I made my bow in requital of the complimerit, which was probably thrown in by way of placebo, and expressed myself willing at least to make one trial of a more straight-forward style of composition, in which my actors should do more, and say less, than in my former attempts of this kind. Dick gave me a patronizing and approving nod, and observed, that, finding me so docile, he would communicate, for the benefit of my muse, a subject which he had studied with a view to his own art. “The story,” he said, “was, by tradition, affirmed te be truth, although as upwards of a hundred years hadSALE Vee EE ee ee eerie eee i shetet ee a ere AQ WAVERLEY NOVELS. passed away since the events took place, some doubt upon the accuracy of all the particulars might be 1eason- nbly entertained.” When Dick Tinto had thus spoken, he rummaged his portfolio for the sketch from which he proposed one day to exeeute a picture of fourteen feet by eight. The sketch, which was cleverly executed, to use the appro- priate phrase, represented an ancient hall, fitted up and furnished in what we now call the taste of Queen Eliza- beth’s age. The light, admitted from the upper part of a high casement, fell upon a female figure of exquisite beauty, who, in an attitude of speechless terror, appeared to watch the issue of a debate betwixt two other persons, The one was a young man, in the Vandyke dress com- mon to the time of Charles I., who, with an air of in- dignant pride, testified by the manner in which he raised his head and extended his arm, seemed to be urging a claim of right, rather than of favour, to a lady, whose age, and some resemblance in their features, pointed her out as the mother of the younger female, and who appeared to listen with a mixture of displeasure and impatience. Tinto» produced his sketch with an air of mysterious triumph, and gazed on it as a fond parent looks upon a hopeful child, while he anticipates the future figure he is tc make in the world, and the height to which he will raise the honour of his family. He held it at arm’s length from me, he held it closer,—he placed it upon the top of a chest of drawers, closed the lower shutters of the casement, to adjust a downward and favourable hcht, —fell back to the due distance, drageed me after him.— shaded his face with his hand, as if to exclude all but the ‘avourite object,—and ended by spoiling a child’s copyTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 4. book, which he rolled up so as to serve for the darkened tube of an amateur, I fancy my expressions of enthusiasm had not been in proportion to his own, for he presently exclaimed with vehemence, “ Mr. Pattieson, I used to think you had an eye in your head.” [ vindicated my claim to the usual allowance of visual organs. “Yet, on my honour,” said Dick, “I would swear you had been born blind, since you have failed at the first glance to discover the subject and meaning of that sketch. I do not mean to praise my own performance, I leave these arts to others; I am sensible of my deficiencies, conscious that my drawing and colouring may be im- proved by the time I intend to dedicate to the art. But the conception—the expression—the positions—these tell the story to every one who looks at the sketch; and if I can finish the picture without diminution of the original conception, the name of Tinto shall no more be smothered by the mists of envy and intrigue.” I replied, “ That I admired the sketch exceedingly ; but that to understand its full merit, I felt it absolutely necessary to be informed of the subject.” “That is the very thing I complain of,’ answered Tinto; “ you have accustomed yourself so much to these creeping twilight details of yours, that you are become incapable of receiving that instant and vivid flash of con- viction, which darts on the mind from seeing the happy and expressive combinations of a single scene, and which eather from the position, attitude, and countenance of the moment, not only the history of the past lives of the per- sonages represented, and the nature of the business on which they are immediately engaged, but lifts even the veil of futurity, and affords a shrewd guess at their future fortunes.”AE aie Eee EE 42 WAVERLEY NOVELS. “Jn that case,” replied I, “ Painting excels the Ape of the renowned Gines de Passamont, which only meddled with the past and the present ; nay, she ‘xcels that very Nature who affords her subjects; for I protest to you, Dick, that were I permitted to peep into that Elizabeth- chamber, and see the persons you have sketched convers- ing in flesh and_ blood, 1 should not be a jot nearer puessing the nature of their business, than I am at this moment while looking at your sketch. Only generally, fiom the languishing look of the young lady, and the care you have taken to present a very handsome leg on the part of the gentleman, I presume there is some reference to a love affair between them.” “Do you really presume to form such a bold con- jecture?” said Tinto. “ And the indignant earnestness with which you see the man urge his suit—the unresist- ing and passive despair of the younger female—the stern air of inflexible determination in the elder woman, whose looks express at once consciousness that she is acting wrong, and a firm determination to persist in the course she has adopted——” “Tf her looks express all this, my dear Tinto,” replied I, interrupting him, “your pencil rivals the dramatic art of Mr. Puff in the Critic, who crammed a whole com- plicated sentence into the expressive shake of Lord Bur- feigh’s head.” “My good friend, Peter,” replied Tinto, “I observe you are perfectly incorrigible ; however, I have compas- sion on your dulness, and am unwilling you should be deprived of the pleasure of understanding my picture, and of gaining, at the same time, a subject for your own pen. You must know then, last summer, while I was taking sketches on the coast of Kast-Lothian and Ber-wickshire, I was seduced into the mountains of Lam- mermoor by the account I received of some remains of antiquity in that district. Those with which I was most struck, were the ruins of an ancient eastle in which that Elizabeth-chamber, as you call it, once existed. I resided for two or three days at a farm-house in the neighbour. hood, where the aged goodwife was well acquainted with the history of the castle, and the events which had taken place in it. One of these was of a nature so interesting and singular, that my attention was divided between my wish to draw the old ruins in landscape, and to represent, in a history-piece, the singular events which have taken place in it. Here are my notes of the tale,” said poo! Dick, handing a parcel of loose scraps, partly scratched over with his pencil, partly with his pen, where out- lines of caricatures, sketches of turrets, mills, old gables, and dovecots, disputed the ground with his written memoranda. I proceeded, however, to decipher the substance of the manuscript as well as I could, and wove it into the fol- lowing Tale, in which, following in part, though not entirely, my friend ‘into’s advice, I endeavoured to render my narrative rather descriptive than dramatic. My favourite propensity, however, has at times overcome me, and my persons, like many others in this talking world, speak now and then a great deal more than they act. THE BRID! OF LAMMERMOOR. 4 =eine ot hi EAE I hat oe est WAVERLEY NOVELS, CHAPTER IL Well, lords, we have not got that which we have; *Tis not enough our foes are this time fled, Being opposites of such repairing nature. Seconp Part oF HENRY VI. In the gorge of a pass or mountain glen, ascending from the fertile plains of East-Lothian, there stood in former times an extensive castle, of which only the ruins are now visible. Its ancient proprietors were a race of powerful and warlike barons, who bore the same name with the castle itself, which was Ravenswood. Their line extended to a remote period of antiquity, and they had intermarried with the Douglasses, Humes, Swintons, Hays, and other families of power and distinction in the same country. Their history was frequently involved in that of Scotland itself, in whose annals their feats are recorded. The castle of Ravenswood, occupying, and in some measure commanding, a pass betwixt Berwickshire, or the Merse, as the south-eastern province of Scotland is termed, and the Lothians, was of importance both in times of foreign war and domestie discord. It was fre- quently besieged with ardour, and defended with obsti- nacy, and, of course, its owners played a conspicuous part in story. But their house had its revolutions, like all sublunary things; it became greatly declined from its splendour about the middle o the 17th century: andTHE BRIDE ©OF LAMMERMOOR. 45 towards the period of the Revolution, the last proprietor of Ravenswood Castle saw himself compelled to part with the ancient family seat, and to remove himself to a lonely and sea-beaten tower, which, situated on the bleak shores between Saint Abb’s Head and the village of Eyemouth, looked out on the lonely and boisterous German Ocean A black domain of wild pasture-land surrounded theit new residence, and formed the remains of their prop- Lord Ravenswood, the heir of this ruined family, was far from bending his mind to his new condition of life. In the civil war of 1689, he had espoused the sinking side, and aE he had escaped without the forfeiture of life or land, his blood had been attainted, and his title abolished. He was now called Lord Ravenswood only in ex ourtesy. This forfeited nobleman inherited the pride and tur- bulence, though not the fortune of his house, and, as he imputed the final declension of his family to a particular individual, he honoured that person with his full portion of hatred. ‘This was the very man who had now become, by purchase, proprietor of * Ravenswood, and the domains of which the heir of the house now stood dispossessed. He was descended of a family much less ancient than that of Lord Ravenswood, and which had only risen to and political importance during the great civil wars. He himself had been bred to the bar, and had held hich offices in the state, maintaining through life the skilful fisher in the troubled waters of a and governed by delegated wealth eharacter of a state divided by factions, authority; and of one who contrived to amass consider- of money in a country Ww here there was but little to be gathered, and who equally knew the value of able sumsaS SEA SEES OBI 46 WAVERLEY NOVELS. wealth, and the various means of augmenting it, and using it as an engine of increasing his power and influence, Th. qualified and gifted, he was a dangerous antago- nist to the fierce and imprudent Ravenswood. Whether he had given him good cause for the enmity with which the Baron regarded him, was a point on which men spoke differently. Some said the quarrel arose merely from the vindictive spirit and envy of Lord Ravenswood, who could not patiently behold another, though by just and fair purchase, become the proprietor of the estate and castle of his forefathers. But the ereater part of the public, prone to slander the wealthy in their absence, as to flatter them in their presence, held a less charitable opinion. ‘They said, that the Lord Keeper (for to this height Sir William Ashton had ascended) had, previous to the final purchase of the estate of Ravenswood, been concerned in extensive pecuniary transactions with the former proprietor; and, rather intimating what was prob- able, than affirming any thing positively, they asked which party was likely to have the advantage in stating and enforcing the claims arising out of these complicated affairs, and more than hinted the advantages which the cool lawyer and able politician must necessarily possess over the hot, fiery, and imprudent character, whom he 1ad involved in legal toils, and pecuniary snares. The character of the times ageravated these sus- picions. “In those days there was no king in Israel.” Since the departure of James VI. to assume the richer und more powerful crown of England, there had existed in Scotland contending parties, formed among the aristoc- racy, by whom, as their intrigues at the court of Saint James’s chanced to prevail, the delegated powers of sovereignty were alternately sw tyed. The evils attend.THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 47 ing upon this system of government, resemble those which afflict the tenants of an Irish estate. the property | | of an absentee. There was no supreme power, claiming and possessing a general interest with the community at large, to whom the oppressed might appeal from sub- : ordinate tyranny, either for justice or for mercy. Leta monarch be as indolent, as selfish, ag much disposed to arbitrary power as he will, still, in a free country, his own interests are so clearly connected with those of tha A public at large, and the evil consequences to his own f authority are so obvious and imminent when a different q | course is pursued, that common policy, as well as com- Mf mon feeling, point to the equal distribution of justice, and A\ to the establishment of the throne in righteousness. Thus, even sovereigns, remarkable for usurpation and tyranny, have been found rigorous in the administration of justice among their subjects, in cases where their own power and passions were not compromised. It is very different when the powers of sovereignty are delegated to the head of an aristocratic faction, rivalled and pressed closely in the race of ambition by an adverse leader. His brief and precarious enjoyment of power must be employed in rewarding his partisans, in extend- ing his influence, in oppressing and crushing his adver- | saries. Even Abon Hassan, the most disinterested of all ae viceroys, forgot not, during his caliphate of one day, to send a doweceur of one thousand pieces of gold to his own household ; and the Scottish vicegerents, raised to power na by the strength of their faction, failed not to embrace the sume means of rewarding them. The administration of justice, in particular, was infected by the most gross partiality. A case of importance scarcely occurred, in which there was not some groundee ae Cee grmaee ee eS OSC ea Cae ed eere e WAVERLEY NOVELS. for bias or partiality on the part of the judges, who were 69 little able to withstand the temptation, that the adage, “Show me the man. and I will show you the law,” be came as prevalent as it was scandalous. One corruption led the way to others still more gross and profligate. The judge who lent his sacred authority in one case to support a friend, and in ayother to crush an enemy, and whose decisions were founded on family connexions or political relations, could not be supposed inaccessible to direct per- sonal motives; and the purse of the wealthy was too often believed-to be thrown into the scale to weigh down the cause of the poor litigant. The subordinate officers of the law affected little scruple concerning bribery. Pieces of plate, and bags of money, were sent in presents to the king’s counsel, to influence their conduct, and poured, forth, says a contemporary writer, like billets of wood upon their floors, without even the decency of concealment. In such times, it was not over uncharitable to suppose, that the statesman, practised in courts of law, and a pow- erful member of a triumphant cabal, might find and use means of advantage over his less skilful and less favoured adversary ; and if it had been supposed that Sir William Ashton’s conscience had been too delicate to profit by these advantages, it was believed that his ambition and desire of extending his wealth and consequence, found as strong a stimulus in the exhortations of his lady, as the daring aim of Macbeth in the days of yore. Lady Ashton was of a family more distinguished than that of her lord, an advantage which she did not fail te use to the uttermost, in maintaining and extending her husband’s influence over others, and, unless she was greatly belied, her own over him. She had been heaun- oe Se eeeFg Sat THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 49 tif], und was stately and majestic in her appearance. Endowed by nature with strong powers and violent pas- sions, experience had taught her to employ the one, and to conceal, if not to moderate, the other. She was a severe and strict observer of the external forms, at least, of devotion ; her hospitality was splendid even to osten- tation; her address and manners, agreeable to the pattern most valued in Scotland at the period, were grave, dig- nified, and severely regulated by the rules of etiquette. Her character had always been beyond the breath of slander. And yet, with all these qualities to excite respect, Lady Ashton was seldom mentioned in the terms the interest of her family, of love or affection. Interest, if not her own,—seemed too obviously the motive of her actions : and where this is the case, the sharp judging and malignant public are not easily imposed upon by outward show. It was seen and ascertained, that, in her most graceful courtesies and compliments, Lady Ashton no more lost sight of her object, than the falcon in his airy wheel turns his quick eyes from his destined quarry ; and hence, something of doubt and suspicion qualified the feelings with which her equals received her attentions. With her inferiors these feelings were mingled with fear; an impression useful to her purposes, so far as it enforced ready compliance with her requests, and implicit obedi- ence to her commands, but detrimental, because it cannot exist with affection or regard. Even her husband, it is said, upon whose fortunes her (talents and address had produced such emphatic influence, regarded her with respectful awe rather than confiding attachment; and report said, there were times when he considered his grandeur as dearly purchased at the ex- pense of domestic thraldom. Of this, however, much VOL. XV. 4 Seite. eer50 WAVERLEY NOVELS. might be suspected, but little could be accurately known; Lady Ashton regarded the honour of her husband as her own, and was well aware how much that would suffer in the public eye should he appear a vassal to his wife. In all her arguments, his opinion was quoted as infallile ; his taste was appealed to, and his sentiments received, with the air of deference which a dutiful wife might seem lo owe to a husband of Sir William Ashton’s rank and character. But there was something under all this which rung false and hollow; and to those who watched this couple with close, and perhaps malicious scrutiny, it seemed evident, that, in the haughtiness of a firmer character, higher birth, and more decided views of ag- grandizement, the lady looked with some contempt on the husband, and that he regarded her with jealous fear, rather than with love or admiration. still, however, the leading and favourite interests of Sir William Ashton and his lady were the same; and they failed not to work in concert, although without cordiality, and to testify, in all exterior circumstances, that respect for each other, which they were aware was necessary to secure that of the public Their union was crowned with several children, of whom three survived. One, the eldest son, was absent on his travels; the second, a girl of seventeen, and the third, a boy about three years younger, resided with their parents in Edinburgh, during the sessions of the Scottish Parliament and Privy Council, at other times in the old aothic castle of Ravenswood. to which the Lord Keeper had made large additions in the style of the seventeenth century. Allan Lord Ravenswood, the late proprietor of that ancient mansion and the large estate annexed to it, com See of eai Se Ses ah es i; ees SS Sigs ee o THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. ol tinacd for some time to wage ineffectual war witb his successor concerning various points to which their former transactions had given rise, and which were successively determined in favour of the wealthy and powerful com- petitor, until death closed the litigation, by summoning Rarenswood to a higher bar. The thread of life, which had been long wasting, gave way during a fit of violent and impotent fury, with which he was assailed on receiv- ing the news of the loss of a cause, founded, perhaps, er 1. equity than in law, the last which he 1ad main- pwnd rat tained against his powerful antago! nist. His son witnessed his dying agonies, and heard sis eurses which he breathed against his adversary, as if they had conveyed to hima legacy of vengeance. Other circumstances happened to exasperate a passion, which was, and had long been, a prevalent vice in the Scottish disposition. It was a November morning, and the cliffs which over- looked the ocean were hung with thick and heavy mist, the portals of the ancient and half-ruinous tower, in which Lord Ravenswood had spent the last and troubled whet 1 years of his life, opened, 1 to an abode yet more dreary and lonely. ‘Th hat his mortal remains oo pass forwar pomp of attendance, to which the deceased had, in nis latter vears, been a stranger, was re vived as he was about to be consigned to the realms of forgetfulness. Banner after banner, with the various devices and ’ thi : aes janet allowed eoats of this ancient family and its connexions, followed zach other in mournful procession from under the low- > ry ns rs cantr browed archway of the court-yard. Che principal gentry in the deepest mourning, and tem- of the country attended e solemn . : : ee es he pace of their long train of horses to th pered t Trumpets, with banners march befitting the occasion. of crape attached to them, sent forth their long and mel wert —eae AeA eee Len ptt iE Petey Earn ee rene ELE ed att ee WAVERLEY NOVELS. ancholy notes to regulate the movements cf the proces: sion. An immense train of inferior mourners and menials closed the rear, which had not yet issued from the castle-gate, when the van had reached the chapel where the body was to be deposited. Contrary to the custom, and even to the law of the lime, the body was met by a priest of the Scottish KE pis- copal communion, arrayed in his surplice, and prepared to read over the coffin of the deceased the funeral service of the church. Such had been the desire of Lord Ra- venswood in his last illness, and it was readily complied with by the “Lory gentlemen, or cavaliers, as the sy aflected to style themselves, in which faction most of his kinsmen were enrolled. The presbyterian church-judicatory of the bounds, considering the ceremony as a bravading insult upon their authority, had applied to the Lord Keeper, as the nearest privy councillor, for a warrant to prevent its being carried into effect; so that, when the clergyman had opened his prayer-book, an officer of the law, supported by some armed men, commanded him to be silent. An insult which fired the whole asse mbly with indignation, was particularly and instantly resented by the only son of the deceased, Ed lgar, popularly called the Master of Ravenswood, a youth of about twenty years of age. He clapped his hand on his sw ord, and bidding the official person to desist at his peril from fart] ruption, commanded the clergyman 1er inter- to proceed. The man attempted to enforce his commission, but as an hun- dred swords at once glittered in the air, he contented himself with protesting against the violence which had been offered to him in the execution of his duty, and stood aloof, a sullen and moody spectator of the cerer nial. muttering as one who should say, “ You’ll rue the 10 ‘Liv that clogs me with this answer.”THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. od The scene was worthy of an artist’s pencil. Under the very arch of the house of death, the clergyman affrighted at the scene, and trembling for his own safety hastily and unwillingly rehearsed the solemn service of the church, and spoke dust to dust, and ashes to ashes, over ruined pride and decayed prosperity. Around stood the relations of the deceased, their countenances mere in anger than in sorrow, and the drawn swords which they brandished forming a violent contrast with their deep mourning habits. In the countenance of the young man alone, resentment seemed for the moment overpowered by the deep agony with which he beheld his nearest, and almost his only friend, consigned to the tomb of his ancestry. A relative observed him turn deadly pale, when, all rites being now duly observed, it became the duty of the chief mourner to lower down into the charnel vault, where mouldering coffins shewed their tattered velvet and decayed plating, the head of the corpse which was to be their partner in corruption. He stept to the youth and offered his assistance, which, by a mute motion, Edgar Ravenswood rejected. Firmly, and without a tear, he performed that last duty. The stone was laid on the sepulchre, the door of the aisle was locked, and the youth took posgessipn yf ,its. massive key, As the crowd: leit’ ihe chapel, he paused on-the steps which led to its Gathie chancel,“ Gentlemen and friends,” he said, “ you haye ;this day doae no common duty to the body of your dec ,ased kinsman. The rites of due observance, which, in other countries, are allowed as the Jue of the meanest Christian, would this day have been Jenied to the body of your relative—not certainly sprung house in Scotland—had it not been pm the meanest Others bury their assured to him by your courage i A j ; J ot a ) | \ iWAVERLEY NOVELS. dead in sorrow and tears, in silence and in reverence: our funeral rites are marred by the intrusion of bailiffs and ruffians, and our grief—the grief due to our departed friend—is chased from our‘ cheeks by the glow of just indignation. But it is well that I know from what quiver this arrow has come forth. It was only he that dug the grave who could have the mean cruelty to disturb the obsequies ; and Heaven do as much to me and more, if I requite not to this man and his house the ruin and dis- grace he has brought on me and mine!” A numerous part of the assembly applauded this speech, as the spirited expression of just resentment; but the more cool and judicious regretted that it had been uttered. The fortunes of the heir of Ravenswood were too low to brave the farther hostility which they imagined these open expressions of resentment must necessarily provoke. Their apprehensions, however, proved ground- less, at least in the immediate consequences of this affair. The mourners returned to the tower, there, according to a custom but recently abolished in Scotland, to carouse deep healths to the memory of the deceased, to make the house of sorrow ring with sounds of “ joviality and debauch, and to diminish, by the expense oft:a-large and profuse entertainment, the limited: réveruéss ofthe heir of him whose fuheral they»thus ‘strangely honoured. It was the rustom, however, and‘on the present occasion it was fully observed. The tables swam in wine, the populace feasted in the court-yard, the yeomen in the kitchen and buttery ; and two years’ rent of Ravenswood’s remaining property hardly det rayed the charge of the funeral revel. The wine did: its office on all but the Master of Ravenswood 4 : @ title which he still retained, though forfeiture hadTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. oa attached to that of his father. He, while passing around the cup which he himself did not taste, soon hatenea toa thousand exclamations against the Lord Keeper, and passionate protestations of attachment to himself, and to the honour of his house. He listened with dark and sullen brow to ebullitions which he considered justly as equally evanescent with the crimson bubbles on the brink of the goblet, or at least with the vapours which its contents excited in the brains of the revellers around him. When the last flask was emptied, they took their leave, with deep protestations—to be forgotten on the morrow, if, indeed, those who made them. should not think it necessary for their safety to make a more solemn retrac- tation’ Accepting their adieus with an air of contempt which he could scarce conceal, Ravenswood at length beheld his ruinous habitation cleared of this confluence of riotous guests, and returned to the deserted hall, which now appeared doubly lonely from the cessation of that clamour to which it had so lately echoed. But its space was peopled by phantoms, which the imagination of the young heir conjured up before him—the tarnished honour and degraded fortunes of his house, the destruction of his own hopes, and the triumph of that family by whom they had been ruined. ‘To a mind naturally of a gloomy cast, here was ample room for meditation, and the musings of young Ravenswood were deep and unwitnessed. The peasant, who shows the ruins of the tower, which still crown the beetling cliff and behold the war of the waves, thoueh no more tenanted save by the sea-mew and cormorant, even yet affirms, that on this fatal night the Master of Ravenswood, by the bitter exclamations of56 WAVERLEY NOVELS. his despair, evoked some evil fiend, under whose malig. nant influence the future tissue of incidents was woven, Alas! what fiend can suggest more desperate counsels, than those adopted under the guidance of our own violent and unresisted passions ? area eel ee ee See ee eg ee ‘ A N . s > . \ x A) Ny x : i y R Se eee eee eee nn aTHE PRIDE OF LAMMERMOOk., CHAPTER III. Over Gods forebode, then said the King, That thou shouldst shoot at me. WintiaM BELL, CLM 0’ THE CLEUGH, &e. On the morning after the funeral, the legal cflicer, Whose authority had been found insufficient to effect an interruption of the funeral solemnities of the late Lord Ravenswood, hastened to state before the Keeper the resistance which he had met with in the execution of his office. The statesman was seated in a spacious library, once a banqueting-room in the old Castle of Ravenswood, as was evident from the armorial insignia still displayed on the carved roof, which was vaulted with Spanish chestnut, and on the stained glass of the casement, through which gleamed a dim yet rich light, on the long rows of shelves, bending under the weight of legal commentators and monkish historians, whose ponderous volumes formed the chief and most valued contents of a Scottish historian cf the period. On the massive oaken table and reading: desk, lay a confused mass of letters, petitions, and parch- ments; to toil amongst which was the pleasure at once and the plague of Sir William Ashton’s life. His appearance was grave and even noble, well becoming one who held a high office in the state; and it was not, save after long and intimate conversation witb him uponEE Een SE eo ae i nee PE ee BS WAVERLEY NOVELS. topics of pressing and personal interest, that a stranger could have discovered‘something vacillating and uncertain in his resolutions ; an infirmity of purpose, arising from a cautious and timid disposition, which, as he was conscious of its internal influence on his mind, he was, from pride as well as policy, most anxious to conceal from others. He listened with great apparent composure to an exagesrated account of the tumult which had taken place at the funeral, of the contempt thrown on his own authority, and that of the church and state; nor did he seem moved even by the faithful report of the insulting and threatening language which had been uttered by young Ravenswood and others, and obviously directed against himself. He heard, also, what the man had been able to collect, in a very distorted and aggravated shape, of the toasts which had been drunk, and the menaces uttered, at the subsequent entertainment. In fine, he made careful notes of all these particulars, and of the names of the persons by whom, in case of need, an accu- sation, founded upon these violent proceedings, could be witnessed and made good, and dismissed his informer, secure that he was now master of the remaining fortune, and even of the personal liberty, of young Ravenswood, When the door had closed upon the officer of the law, the Lord Keeper remained for a moment in deep medita- tion; then, starting from his seat, paced the apartment as one about to take a sudden and energetic resolution. “Yeung Ravenswood,” he muttered, “is now mine—he is my own-—he has placed himself in my hand, and he shall bend or break. I have not forgot the determined and dogged obstinacy with which his father fought every point to the last, resisted every effort at compromise, em- Deo:led me in lawsuits. and attempted to assail my char. tect fo inn aTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR, oo reter when he could not otherwise impugn my, rights, Phis boy he has left behind him—this Edear—this hot- headed, harebrained fool, has wreeked his vessel befor she has cleared the harbour. JI must see that he gains no advantage of some turning tide which may again float him off. These memoranda, properly stated to tlic Privy Council, cannot but be eon trued into an agoravated riot, m which the dignity both of the civil and ecclesiastical authorities stand committed. A heavy fine might be im- posed; an order for committing him to Edinburgh or Blackness Castle seems not improper; even a charge of treason might be laid on many of these words and expres- e the matter to sions, though God forbid I should prosecu i that extent. No, I will not ;—TI will not touch his life, even if it should be in my power ;—and yet, if he lives till a change of times, what follows ?—Restitution—per- haps revenge. J know Athole promised has interest to old Ravenswood, and here is his son already bandying and making a faction by his own contemptible influence. What a ready tool he would be for the use of those who are watching the downfall of our administration !” While these thoughts were agitating the mind of the wily statesman, and while he was persuading himself that his own interest and safety, as oy as those of his fiends and party, depended on using the present advantage to the uttermost against young Ravenswood, ‘the Lord Keeper sat down to his desk, and proceeded to draw up, for the information of the Privy Council, an account of the disorderly proceedings which, in contempt of his war- rant, had taken place at the funeral of Lord Ravenswood, The names of most of the parties concerned, as well as the fact itself, would, he was well aware, sound odiously um the ears of his colleagues in administration, and mostA Dn eee eae eee Pe ee Se te Ee EE 60 WAVERLEY NOVELS. likely instigate them to make an example of yuung Ravenswood, at least, 7 terrorem. It was a point of delicacy, however, to scleet such expressions as might infer the young man’s culpability, without seeming directly to urge it, which, on the part of Sir William Ashton, Lis father’s ancient antagonist, could not but appear odious and invidious. While he was in the act of composition, labouring to find words which might indicate Edgar Ravenswood to be the cause of the uproar, without specifically making such a charge, Sir William, in a pause of his task, chanced, in looking up- ward, to see the crest of the family, (for whose heir he was whetting the arrows, and disposing the toils of the law,) carved upon one of the corbeilles from which the yaulted roof of the apartment sprung. It was a black oull’s head, with the legend, “I bide my time ;” and the occasion upom which it was adopted mingled itself singu- larly and impressively with the subject of his present reflections. It was said by a constant tradition, that a Malisius de Ravenswood had, in the thirteenth century, been deprived of his castles and lands by a powerful usurper, who had for a while enjoyed his spoils in quiet. At length, on the eve of a costly banquet, Ravenswood, who had watched his opportunity, introduced himself into the sastle with a small band of faithful retainers. ». The serv- ing of the expected feast was impatiently looked for by the guests, and clamorously demanded by the temporary master of the castle. Ravenswood, who had assumed the discuise of a sewer upor the occasion, answered, in a stern voice, “I bide my time;” and at th2 same moment a bull’s head, the ancicnt symbol of death, was placed upon the table. The explosion of the conspiracy took place upoo Se eae aeTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 61 the signal, and the usurper and his followers were put to death. Perhaps there was something in this still known and often repeated story, which came immediately home t® the breast and conscience of the Lord Keeper ; for, putting from him the paper on which he had begun his report, and carefully locking the memoranda which hs had prepared into a cabinet which stood beside him, he proceeded to walk abroad, as if for the purpose of collect- ing his ideas, and reflecting farther on the consequences of the step which he was about to take, ere yet they became inevitable. In passing through a large Gothic anteroom, Sir Wil- liam Ashton heard the sound of his daughter’s lute. Music, when the performers are concealed, affects us with a pleasure mingled with surprise, and reminds us of the natural concert of birds among the leafy bowers. The statesman, though little accustomed to give way to emo- tions of this natural and simple class, was still a man and a father. He stopped, therefore, and listened, while the silver tones of Lucy Ashton’s voice, mingled with the accompaniment in an ancient air, to which some une had adapted the following words :— “ Look not thou on beauty’s charming,— Sit thou still when kings are arming,— Taste not when the wine-cup glistens,— Speak not when the people listens,— Stop thine ear against the singer,— From the red gold keep thy finger,-— Vacant heart, and hand, and eye,—- Easy live and quiet die.”’ The sounds ceased, and the Keeper entered his. daugh: ‘er’s apartment. The words she had chosen seemed particularly adaptedPAL GLARED IDLE DLL IND VIELE A ee ee TEE 62 WAVERLEY NOVELS. to her character ; for Lucy Ashton’s exquisitely beautimul, yet somewhat girlish features, were formed to express peace of mind, serenity, and indifference to the tinsel of worldly pleasure. Her locks, which were of shadowy gold, divided on a brow of exquisite whiteness, liké a gleam of broken and pallid sunshine upon The expression of the countenance was in gentle, soft, timid, and feminine, and sex a hill of snow. the last degree smed rather to slirink from the most casual look of a stranger, than to court lis admiration. Something there was of a Madonna vast, perhaps the result of delicate health, and of residence in a family where the dispositions of the inmates were fiercer, more active, and energetic, than he 7+ OWN. Yet her passiveness of disposition was by no means owing to an indifferent or unfeeling mind. Left to the impulse of her own taste and feeling, Lucy Ashton was peculiarly accessible to those of a romantic cast. Her secret delight was in the old legendary tales of ardent devotion and unalterable affection, chequered as they so often are with strange adventures and su} rors. This was her favoured fairy realm erected her aerial palaces. But it was only in secret that yernatural hor- , and here she she laboured at this delusive, though delightful arehi- tecture. In her retired chamber. or in bower which she had chosen for her own, : the woodland ind called after her name, she was in faney distributing the prizes at the tournament, or raining down influence from her eyes on the valiant combatants; or she was wandering in the wilderness with Una, under escort of the generous lion; or she was identifying herself with the simple, yet noble- minded Miranda, in the isle of wonder and enchantment. But in her exterior relations to things of this world, Lucy willingly received the ruling impulse from thoseTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. around her. ‘The alternative was, in general, too indiffer- ent to her to render resistance desirable, and she willingly found a motive for decision in the opinion of her friends, which perhaps she might have sought for in vain in her own choice. Every reader must have observed in some family of his acquaintance, some individual of a temper soft a yielding, who, mixed with stronger and more ardent minds, is borne along by the will of others, with as little power of opposition as the flower which is flung into a running stream. It usually happens that such a compliant and easy disposition, which resigns itself with- out murmur to the guidance of others, becomes the darling of those to whose inclinations its own seemed to be offered, in ungrudging and ready sacrifice. This was eminently the case with Lucy Ashton. Her politic, wary, and worldly father, felt for her an affection, the strength of which sometimes surprised him into an unusual emotion. Her elder brother, who trode the path of ambition with a haughtier step than his father, had also more of human affection. _A soldier, and in a disso- lute age, he preferred his sister Lucy even to pleasure, and to military preferment and distinction. Her younger brother, at an age when trifles chiefly occupied his mind, made her the confidant of all his pleasures and anxieties, his success in field-sports, and his quarrels with his tutor and instructors. To these details, however trivial, Lucy lent patient and not indifferent attention. They moved and interested Henry, and that was enough to secure her ear. IIer mother alone did not feel that distinguished and predominating affection, with which the rest of the family cherished Lucy. She regarded what she termed her daughter’s want of spirit, as a decided mark, that the more plebeian blood of her father predominated in Luey’s i iLLLES LY SLI LE LLA LG LIES, ee teed er eee UE aie Ee ee ene 64 WAVERLEY NOVELS. veis, and used to call her in derision her Lammermoor Shepherdess. To dislike so gentle and inoffensive a being was impossible; but Lady Ashton preferred her eldest son, on whom had descended a large portion of her own ambitious and undaunted disposition, to a daughter whose softness of temper seemed allied to feebleness of mind. Her eldest son was the more partially beloved by his mother, because, contrary to the usual custom of Scottish families of distinction, he had been named after the head of the house. “My Sholto,” she said, “ will support the untarnished honour of his maternal house, and elevate and support that of his father. Poor Lucy is unfit for courts or crowded halls. Some country laird must be her husband, rich enough to supply her with every comfort, without an effort on her own part, so that she may have nothing to shed a tear for but the tender apprehension lest he may break his neck in a fox-chase. It was not so, however, that our house was raised, nor is it so that it can be fortified and augmented. The Lord Keeper’s dignity is yet new; it must be borne as if we were used to its weight, worthy of it, and prompt to assert and maintain it. Before ancient authorities, men bend, from customary and hereditary deference; in our presence, they will stand erect, unless they are compelled to pros- trate themselves. A daughter fit for the sheep-fold or the cloister, is ill qualified to exact respect where it is vielded with reluctance; and since Heaven refused us : third boy, Lucy should have held a character fit to sup- ply his place. The hour will be a happy one which disposes her hand in marriage to some one whose energy is greater than her own, or whose ambition is of as lew tn order.”THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. bo So meditated a mother, to whom the qualities of her children’s hearts, as well as the prospect of their domes- tic happiness, seemed light in comparison to their rank and temporal greatness. But, like many a parent of hot and impatient character, she was mistaken in estimating the feelings of her daughter, who, under a semblance of extreme indifference, nourished the germ of those pas- sions which sometimes spring up in one night, like the gourd of the prophet, and astonish the observer by their unexpected ardour and intensity. In fact, Lucy’s senti- ments seemed chill, because nothing had occurred to interest or awaken them. Her life had hitherto flowed on in a uniform and gentle tenor, and happy for her had not its present smoothness of current resembled that of the stream as it glides downwards to the waterfall! “So, Lucy,” said her father, entering as her song was ended, “does your musical philosopher teach you to con- temn the world before you know it ?—that is surely something premature. Or did you but speak according to the fashion of fair maidens, who are always to hold the pleasures of life in contempt till they are pressed upon them by the address of some gentle knight?” Lucy blushed, disclaimed any inference respecting her own choice being drawn from her selection of a song, and readily laid aside her instrument at her father’s request that she would attend him in his walk. A large and well-wooded park, or rather chase, stretched nlong the hill behind the castle, which occupying, as we have noticed, a pass ascending from the plain, seemed built in its very gorge to defend the forest ground which arose behind it in shaggy majesty. Into this romantic regicn the father and daughter proceeded, arm in arm, by a noble avenue overarched by embowering elms, be- VOL. XV. 5 { j 1 }eee aE te eT De Ld i Sain Aiea nr riney mies bo A SSIs: 66 WAVERLEY NOVELS. peath which groups of the fallow-deer were seen to stray in distant perspective. As they paced slowly on, admir- ing the different points of view, for which Sir William Ashton, notwithstanding the nature of his usual avoca- tions, had considerable taste and feeling, they were over- taken by the forester, or park-keeper, who, intent on silvan sport, was proceeding with his cross-bow over his arm, and a hound Jed in leash by his boy, into the interior of the wood. “Going to shoot us a piece of venison, Norman?” said his master, as he returned the woodman’s salutation. “Saul, your honour, and that I am. Will it please you to see the sport ?” “O no,” said his lordship, after looking at his daughter, whose colour fled at the idea of seeing the deer shot, al- though had her father expressed his wish that they should accompany Norman, it was probable she would not even have hinted her reluctance. The forester shrugged his shoulders. “It was a dis- heartening thine,” he said, “when none of the gentles came down to see the sport. He hoped Captain Sholto would be soon hame, or he might shut up his shop en- tirely ; for Mr. Harry was kept sae close wi’ his Latin nonsense, that, though his will was very gude to be in the wood from morning till night, there would be a hope- ful lad lost, and no making a man of him. It was not SO, he had heard, in Lord Ravenswood’s:time—when a buck was to be killed, man and mother’s son ran to see; and when the deer fell, the knife was always presented to the knight, and he never gave less than a dollar for the com- pliment.. And there was Kdgar Ravenswood—Master of Ravenswood that is now—when he goes up ‘o the wood-—there hasna been a better hunter since Tristrem’‘3THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOQGR. 67 time—when Sir Edgar hauds out,* down goes the deer, faith. Dut we bae lost a’ sense of wood-craft on this side of the hill.” There was much in this harangue highly displeasing to the Lord Keeper’s feelings ; he could not help observ- ing that his menial despised him almost avowedly for not possessing that taste for sport, which in those times was deemed the natural and indispensable attribute of a real gentleman. But the master of the game is, in all coun- try houses, a man of great importance, and entitled to use considerable freedom of speech. Sir William, therefore, only smiled and replied, he had something else to think upon to-day than killing deer; meantime, taking out his purse, he gave the ranger a dollar for his encouragement. The fellow received it as the waiter of a fashionable hotel receives double his proper fee from the hands of a coun- try gentleman,—that is, with a smile, in which pleasure at the gift is mingled with contempt for the ignorance of the donor. “ Your honour is the bad paymaster,” he said, “who pays before it is done. What would you do were I to miss the buck after you have paid me my wood-fee ? ” “J suppose,” said the Keeper, smiling, “ you would lardly guess what I mean were I to tell you of a con- dictio indebiti 2” ‘ Not I, on my saul—I guess it is some law phrase— but sue a beggar, and—your honour knows what follows. —Well, but I will be just with you, and if bow and brach fail not, you shall have a piece of game two fingers fat on the brisket.” As he was about to go off, his master again called him and asked, as if by accident, whether the Master of * Hauds out Holds out, i. e., presents his piece.CI EE eee SO) Sa ae 63 WAVERLEY NOVELS. Ravenswood was actually so brave a man and so good a shooter as the world spoke him ? “ Brave !—brave enough, I warrant you,” answerea Norman; “J was in the wood at Tyninghame, when there was a sort of gallants hunting with my lord: on my saul, there was a buck turned to bay made us all stand back; a stout old Trojan of the first head, ten-tyned branches, and a brow as broad as e’er a bullock’s. Egad, he dashed at the old lord, and there would have been inlake among the peerage, if the Master had not whipt roundly in, and hamstrung him with his cutlass. He was but sixteen, then, bless his heart!” “And is he as ready with the gun as with the cou- teau?” said Sir William. “He'll strike this silver dollar out from beneath my finger and thumb at four score yards, and I’ll hold it out for a gold merk ; what more would ye have of eye, hand, lead, and gunpowder ? ” “Q,no more to be wished, certainly,” said the Lord Keeper; “but we keep you from your sport, Norman. Good-morrow, good Norman.” And humming his rustic roundelay, the yeoman went on his road, the sound of his rough voice gradually dying Away as the distance betwixt them increased :— “The monk must arise when the matins ring, The abbot may sleep to their chime; But the yeoman must start when the bugles sing, ’Tis time, my hearts, ’tis time. “'There’s bucks and raes on Bilhope braes, There’s a herd on Shortwood Shaw: But a lily-white doe in the garden gues, She’s fairly worth them a’.”THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOk. 69 “ Has this fellow,” said the Lord Keeper, when the yeoman’s song had died on the wind, “ ever served the Ravenswood people, that he seems so much interested in them? I suppose you know, Lucy, for you make it a point of conscience to record the special history of every boor about the castle.” “T am not quite so faithful a chronicler, my dear father; but I believe that Norman once served here while «a boy, and before he went to Ledington, whence you hired him. But if you want to know any thing of the former family, Old Alice is the best authority.” “And what should I have to do with them, pray, Lucy,” said her father, “ or with their history or accom- plishments ?” “ Nay, I do not know, sir; only that you were asking questions of Norman about young Ravenswood.” “ Pshaw, child! ”—replied her father, yet immediately added, “ And who is old Alice? I think you know all the old women in the country.” “To be sure I do, or how could I help the old crea- tures when they are in hard times? And as to old Alice, she is the very empress of old women, and queen of gossips, so far as legendary, lore is concerned, She is blind, poor old soul, but when she speaks to you, you would think she has some way of looking into your very heart. J am sure I often cover my face, or turn it away, for it seems as if she saw one change colour, though she has been blind these twenty years. She is worth visiting, were it but to say you have seen a blind and paralytic old woman have so much acuteness of perception, and dignity of manners. I assure you she might be a countess from her language and behaviour.—Come, you must go wo see Alice; we are not a quarter of a mile from her 20ttage.”ee ne ge a ere eee eee AAs, aD WAVERLEY NOVELS. “ All this, my dear,’ said the Lord Keeper, “is no answer to my question, who this woman is, and what is her connexion with the former proprietor’s family ?” “Q, it was something of a nourice-ship, I believe; and she remained here, because her two grandsons were ep- gaged in your service. But it was against her will, I fancy; for the poor old creature is always regretting the change of times and of property.” > “T am much obliged to her,’ answered the Lord Keeper. “She and her folk eat my bread, and drink my cup, and are lamenting all the while that they are not still under a family which never could do good, either to themselves or any one else! ” “Indeed,” replied Lucy, “I am certain you do old Alice injustice. She has nothing mercenary about her, and would not accept a penny in charity, if it were to save her from being starved. She is only talkative, like all old folk, when you put them on stories of their youth ; and she speaks about the Ravenswood people, because she lived under them so many years. But I am sure she is grateful to you, sir, for your protection, and that she would rather speak to you, than to any other person in the whole world beside. Do, sir, come and see ald Alice.” And, with the freedom of an indulged daughter, she dragged the Lord Keeper in the direction she desired.THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 71 CHAPTER IV. Through tops of the high trees she did descry A little smoke, whose vapour, thin, and light, Reeking aloft, uprolled to the sky, Which cheerful sign did send unto her sight, That in the same did wonne some living wight. SPENSER. Li cy acted as her father’s guide, for he was too much engrossed with his political labours, or with society, to be perfectly acquainted with his own extensive domains, and, — ) oS ~ moreover, was generally an inhabitant of the city of Edinburgh; and she, on the other hand, had, with her mother, resided the whole summer in Ravenswood, and partly from-taste, partly from want of any other amuse- ment, had, by her frequent rambles, learnt to know each lane, alley, dingle, or bushy dell, And every bosky bourne from side to side. We have said that the Lord Keeper was not indifferent to the beauties of nature; and we add, in Justice to him, that he felt them doubly, when pointed out by the beauti- ful, simple, and interesting girl, who, hanging on his arm with filial kindness, now called him to admire the size of some ancient oak, and now the unexpected turn, where the path, developing its maze from glen or dingle, sud- denly reached an eminence commanding an extensive view of the plains beneath them, and then graduallyRE eee te ta me serena WAVERLEY NOVELS. glided away from the prospect to lose itself among rocks and thickets, and guide to scenes of deeper seclusion. It was when pausing on one of those points of exten sive and commanding view, that Lucy told her father they were close by the cottage of her blind protégée; and on turning from the little hill, a path which led around it, worn by the daily steps of the infirm inmate, brought them in sight of the hut, which, embosomed in a deep and obscure dell, seemed to have been so situated purposely to bear a correspondence with the darkened state of its inhabitant. The cottage was situated immediately under a tall rock, which in some measure beetled over it, as if threat- ening to drop some detached fragment from its brow, on the frail tenement beneath. The hut itself was on- structed of turf and stones, and rudely roofed over with thatch, much of which was in a dilapidated condition. The thin blue smoke rose from it in a light column, and curled upward along the white face of the incumbent rock, giving the scene a tint of exquisite softness. Ina small and rude garden, surrounded by straggling elder- > bushes, which formed a sort of imperfect hedge, sat, near to the beehives, by the produce of which she lived, that “woman old,” whom Lucy had brought her father hither to visit. Whatever there had been which was disastrous in her fortune—whatever there was miserable in her dwelling, it was easy to judge, by the first glance, that neither years, poverty, misfortune, nor infirmity, had broken the spirit of this remarkable woman. She occupied a turf-seat placed under a weeping birch of unusual magnitude and age, as Judah is represented sitting under her palm-tree, with an air at once of majestyTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 73 and of dejection. Hor figure was tall, commanding, and but little bent by the infirmities of old age. Her dress, though that of a peasant, was uncommonly clean, forming in that particular a strong contrast to most of her rank, and was disposed with an attention to neatness, ard even to taste, equally unusual. But it was her expression of countenance which chiefly struck the spectator, ané mduced most persons to address her with a degree of deference and civility very inconsistent with the miser able state of her dwelling, and which, nevertheless, she received with that easy composure which shewed she felt it to be her due. She had once been beautiful, but her beauty had been of a bold and masculine cast, such as does not survive the bloom of youth; yet her features continued to express strong sense, deep reflection, and a character of sober pride, which, as we have already said of her dress, appeared to argue a conscious superiority to those of her own rank. It scarce seemed possible that a face, deprived of the advantage of sight, could have expressed character so strongly; but her eyes, which were almost totally closed, did not, by the display of their sightless orbs, mar the countenance to which they could add nothing. She seemed in a ruminating posture, soothed, perhaps, by the murmurs of the busy tribe around her, to abstraction, though not to slumber. Lucy undid the latch of the little garden gate, and solicited the old woman’s attention. ‘“ My father, Alice, is come to see you.” “ He is welcome, Miss Ashton, and so are you,” said (he old woman, turning and inclining her head towards her visitors. “This is a fine morning for your beehives, mother,” waid the Lord Keeper, who, struck with the outward ap-nae eR ee eee Se Zp WAVERLEY NOVELS. pearance of Alice, was somewhat curious to know if her conversation would correspond with it. “TI believe so, my lord,” she replied. “I feel the air breathe milder than of late.” “You do not,” resumed the statesman, “take charge of these bees yourself, mother ?—How do you manage them ? ”— ; “ By delegates, as kings do their subjects,” resumed Alice; “and I am fortunate in a prime minister—Here, Babie.” She whistled on a small silver call which hung around her neck, and which at that time was sometimes used to summon domestics, and Babie, a girl of fifteen, made her appearance from the hut, not altogether so cleanly arrayed as she would probably have been had Alice had the use of her eyes, but with a greater air of neatness than was upon the whole to have been expected. “ Babie,” said her mistress, “offer some bread and honey to the Lord Keeper and Miss Ashton—they will excuse your awkwardness if you use cleanliness and despatch.” Babie performed her mistress’s command with the grace which was naturally to have been expected, moving to and fro with a lobster-like gesture, her feet and legs tending one way, while her head, turned in a different direction, was fixed in wonder upon the laird, who was more frequently heard of than seen by his tenants and dependents. The bread and honey, however, deposited on a plantain leaf, was offered and accepted in all due courtesy. The Lord Keeper, still retaining the place which he had occupied on the decayed trunk of a fallen tree, looked as if he wished to prolong the interview, bu! was at a loss how to introduce a suitable subject.Sires Se RSE aaah eS > THE BRITE OF LAMMERMOOR. 7d “You have been long a resident on this property ?” he said, after a pause. “Jt is now nearly sixty years since I first knew Ra- venswood,” answered the old dame, whose conversation, though perfectly civil and respectful, seemed cautiously limited to the unavoidable and necessary task of replying to Sir William. “You are not, I should judge by your accent, of this country originally?” said the Lord Keeper, in con tinuation. “No; I am by birth an Englishwoman.” “Yet you seem attached to this country as if it were your own.” “Tt is here,” replied the blind woman, “that I have drunk the cup of joy and of sorrow which Heaven des- tined for me. I was here the wife of an upright and affectionate husband for more than twenty years—I was here the mother of six promising children—it was here that God deprived me of all these blessings—it was here they died, and yonder, by yon ruined chapel, they he all buried—I had no country but theirs while they lived—I have none but theirs now they are no more.” “ But your house,” said the Lord Keeper, looking at it, “ig miserably ruinous ?” “Do, my dear father,” said Lucy, eagerly, yet bash- fully, catching at the hint, “ give orders to make ic better, .—that is, if you think it proper.” “Tt will last my time, my dear Miss Lucy,” said the L lind woman; “I would not have my lord give himself the least trouble about it.” “ But,” said Lucy, “ you once had a much better house. and were rich, and now in your old age to live in this ] hovelAEE Ee PALES LLL LOLAD LD SLY SII ye AS pS we Pienaar dade 76 WAVERLEY NOVELS. “It is as good as I deserve, Miss Lucy; if my heart has not broke with what I have suffered, and seen others suffer, it must have been strong enough, and the rest of this old frame has no right to call itself weaker.” “You have probably witnessed many changes,” said the Lord Keeper; “but your experience must have taught you to expect them.” “It has taught me to endure them, my lord,” was the reply. “Yet you knew that they must needs arrive in the course of years?” said the statesman. “Ay; as I know that the stump, on or beside which you sit, once a tall and lofty tree, must needs one day fall by decay, or by the axe; yet I hoped my eyes might not witness the downfall of the tree which overshadowed my dwelling.” “Do not suppose,” said the Lord Keeper, “ that you will lose any interest with me, for looking back with regret to the days when another family possessed my estates. You had reason, doubtless, to love them, and I respect your gratitude. I will order some repairs in your cottage, and I hope we shall live to be friends when we know each other better.” “Those of my age,” returned the dame, “make no new friends. I thank you for your bounty—it is well intended, undoubtedly ; but I have all I want, and I can. not accept more at your lordship’s hands.” “ Well, then,” continued the Lord Kec per, “ at least allow me to say, that I look upon you as a woman of sense and education beyond your appearance, and that I hope you will continue to reside on this property of mine rent-free for your life.” “T hope I shall,” said the old dame, composedly ; * JTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 772 believe that was made an article in the sale of Ravens- wood to your lordship, though such a trifling circumstance may have escaped your recollection.” “YT remember—I recollect,” said his lordship, some: what confused. “I perceive you are too much attached to your old friends to accept any benefit from their suc. cessor.” “ Far from it, my lord; I am grateful for the benefits which I decline, and I wish I could pay you for offering them, better than what I am now about to say.” The Lord Keeper looked at her in some surprise, but said not a word. “ My lord,” she continued, in an impressive and solemn tone, “take care what you do; you are on the brink of a precipice.” “Indeed ?” said the Lord Keeper, his mind reverting to the political circumstances of the country. “ Has any plot or con- anything come to your knowledge spiracy ?.” “No, my lord; those who traffic in such commodities do not call into their councils the old, blind, and infirm. My warning is of another kind. You have driven mat- ters hard with the house of Ravenswood. JBelieve a true tale—they are a fierce house, and there is danger in deal- ing with men when they become desperate.” “ Tush,” answered the Keeper; “what has been be- tween us has been the work of the law, not my doing; and to the law they must look, if they would impugn my proceedings.” - “ Ay, but they may think otherwise, and take the law into their own hand, when they fail of other means of redress.” “ What mean you?” said the Lord Keeper. “ Young Ravengwood would not have recourse to personal violence 2” - = Pe y % ’ !Te Cee eee ee ee Eee) TE TE Peace a SS 18 WAVERLEY NOVELS. “God forbid I should say so! I know nothing of the youth but what is honourable and open—honourable and open, said 1?—I should have added, free, generous, noble, But he is still a Ravenswood, and may bide his time. Remember the fate of Sir George Lockhart.” * The Lord Keeper started as she called to his recollau. tion a tragedy so deep and so recent. The old woman proceeded: “ Chiesley, who did the deed, was a relative of Lord Ravenswood. In the hall of Ravenswood, in my presence, and in that of others, he avowed publicly his determination to do the cruelty which he afterwards committed. I could not keep silence, though to speak it ill became my station. ‘ You are devising a dreadful erime,’ I said, ‘for which you must reckon before the * President of the Court of Session. He was pistolled in the High Street of Edinburgh, by John Chiesley of Dalry, in the year 1689. ‘he revenge of this desperate man was stimulated by an opinion that he had sustained injustice in a decreet-arbitral pronounced by the rovision of about £93 in favour oi his wife and children. He is said at "resident, assigning an alimentary } first to have designed to shoot the judge while attending upon divine worship, but was diverted by me feeling concerning the sanctity of the place. After the congre- gation was dismissed, he dogged his victim as far as the head of the 'ose on the south side of the Lawn-market, in which "se€ was situated, and shot him dead as he was about to enter it. rhis act was done 1e President’s in the presence of numerous spectators. The assassin made no attempt to fly, but boasted of the deed, saying, “ I have taught the President how to do justice.’’ He had at least given him fair warning, as Jack Cade says on a similar occasion. The mur- derer, after undergoing the torture, by a special act of the Estates of Provost of Edinburgh, as high ot Parliament, was tried before the Lord sheriff, and condemned to be drageed on a hurdle to the place of exe- cution, to have his right hand struck off while he yet lived, and, finally, to be hung %n the gallows with the pistol wherewith he shot the President tied round his neck. Bd of April, 1689; and the incident was long remembered as a dread- ful instance of what the law bool Scotorum This execution took place on the ~ know my father, or you are deceiving me with a story of ¥; his safety, when he has already fallen a victim to the fury | of that animal.” When she had caught this idea, she started from the ground, and endeavoured to press towards the avenue in , \ which the accident had taken place, while the stranger, though he seemed to hesitate between the desire to assist and the wish to leave her, was obliged, in common . humanity, to oppose her both by entreaty and action. o 4 “On the word of a gentleman, madam, I tell you the truth ; your father is in perfect safety ; you will expose yourself to injury if you venture back where the herd of wild cattle grazed.—If you will go”—for, having once adopted the idea that her father was still in danger, sheee
  • ? Am sure, permit us to request “Request nothing of me, my lord,” said the stranger, in a stern and peremptory tone; “I am the Master of Ravenswood.” There was a dead pause of surprise, not unmixed with less pleasant feelings. The Master wrapt himself in his cloak, made a haughty inclination towards Lucy, mutter- ing a few words of courtesy, as indistinctly heard as they seemed to be reluctantly uttered, and, turning from them, was immediately lost in the thicket. {> “ The Master of Ravenswood said the Lord Keeper, when he had recovered his momentary astonishment— “ Hasten after him—stop him—beg him ‘to speak to me for a single moment.” The two foresters accordingly set off in pursuit of the stranger. They speedily reappeared, and in an embar- rassed and awkward manner, said the gentleman would not return. The Lord Keeper took one of the fellows aside, and questioned him more closely what the Master of Ravenswood had said. “He just said he wadna come back, with the caution of a prudent Scotsman, who cared not ’ > said the man, to be the bearer of an unpleasant errand. “ He said something more, sir,” said the Lord Keeper, and I insist on knowing what it was.” “ Why, then, my lord,” said the man, looking down, “he said—But it wad be nae pleasure to your lordship to hear it, for I dare say the Master meant nae He “That’s none of your concern, sir ; T desire ‘o hear the very words.”Ae EEE. So eh i SUFI Eas Bal tele. 92 WAVERLEY NOVELS. “Weel, then,” replied the man, “he said, Tell Siz William Ashton, that the next time he and I ‘orgather, he will not be half sae blithe of our meeting us of our parting.” “Very well, sir,” said the Lord Keeper, “I believe he alludes to a wager we have on our hawks—it is a matter of no consequence.” He turned to his daughter, who was by this time so much recovered as to be able to walk home. But the effect which the various recollections, connected with a scene so terrific, made upon a mind which was suscepti- ble in an extreme degree, was more permanent than the injury which her nerves had sustained. Visions of terror, both in sleep and in waking reveries, recalled to her the form of the furious animal, and the dreadful bellow with which he accompanied his career ; and it was always the image of the Master of Ravenswood, with his native nobleness of countenance and form, that seemed to inter- pose betwixt her and assured death. It is, perhaps, at all times dangerous for a young person to suffer recollec- tion to dwell repeatedly, and with too much complacency, on the same individual; but in Lucy’s situation it was almost unavoidable. She had never happened to see a young man of mien and features so romantic and so striking as young Ravenswood; but had she seen an hundred his equals or his superiors in those particulars, no one else could have been linked to her heart by thy strong associations of remembered danger and escape, of’ gratitude, wonder, and curiosity. I say curiosity, for it is likely that the singularly restrained and unaccom- modating manners of the Master of Ravenswood, so much at variance with the natural expression of his features and grace of his deportment, as they excitedTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 93 wonder by the contrast, had their effect in riveting her attention to the recollection. She knew little of Ravens- wood, or the disputes which had existed betwixt her father and his, and perhaps could in her gentleness of mind hardly have comprehended the angry and bitter passions which they had engendered. But she knew that he was come of noble stem; was poor, though descended from the noble and the wealthy; and she felt that she could sympathize with the feelings of a proud mind, which urged him to recoil from the proffered gratitude of the new proprietors of his father’s house and domains. Would he have equally shunned their acknowledgments and avoided their intimacy, had her father’s request been urged more mildly, less abruptly, and softened with the grace which women so well know how to throw into their manner, when they mean to mediate betwixt the head- long passions of the ruder sex? This was a perilous question to ask her own mind—perilous both in the idea and in its consequences. Lucy Ashton, in short, was involved in those mazes of the imagination which are most dangerous to the young and the sensitive. Time, it is true, absence, change of scene and new faces, might probably have destroyed the illusion in her instance as it has done in many others; but her residence remained solitary, and her mind without those means of dissipating her pleasing visions. ‘This solitude was chiefly owing to the absence of Lady Ashton, who was at this time in Edinburgh, watching the progress of some state intrigue; the Lord Keeper only received society out of policy or ostentation, and was by nature rather reserved and unsociable; and thus no cavalier appeared to rival or to obscure the ideal picture of ehivalrous excellence which Lucy had pictured to herself m the Master of Ravenswood.LLLLLLA LLL LOL ee Ee ER CTC one AAP ED J4 WAVERLEY NOVELS. While Lucy indulged in these dreams, she made tre- quent visits to old blind Alice, hoping it would be easy to lead her to talk on the subject, which at present she had so imprudently admitted to occupy so large a portion of her thoughts. But Alice did not in this particular gratify her wishes and expectations. She spoke readily, and with pathetic feeling, concerning the family in gen- eral, but seemed to observe an especial and cautious silence on the subject of the present representative. ‘The little she said of him was not altogether so favourable as Lucy had anticipated. She hinted that he was of a stern and unforgiving character, more ready to resent than to pardon injuries; and Lucy combined with great alarm the hints which she now dropped of these dangerous qualities, with Alice’s advice to her father, so emphatically given, “to beware of Ravenswood.” But that very Ravenswood, of whom such unjust sus- picions had been entertained, had, almost immediately after they had been uttered, confuted them, by saving at once her father’s life and her own. TIlad he nourished such black revenge as Alice’s dark hints seemed to indi- eate, no deed of active guilt was necessary to the full gratification of that evil passion. He needed but to have withheld for an instant his indispensable and effective assistance, and the object of his resentment must have perished, without any direct aggression on his part, by a death equally fearful and certain. She con- ceived, therefore, that some secret prejudice, or the sus- picions incident to age and misfortune, had led Alice te form conclusions injurious to the character, and irrecon- cilable both with the generous conduct and noble features of the Master of Ravenswood. And in this belief Lucey reposed her hope, and went on weaving her enchanted De se aeTHR BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 95 web of fairy tissue, as beautiful and transient as the film of the gossamer, when it is pearled with the morning dew and glimmering to the sun. Her father, in the meanwhile, as well as the Master of Ravenswood, were making reflections, as frequent though more solid than those of Lucy, upon the singular event which had taken place. The Lord Keeper’s first task, when he returned home, was to ascertain by medical advice that his daughter had sustained no injury from the dangerous and alarming situation in which she had been placed. Satisfied on this topic, he proceeded to revise the memoranda which he had taken down from the mouth of the person employed to interrupt the funeral service of the late Lord Ravenswood. Bred to casuisiry, and well accustomed to practise the ambidexter ingenuity of the bar, it cost him little trouble to soften the features of the tumult which he had been at first so anxious to exaggerate. He preached to his colleagues of the Privy Council the necessity of using conciliatory measures with young men, whose blood and temper were hot, and their experience of life limited. He did not hesitate to attri- bute some censure to the conduct of the officer, as having been unnecessarily irritating. These were the contents of his public despatches. The letters which he wrote to those private friends into whese management the matter was likely to fall, were Of aye more favourable tenor. He represented that lenity in this case would be equally politic and popular, whereas, considering the high respect with which the rites of inter- ment are regarded in Scotland, any severity exercised against the Master of Ravenswood for protecting those ot his father from interruption, would be on all sides most unfavourably - construed. And, finally, assumingLIT ERE I ee ead eT ee nee ny ny tain itn IDE nip crepe tan na nomeaath Fe ne 96 WAVERLEY NOVELS. the language of a generous and high-spirited man, he made it his particular request, that this affair should be passed over without severe notice. He alluded with delicacy to the predicament in which he himself stood with young Ravenswood, as having succeeded in the long train of litigation by which the fortunes of that noble house had been so much reduced, and confessed it would be most peculiarly acceptable to his feelings, could he find means in some sort to counterbalance the disad- vantages which he had occasioned the family, though only in the prosecution of his just and lawful rights. He therefore made it his particular and personal request that the matter should have no farther consequences, and in- sinuated a desire that he himself should have the merit of having put a stop to it by his favourable report and intercession. It was particularly remarkable, that, con- trary to his uniform practice, he made no special commu- nication to Lady Ashton upon the subject of the tumult ; and although he mentioned the alarm which Lucy had received from one of the wild cattle, yet he gave no (+ tailed account of an incident so interesting and terrible. There was much surprise among Sir William Ashton’s political friends and colleagues on receiving letters of a tenor so unexpected. On comparing notes together, one smiled, one put up his eyebrows, a third nodded aecqui- escence in the general wonder, and a fourth asked, if they were sure these were all the letters the Lord Keeper had written on the subject. “It runs strangely in my mind, my lords, that none of these advices contain the root of the matter.” But no secret letters of a contrary nature had been re- ceived, although the question seemed to imply the possi- bility of their existence.THE BRIDE Ok LAMMERMOOR. 97 & T Fs 99 Qo ’ ‘ 7p S Well,” said an old grey-headed statesman, who had vontrived, by shiftimg and trimming, to maintain his post \ ! at the steerage through all the changes of course which the vessel had held for thirty years, “I thought Sir Wil- liam would hae verified the auld Scottish saying, ‘As soon - comes the lamb’s skin to market as the auld tup’s.’” i. “We must please him after his own fashion,” said anoth«r, “though it be an unlooked-for one.” “A wilful man maun hae his way,” answered the old sounsellor. ; j “The Keeper will rue. this before year and day are A | out,” said a third; “the Master of Ravenswood is the a lad to wind him a pirn.” * | \ “Why, what would you do, my lords, with the poor young fellow?” said a noble Marquis present; “the he has not a cross Lord Keeper has got all his estates to bless himself with.” On which the ancient Lord Turntippet replied, ‘If he hasna gear to fine, He has shins to pine— | { And that was our way before the Revolution—Luittur eum persona, qui luere non potest cum erumenat—Hegh, my lords, that’s gude law Latin.” “TI can see no motive,’ replied the Marquis, “ that any noble lord can have for urging this matter farther ; let the Lord Keeper have the power to deal in it as he pleases.” | “ Aoree, agree—remit to the Lord Keeper, with any other person for fashion’s sake—Lord Hirplehooly, whio * Wind him a pirn, proverbial for preparing a troublesome business for some person +i. e., Let him pay with his person who cannot pay with his purse. WOL. XV. 7De ee fa Ee Le Ma ee eee SE ee TE aire ns en ee . b8 WAVERLEY NOVELS. is bed-ridden the minutes, Mr. Clerk—And now, my lords, there is one to be a quorum—Make your entry in that young scattergood, the Laird of Bucklaw’s fine to be disponed upon—lI suppose it goes to my Lord Treas- urer ?” «Shame be in my meal-poke, then,’ Turntippet, “and your hand aye in the nook of it! I had > exclaimed Lord set that down for a by bit between meals tur mysell.” “To use one of your favourite saws, my lord,” replied the Marquis, “you are like the miller’s dog, that licks his lips before the bag is untied—the man is not fined wel.; “ But that costs but twa skarts of a pen,’ said Lord Turntippet; “and surely there is nae noble lord that will presume to say, that I, who h.-e complied wi’ a’ compli- ances, tane all manner of tests, abjured all that was to be abjured, and sworn a’ that was to be sworn, for these thirty years bypast, sticking fast by my duty to the state through good report and bad report, shouldna hae some- thing now and then to synd my mouth wi’ after sic drouthy wark? Eh?” “Tt would be very unreasonable indeed, my lord, replied the Marquis, “had we either thought that your lordship’s drought was quenchable, or observed any thing stick in your throat that required washing down.” And so we close the scene on the Privy Council of that period. Pie coer bs nt saTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 99 CHAPTER VI. For this are all these warriors come, To hear an idle tale; And o’er our death-accustom’d arms Shall silly tears prevail? HENRY MACKENZIE. On the evening of the day when the Lord Keeper and his daughter were saved from such imminent peril, two strangers were seated in the most private apartment of a small obscure inn, or rather ale-house, called the Tod’s Den, about three or four miles from the Castle of Ravenswood, and as far from the ruinous tower of Wolf’s Crag, betwixt which two places it was situated. One of these strangers was about forty years of age, tall, and thin in the flanks, with an aquiline nose, dark penetrating eyes, and a shrewd but sinister cast of coun- tenance. The other was about fifteen years younger, short, stout, ruddy-faced, and red-haired, with an open, resolute, and cheerful eye, to which careless and fearless freedom, and inward daring, gave fire and expression, notwithstanding its light grey colour. A stoup of wine (for in those days it was served out from the cask in pewter flagons) was placed on the table, and each had his quaigh or bicker * before him. But there was little * Drinking cups of different sizes, made out of staves hooped together. The guaigh was used chiefly for drinking wine or brandy; tt might hold about a gill, and waz often composed of rare wood, and surionsly ornamented with silver.AAD ELLOS AD ALLEY SLA SLI TI LEA LD, ge Te 104 WAVERLEY NOVELS. appearance of vonviviality. With folded arms, and looks of anxious expectation, they eyed each other in silence, each wrapt in his own thoughts, and holding no communi- cation with his neighbour. At length the younger broke silence by exclaiming, “What the foul fiend can detain the Master so long? he must have miscarried in his enterprise-—Why did you dissuade me from going with him?” “One man is enough to right his own wrong,” said the taller and older personage; “we venture our lives for him in coming thus far on such an errand.” “ You are but a craven after all, Craigengelt,” answered the younger, “and that’s what many folk have thought you before now.” “ But what none has dared to tell me,” said Craigen- gelt, laying his hand on the hilt of his sword; “and, but that I hold a hasty man no better than a fool, I would ”— he paused for his companion’s answer. “ Would you?” said the other coolly; “and why do you not then?” Craigengelt drew his cutlass an inch or two, and then returned it with violence into the scabbard—‘ Because there is a deeper stake to be played for, than the lives of twenty harebrained gowks like you.” “ You are right there,” said his companion, “ for if it were not that these forfeitures, and that last fine that the old driveller ‘Turntippet is gaping for, and which, I dare- yay, 18 laid on by this time, have fairly driven me out of house and home, I were a coxcomb and a euckoo to boot, to trust your fair promises of getting me a commission in the Irish brigade-—what have I to do with the Irish brigade? I am a plain Scotsman as my father was before me; and my grand-aunt, Lady Girnington, cannot live lor ever.”THE BRIDF OF LAMMERMOOR 101 “Ay, Bucklaw,” observed Craigengelt, “but she may live for many a long day; and for your father, he had land and living, kept himself close from wadsetters and money-lenders, paid each man his due, and lived on his own.” “And whose fault is it that I have not done so too?” said Bucklaw—“ whose but the devil’s and yours, and such like as you, that have led me to the far end of a fair estate? and now I shall be obliged, I suppose, to shelter and shift about like yourself—live one week upon a line of secret intelligence from Saint Germains—auother upon report of a rising in the Highlands—get my break- fast and morning-draught of sack from old Jacobite ladies, and give them locks of my old wig for the Chevalier’s hair—second my friend in his quarrel till he comes to the field, and then flinch from him lest so important a political agent should perish from the way. All this I must do for bread, besides calling myself a Captain!” “You think you are making a fine speech now,” said Craigengelt, “and shewing much wit at my expense. Is starving or hanging better than the life I am obliged to lead, because the present fortunes of the king cannot sufficiently support his envoys?” “Starving is honester, Craigengelt, and hanging is like tobe the end on’t.—But what you mean to make of this poor fellow Ravenswood, I know not—he has*no money left, any more than I—his lands are all pawned and gledged, and the interest eats up the rents and is not satisfied, and what do you hope to make by meddling in his affairs?” “Content yourself, Bucklaw; I know my business,” replied Craigengelt. “Besides that his name, and his father’s: services in 1689, will make such an acquisitionPe cee A eee Dem ee pa gh eee en EE a 102 WAVERLEY NOVELS. sound well both at Versailles and Saint Germains—you will also please be informed, that the Master of Ravens- wood is a very different kind of young fellow from you He has parts and address, as well as courage and talents, and will present himself abroad like a young man of head as well as heart, who knows something more than the speed of a horse .or the flight of a hawk. I have lost eredit of late, by bringing over no one that had sense to know more than how to unharbour a stag, or take and reclaim an eyess. The Master has education, sense, and penetration.” “ And yet is not wise enough to escape the tricks of a kidnapper, Craigengelt?” replied the younger man. “ But don’t be angry; you know you will not fight, and so it is as well to leave your hilt in peace and quiet, and tell me in sober guise how you drew the Master into your eonfidence ¢” “By flattering his love of vengeance, Bucklaw,” answered Craigengelt. “He has always distrusted me, but I watched my time, and struck while his temper was red-hot with the sense of insult and of wrong. He goes now to expostulate, as he says, and perhaps thinks, with Sir William Ashton. I say that if they meet, and the lawyer puts him to his defence, the Master will kill him; for he had that sparkle in his eye which never deceives you when *you would read a man’s purpose. At any rate, he will give him such a bullying as will be construed into an assault on a privy-councillor; so there will be a total breach betwixt him and government; Scotland will be too hot for him, France will gain him, and we will all set sail together in the French brig L’Espoir, which is hover- ing for us off Kyemouth.” “Content am IJ,” said Bucklaw; “ Scotland has littleTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 1038 left that I care about; and if carrying the Master with us will’ get us a better reception in France, why, so be it, a God’s name. I doubt our own merits will procure us slender preferment; and I trust he will send a ball (hrough the Keeper’s head before he joins us. One or two of these scoundrel statesmen should be shot. once a-year, just to keep the others on their good behaviour.” “That is very true,’ replied Craigengelt; “and it reminds ms that I must go and see that our horses have been fed, and are in readiness; for should such deed be done, it will be no time for grass to grow beneath their heels.” He proceeded as far as the door, then turned back with a look of earnestness, and said to Bucklaw, “ Whatever should come of this business, | am sure you will do me the justice to remember, that I said nothing to the Master which could imply my accession to any act ef violence which he may take into his head to commit.” “ No, no, not a single word like accession,” replied Bucklaw ; “ you know too well the risk belonging to these two terrible words, art and part.” Then, as if to himself, he recited the following lines: “ The dial spoke not, but it made shrewd signs, And pointed full upon the stroke of murder.”’ © “What is that you are talking to yourself?” said Craigengelt, turning back with some anxiety. “ Nothing—only two lines I have heard upon the itage,” replied his companion. “ Bucklaw,” said Craigengelt, “I sometimes think you should have been a stage-player yourself ; all is fancy and frolic with you.” “J have often thought so myself,’ said Bucklaw. believe it would be safer than acting with you in the oc |ee er ee AAAI AAA BILLA AAPL pee ity a 104 WAVERLEY NOVELS. Fatal Conspiracy. But away, play your own part, and look after the horses like a groom as you are. A play-actor—a stage-player!” he repeated to himself; “that would have deserved a stab, but that Craigengelt’s a coward—And yet I should like the profession well enough—Stay—let me see—ay—I would come out in A lexander— ‘ Thus from the grave I rise to save my love, eo Draw all your swords, and quick as lightning move; When I rush on, sure none will dare to stay, Tis love commands, and glory leads the way.” As with a voice of thunder, and his hand upon his sword, Bucklaw repeated the ranting couplets of poor Lee, Craigengelt, ré-entered with a face of alarm. ““We are undone, Bucklaw! the Master’s led horse has cast himself over his halter in the stable, and is dead lame—his hackney will be set up with the day’s work, and now he has no fresh horse; he will never get off.” “Kegad, there will be no moving with the speed of lightning this bout,’ said Bucklaw, dryly. “ But stay, you can give him yours.” “What! and be taken myself? I thank you for the proposal,” said Craigengelt. “ Why,” replied Bucklaw, “if the Lord Keeper should have met with a mischance, which for my part I cannot suppose, for the Master is not the lad to shoot an old and unarmed man—but 7f there should have been a fray at the Castle, you are neither art nor part in it, you know, so have nothing to fear.” “True, true,” answered the other, with ~embarrass< ment; “but consider my commission from Saint Ger. mains.”THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 108 “ Which many men think is a commission of your own making, noble captain. Well, if you will not give him your horse, why, d—n it, he must have mine.” “Yours?” said Craigengelt. “ Ay, mine,” repeated Bucklaw ; “it shall never be said that I agreed to back a gentleman in a little affair cf honour, and neither helped him on with it nor off from it.” “You will give him your horse? and have you con- sidered the loss ?” “Loss! why, Grey Gilbert cost me twenty Jacobuses, that’s true; but then his hackney is worth something, and his Black Moor is worth twice as much were he sound, and I know how to handle him. Take a fat sucking mastiff whelp, flay and bowel him, stuff the body full of black and grey snails, roast a reasonable time, and baste “with oil of spikenard, saffron, cinna- mon and honey, anoint with the dripping, working it >> in “ Yes, Bucklaw; but in the meanwhile, before the sprain is cured, nay, before the whelp is roasted, you will be caught and hung. Depend on it, the chase will be hard after Ravenswood. I wish we had made our place of rendezvous nearer to the coast.” “On my faith, then,” said Bucklaw, “I had best go off just now, and leave my horse for him—Stay, stay, he comes, I hear a horse’s feet.” “ Are you sure there is only one!” said Craigengelt; “1 fear there is a chase; I think I hear three or four galloping together—I am sure I hear more horses than one.” «Pooh, pooh, it is the wench of the house clattéring ta By my faith, Captain you the well in her pattens.ee tee te eg ee Oe ee eee Aisi Riese: oe TE Ee oe ee A PS Nop VAD Arter DP MO Ne he' 106 WAVERLEY NOVELS. should give up both your captainship and your secret service, for you are as easily scared asa wild-goose. But here comes the Master alone, and looking as gloomy as a night in November.” The Master of Ravenswood entered the room accord. ingly, his cloak muffled around him, his arms folded, his looks stern, and at the same time dejected. He flung his cloak from him as he entered, threw himself upon a chair, and appeared sunk in a profound reverie. “What has happened? What have you done r” was hastily demanded by Craigengelt and Bucklaw in the same moment. “ Nothing,” was the short and sullen answer. “Nothing? and left us, determined to call the old villain to account for all the injuries that you, we, and the country, have received at his hand? - Have you Seen him?” “J have,” replied the Master of Ravenswood. “Seen him? and come away without settling scores 3 which have been so long due ? said Bucklaw; “ I would not have expected that at the hand of the Master of Ravenswood.” “ No matter what you expected,” replied Ravenswood ; “it is not to you, sir, that I shall be disposed to render any reason for my conduct.” “Patience, Bucklaw,”’ said Craigengelt, interrupting his companion, who seemed about to make an angry reply. “The Master has been interrupted in his pur- pose by some accident; but he must excuse the anxious curiosity of friends, who are devoted to his cause like you and me.” “Friends, Captain Craigengelt!” retorted Ravens- wood, haughtily; “I am ignoraut what familiarity has o °THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 107 passed betwixt us to entitle you to use that expression, { think our friendship amounts to this, that we agreed to leave Scotland together so soon as I should have visited the alienated mansion of my fathers, and had an interview with its present possessor—I will not call him proprietor.” “ Very true, Master,’ answered Bucklaw; “and as we thought you had a mind to do something to put your neck in jeopardy, Craigie and I very courteously agreed to tarry for you, although ours might run some risk in consequence. As to Craigie, indeed, it does not very much signify, he had gallows written on his brow in the hour of his birth; but I should not like to discredit my parentage by coming to such an end in another man’s cause.” “ Gentlemen,” said the Master of Ravenswood, “I am sorry if I have occasioned you any inconvenience, but | must claim the right of judging what is best for my own affairs, without rendering explanations to any one. [I have altered my mind, and do not design to leave the country this season.” “Not to leave the country, Master!” exclaimed Craigengelt. “Not to go over, after all the trouble and expense I have incurred—after all the risk of discovery, and the expense of demurrage!” “ Sir,” replied the Master of Ravenswood, “ when [ designed to leave this country in this haste, I made use of your obliging offer to procure me means of conveyance ; but I do not recollect that I pledged myself to go off, if = ‘ | A 2 Ty 12 Kren t hI B found occasion to alter my mind. For yvuur trouble | v on my account, 1 am sorry, and I thank you; your ~ 39 . an i . ei aa ¢ expense,” he added, putting his i:and into his pocket, ‘admits a more solid compensation—freight and demur-a gee pen ee Ee eae EER EE int Ee Pee a Oe EEE 108 WAVERLEY NOVELS. rage are matters with which I am unacquainted, Captain Craigengelt, but take my purse and pay yourself accord- ing to your own conscience.” And accordingly, he tendered a purse with some gold in it to the soi-disant captain. But here Bucklaw interposed in his turn. “ Your fingers, Craigie, seem to itch for that same piece of green net-work,” said he ; “but I make my vow to God, that if they offer to close upon it, I will chop them off with my whinger. Since the Master has changed his mind, I suppose we need stay here no longer; but in the first place I beg leave to tell him——” rou will “Tell him any thing .’ said Craigengelt, “ if j you will first allow me to state the inconveniences to which he will expose himself by quitting our society, to remind him of the obstacles to his remaining here, and of the difficulties attending his proper introduction at Versailles and Saint Germains, without the countenance of those who have established useful connexions.” “ Besides forfeiting the friendship,” said Bucklaw, “ of at least one man of spirit and honour.” “Gentlemen,” said Ravenswood, “permit me once more to assure you, that you have been pleased to attach to our temporary connexion more importance than I ever meant that it should have. When I repair to foreign courts, I shall not need the introduction of an intriguing adventurer, nor is it necessary for me to set value on the friendship of a hot-headed bully.” With these words, and without waiting for an answer, he left the apartment, remounted his horse, and was heard te ride off. _“Mortbleu!” said Captain Craigengelt, “my recruit is lost!”THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 109 “ Ay, Captain,” said Bucklaw, “the salmon is off with hook and all. But I will after him, for I have had more ' of his insolence than I can well digest.” Craigengelt offered to accompany him; but Bucklaw replied, “ No, no, Captain, keep you the cheek of the chimney-nook till I,come back; it’s good sleeping in a hail] skin. Little kens the auld wife that sits by the fire, 14 How cauld the wind blaws in hurle-burle swire.” j And singing as he went he left the apartment,ee ee ee NE ee ee Pee gee, Pee Oe En ED WAVERLEY NOVELS. CHAPTER VIL Now, Billy Bewick, keep good heart, And of thy talking let me be ; But if thou art a man, as I am sure thou art, Come over the dike and fight with me. OLD BALLap. Tar Master of Ravenswood had mounted the ambling hackney which he before rode, on finding the accident which had happened to his led horse, and, for the animal’s ease, was proceeding at a slow pace from: the Tod’s Jen towards his old tower of Wolf’s Crag, when he heard the galloping of a horse behind him, and, looking back, per- ceived that he was pursued by young Bucklaw, who had been delayed a few minutes in the pursuit by the irresist- ible temptation of giving the hostler at the Tod’s Den some recipe for treating the lame horse. ‘This brief delay he had made up by hard galloping, and new overtook. the Master where the road traversed a waste moor. . “ Halt, sir,’ cried Bucklaw; “I am no political agent, —no Cap- lain Craigengelt, whose life is too important to be hazarded in defence of his honour. Jam Frank Hayston of Buck- < law, and no man injures me by word, deed, sign, or look, but he must render me an account of it.” “This is all very well, Mr. Hayston of Bucklaw,” replied the Master of Ravenswood, in a tone the most ealm and indifferent; “but I have no quarrel with you, and desire to have none. Our roads homeward, as wellTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 11} as our roads through life, lie in different directions; there is no occasion for us crossing each other.” “Is there not?” said Bucklaw, scours ‘By Heaven! but I say that there is though—you call us intriguing adventurers.” “ Be correct in your recollection, Mr. Hayston ; it was to your companion only I applied that epithet, and you know him to be no better.” ‘And what then? He was my companion for the time, and no man shall insult my companion, right or wrong, while he is in my company.” “Then, Mr. Hayston,” replied Ravenswood, with the same composure, “ you should choose your society better, or you are like to have much work in your capacity of their champion. Go home, sir, sleep, and have more reason in your wrath to-morrow.” “Not so, Master, you have mistaken your man; high airs and wise saws shall not carry it off thus. Besides, you termed me bully, and you shall retract the word before we part.” “ Faith, scarcely,” said Ravenswood, “ unless you shew me better reason for thinking myself mistaken than you are now Eee “Then, Master,” said Bucklaw, “though I should be sorry to offer it to a man of your quality, if you will not justify your incivility, or retract it, or name a place of meeting, you must here undergo the hard word and the hard blow.” “ Neither will be necessary,” said Ravenswood ; “I am satisfied with what I have done to avoid an affair with you. If you are serious, this place will serve as well as another.” “ Dismount, then, and draw,” said Bucklaw, setting himFee ee ee ASL PLP SLSLE LILLIE Set) Pee OO eee oe aren Sea Sdetaeeet Pe EE 112 WAVERLEY NOVELS. an example. “I always thought and said you:were a pretty man; I should be sorry to report you otherwise.” “You shall have no reason, sir,” said Ravenswood, alighting, and putting himself into a posture of defence, Their swords_crossed, and the combat commenced with great spirit on the part of Bucklaw, who was well accus- tomed to affairs of the kind, and distinguished by address and dexterity at his weapon. In the present case, how- ever, he did not use his skill to advantage ; for, having lost temper at the cool and contemptuous manner in which the Master of Ravenswood had.long refused, and at length granted him satisfaction, and, urged by his impatience, he adopted the part of an assailant with inconsiderate eager- ness. The Master, with equal skill, and much greater eomposure, remained chiefly on the defensive, and even declined to avail himself of one or two advantages afforded him by the eagerness of his adversary. At length, in a desperate lunge, which he followed with an attempt to close, Bucklaw’s foot slipped, and he fell on the short grassy turf on which they were fighting. “Take your lite, sir,” said the Master of Ravenswood, “and mend it, if you can.” “Tt would be but a cobbled piece of work, I fear,” said Bucklaw, rising slowly, and gathering up his sword, much less disconcerted with the issue of the combat. than could have been expected from the impetuosity of his temper. “I thank you for my life, Master,” he pursued. “There is my hand, I bear no ill-will to you, either for my bad luck or your better swordsm: anship.” The Master looked steadily at him for an instant, then extended his hand to him.—* Bucklaw,” he said. you ure a generous fellow, and I have done you wrong. J heartily ask your pardon for the expression which offendedTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 113 you ; it was hastily and incautiously uttered, and I am vonvinced it is totally misapplied.” “ Are you indeed, Master?” said Bucklaw, his face resuming at once its natural expression of light-hearted earelessness and audacity; “that is more than I expected of you; for, Master, men say you are not ready to retraet youl opinions and your language.” “Not when I have well considered them,” said the Master. “Then you are a little wiser than I am, for I always give my friend satisfaction first and explanation after- wards. If one of us falls, all accounts are settled ; if not, men are never so ready for peace as after war.—But what does that brawling brat of a boy want?” said Buck- law. “lI wish to Heaven he had come a few minutes sooner! and yet it must have been ended some time, and perhaps this way is as well as any other.” As he spoke, the boy he mentioned came up, cudgelling an ass. on which he was mounted, to the top of its speed, and sending, like one of Ossian’s heroes, his voice before him.— Gentlemen,—gentlemen, save yourselves! for the gudewife bade us tell ye there were folk in her house had taen Captain Craigencelt, and were seeking for Bucklaw, and that ye behoved to ride for te “By my faith, and that’s very true, my man,” said Bucklaw: “and there’s a silver sixpence for your news, and I would give any man twice as much would tell me Q which way I should ride.” “That will I, Bucklaw,” said Ravenswood; “ride home to Wolf’s Crag with me. There are places in the ald tower where you might lie hid were a thousand men to seek you.” “ But that will bring you into trouble yourself, Master t VOL, XV- 8LLLLIDYLLLLLLL SALA ALLL na ee A SEES SE aN 114 WAVERLEY NOVELS. and unless you be in the Jacobite scrape already, it is quite needless for me to drag you in.” “ Not a whit; I have nothing to fear.” “Then I will ride with you blithely, for, to say the truth, I do not know the rendezvous that Craigie was to guide us to this night; and I am sure that, if he is taken, he will tell all the truth of me, and twenty les of you, in order to save himself from the withie.” They mounted, and rode off in company accordinely, striking off the ordinary road, and holding their way by wild moorish unfrequented paths, with which the gentle- men were well acquainted from the exercise of the chase, but through which others would have had much difficulty in tracing their course. They rode for some time in silence, making such haste as the condition of Ravens- wood’s horse permitted, until night having gradually closed around them, they discontinued their speed, both from the difficulty of discovering their path, and from the hope that they were beyond the reach of pursuit or obser- vation. “And now that we have drawn bridle abit.” said Bucklaw, “I would fain ask you a question, Master.” “ Ask, and welcome,” said Ravenswood, “ but forgive my not answering it, unless I think proper.” “ Well, it is simply this,” answered his late antagonist,— “ What, in the name of old Sathan, could make you, who stand so highly on your reputation, think for a moment of drawing up with such a rogue as Craigengelt, and such & scapegrace as folk call Bucklaw ?” “Simply, because I was desperate, and sought des. perate associates.” “ And what made you break off from us at the nearest ?" again demanded Bucklaw.THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 11s & “ Bacause I had changed my mind,” said the Master, ‘and renounced my enterprise, at least for the present. And now that I have answered your questions fairly and frankly, tell me what makes you associate with Craigen- gelt, so much beneath you both in birth and in spirit ?” “In plain terms,’ answered Bucklaw, “because I am a fool, who have gambled away my land in these times. Aly grand-aunt, Lady Girnington, has taen a new tack of life, I think, and I could only hope to get something by a change of government. Craigie was a sort of gambling acquaintance; he saw my condition; and, as the devil is always at one’s elbow, told me fifty lies abont his credentials from Versailles, and his interest at Saint Germains, promised me a eaptain’s commission at Paris, and I have been ass enough to put my thumb under his belt. I daresay, by this time, he has told a dozen pretty stories of me to the government. And this is what I have got by wine, women, and dice, cocks, dogs, and horses.” “ Yes, Bucklaw,” said the Master, “ you have indeed nourished in your bosom the snakes that are now stinging you.” ‘“ That’s home as well as true, Master,” replied his companion ; “ but, by your leave, you have nursed in your bosom one great goodly snake that has swallowed all the rest, and is as sure to devour you as my half dozen are to make a meal on all that’s left of Bucklaw, which is but what lies between bonnet and boot-heel.” “T must not.” answered the Master of Ravenswood, “challenge the freedom of speech in which I have set example. What, to speak without a metaphor, do you rall this monstrous passion, which you charge me with - "99 fostering ;0A ee Venema ee Si re Ee 116 WAVERLEY NOVELS. “Revenge, my good sir, revenge; which, if it be as gentlemanlike a sin as wine and wassail, with their ef eeteras, is equally unchristian, and not so bloodless. It is better breaking a park-pale, to watch a doe or damsel, than to shoot an old man.” “ J deny the purpose,” said the Master of Ravenswood. “On my soul, I had no such intention; I meant but to confront the oppressor ere I left my native land, and upbraid him with his tyranny and its consequences. I would have stated my wrongs so that they would have shaken his soul within him.” “ Yes,” answered Bucklaw, “and he would have collared you, and cried help, and then you would have shaken the soul owt of him, I suppose. Your very look and manner would have frightened the old man to death.” “ Consider the provocation,” answered Ravenswood— “consider the ruin and death procured and caused by his hard-hearted cruelty—an ancient house destroyed, an affectionate father murdered! Why, in our old Scottish days, he that sat quiet under such wrongs, would have been held neither fit to back a friend nor face a foe.” “Well, Master, Iam glad to see that the devil deals as cunningly with other folk as he deals with me; for whenever I am about to commit any folly. he persuades ‘me it is the most necessary, gallant, gentlemanlike thing on earth, and I am up to saddlegirths in the bog before I see that the ground is soft. And you, Master, might have turned out a murd——a homicide, just out of pure respect for your father’s memory.” “'There is more sense in your language, Bucklaw,” replied the Master, “than might have been expected from your conduct. It is too true, our vices steal upon us in arms outwardly as fair as those of the demons whom theTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 117 superstitious represent as intriguing with the human race, and are not discovered in their native hideousness until we have clasped them in our arms.” “But we may throw them from us, though,” said Bucklaw, “and that is what I shall think of doing one of these days,—that is, when old Lady Girnington dies.” “Did you ever hear the expression of the English divine?” said Ravenswood—*‘ Hell is paved with good intentions ’-as much as’ to say, they are more often formed than executed.” “ Well,’ replied Bucklaw, “but I will begin this blessed night, and have determined not to drink above ene quart of wine, unless your claret be of extraordinary quality.” ° “You will find little to tempt you at Wolf’s Crag,” said the Master. “I know not that I can promise you more than the shelter of my roof; all, and more than all, our stock of wine and provisions was exhausted at the late occasion.” “ Long may it be ere provision is needed for the like purpose,” answered Bucklaw ; “but you should not drink up the last flask at a dirge; there is ill luck in that.” “ There is ill luck, I think, in whatever belongs to me,” said Ravenswood. “ But yonder is Wolf’s Crag, and whatever it still contains is at your service.” The roar of the sea had long announced their approach to the cliffs, on the summit of which, like the nest of some sea-eagle, the founder of the fortalice had perched his eyry. The pale moon, which had hitherto been contend- ing with flitting clouds, now shone out, and gave them a view of the solitary and naked tower, situated on a pro- jecting cliff that beetled on the German Ocean. On three sides the rock was precipitous ; on the fourth, which was |LALLSIR LLL ED LID CLIVE ALLL EN EPID eee Ee inline pat eet eee 118 WAVERLEY NOVELS. that towards the land, it had been originally fenced by an artificial ditch and drawbridge, but the latter was broken down and ruinous, and the former had been in part filled up, so as to allow passage for a horseman into the narrow court-yard, encircled on two sides with low offices: and stables, partly ruinous, and closed on the landward front by a low embattled wall, while the remaining side of the quadrangle was occupied by the tower itself, which, tall and narrow, and built of a greyish stone, stood glimmer- ing in the moonlight, like the sheeted spectre of some huge giant. A wilder or more disconsolate dwelling, it was perhaps difficult to conceive. The sombrous and heavy sound of the billows, successively dashing against the rocky beach at a profound distance beneath, was to the ear what the landscape was to the eye—a symbol of unvaried and monotonous melancholy, not unmingled with horror. Although the night was not far advanced, there was no sign of living inhabitant about this forlorn abode, except- ing that orfe, and only one, of the narrow and stanchelled windows which appeared at irregular heights and distances in the walls of the building, shewed a small olimmer of light. “ There,” said Ravenswood, “ sits the only male domes- tic that remains to the house of Ravenswood: and it ig well that he does remain there, since otherwise, we had little hope to find either light or fire. But follow me cautiously ; the road is narrow, and admits only one horse in front.” In effect, the path led along a kind of isthmus, at the peninsular extremity of which the tower was situated, with that exclusive ‘attention to strength and security, in preference to every circumstance of convenience, whichTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 119 fictaied to the Scottish barons the choice of their situa; tions, as well as their style of building. By adopting the cautious mode of approach recom- mended by the proprietor of this wild held, they entered the court-yard in safety. But it was long ere the efforts of Ravenswood, though loudly exerted by knocking at the low-browed entrance, and repeated shouts to Caleb to open the gate and admit them, received any answer. “The old man must be departed,” he began to say, “ or fallen into some fit; for the noise I have made would have waked the seven sleepers.” At length a timid and hesitating voice replied,—* Mas- ter—Master of Ravenswood, is it you?” “Yes, it is I, Caleb; open the door quickly.” “ But is it you in very blood and body? For I would sooner face fifty deevils as my master’s ghaist, or even his wraith,—wherefore, aroint ye, if ye were ten times my master, unless ye come in bodily shape, lith and limb.” “Tt is I, you old fool,” answered Ravenswood, “ in bodily shape, and alive, save that I am half-dead with cold.” The light at the upper, window disappeared, and glan- oe cing from loop-hole to loop-hole in slow succession, gave intimation that the bearer was in the act of descending, with great deliberation, a winding staircase occupying one of the turrets which graced the angles of the old tower. The tardiness of Iris descent extracted some exclamations of impatience from Ravenswood, and several oaths from his less patient and more mercurial companion. Caleb again paused ere he unbolted the door, and once more asked. if they were men of mould that demanded entrance at this time of night ? “Were I near you, you old fool,” said Bucklaw.ee Le NE Ande pea ps Biriets OS tes, Brien eine ree Da. ee » ur horses put up, and ourselves too, the best way WAVERLEY NOVELS. *I would give you sufficient proofs of my bodily con- dition.” “Open the gate, Caleb,” said his master, in a more soothing tone, partly from his regard to the ancient and faithful seneschal, partly perhaps because he thought that angry words would be thrown away, so long as Caleb had a stout iron-clenched oaken door betwixt his person and the speakers. At length Caleb, with a trembling hand, undid the bars, opened the heavy door, and stood before them, exhibiting his thin grey hairs, bald forehead, and sharp high features, illuminated by a quivering lamp which he held in one hand, while he. shaded and protected its flame with the other. The timorous courteous glance which he threw around him—the effect of the partial light upon his white hair and illumined features, might have made a good painting; but our travellers were too impatient for se- curity against the rising storm, to permit them to indulge themselves in studying the picturesque. “Is it you, my dear master ? is it you yourself, indeed ?” exclaimed the old domestic. “I am wae ye suld hae stude waiting at your ain gate; but wha wad hae thought 0’ seeing ye sae sune, and a strange gentleman with a—(Hlere he ex- claimed apart, as it were, and to some inmate of the tower, in a voice not meant to be heard by those in tl Mysie—Mysie, woman ! 1€ court— stir for dear life, and get the fire mended ; take the auld three-leeved stool, or ony thing that’s readiest that will make. a lowe.)—I doubt we are but puirly provided, no expecting ye this some months, when doubtless ye wad hae been received conform till your rank, as eude right is; but natheless——_” “: Natbeless, Caleb,” said the Master, “we must have Ve Can,THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 12] [ hope you are not sorry to see me sooner than you expected ?” “Sorry, my lord !—I am sure ye sall aye be my lord wi honest folk, as your noble ancestors hae been these three hundred years, and never asked a whig’s leave. Sorry to see the Lord of Ravenswood at ane o’ his ain castles !—(Then again apart to his unseen associate be- hind the screen—Mysie, kill the brood-hen without think- ing twice on it; let them care that come ahint.)—No to say it’s our best dwelling,” he added, turning to Bucklaw; “but just a strength for the Lord of Ravenswood to flee until,—that is, not to flee, but to retreat until in troublous times, like the present, when it was ill convenient for him to live farther in the country in ony of his better and mair principal manors ; but, for its antiquity, maist folk think that the outside of Wolf’s Crag is worthy of a large perusal:” “And you are determined we shall have time to make it,’ said Ravenswood, somewhat amused with the shifts the old man used to detain them without doors, until ltis confederate Mysie had made her preparations within. “© never mind the outside of the house, my good triend,” said Bucklaw; “let’s see the inside, and let our horses see the stable, that’s all.” “Q yes, sir—ay, sir,—unquestionably, sir—my lord 29 and ony of his honourable companions “ But our horses, my old friend—our horses ; they will be dead-foundered by standing here in the cold after riding hard, and mine is too good to be spoiled ; there- fore, once more, our horses,” exclaimed Bucklaw. “ True—ay—your horses; yes—I will call the grooms ;” and sturdily did Caleb roar till the old tower rang again, ‘ John— W illiam—Saunders !—The lads are gane out, orDeena ee eee ee ne ae a ee ee ie PRE ae: Cee, ee {22 WAVERLEY NOVELS. Bleeping,” he observed, after pausing for an answer, whieh he knew that he had no human chance of receiving. “A gaes wrang when the Master’s out by; but I'll take care 0’ your cattle mysell.” “J think you had better.” said Ravenswood, “ otherwise I see little chance of their being attended to at all” “ Whisht, my lord,—whisht, for God’s sake,” said Caleb, in an imploring tone, and apart to his master; “ if ye dinna regard your ain credit, think on mine; we'll hae hard eneugh wark to mak a decent night o’t, wi’ a’ the lees I can tell.” “Well, well, never mind,” said his master; “go to the stable. There is hay and corn, I trust ?” “Ou ay, plenty of hay and corn;” this was uttered boldly and aloud, and, in a lower tone, “ there was some half-fous o’ aits, and some taits o’ meadow-hay, left after the burial.” “Very well,” said Ravenswood, taking the lamp from his domestic’s unwilling hand, “I will shew the stranger up stairs myself.” “ T canna think o’ that, my lord ;—if ye wad but have five minutes, or ten minutes, or, at maist, a quarter of an hour’s patience, and look at the fine moonlight prospect of the Bass and North-Berwick Law till I sort the horses, T would marshal ye up, as reason is ye suld be marshalled, your lordship and your honourable visitor. And I hae lockit up the siller candlesticks, and the lamp is not it “Tt will do very well in the meantime,” said Ravens- wood, “and you will have no difficulty for want of light in the stable, for, if I recollect, half the roof is off.” “ Very true, my lord,” sono the trusty adherent, and with ready wit instantly added, “and the lazy sclaterTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 123 loons have never come to put it on a this while, your lordship.” “If I were disposed to jest at the calamities of my 39 house, said Ravenswood, as he: led the way up stairs, ‘peor old Caleb” would furnish me with ample means. ETS Gils passion consists in representing things about our miserable menage, not as they are, but as, in his opinion, they ouol diverted with the poor wretch’s expe it to be ; and, to say the truth, I have been often dients to supply what he thought was essential for the credit of the family, and his still more generous apologies fer the want of those articles for which his ingenuity could discover no sub- stitute. But though the tower is pone «: oC the largest, I shall have some trouble without him to find the apartment in which there is a fire.” As he spoke thus, he opened the door of the hall. “ Here, at least,” he said, “there is neitxer hearth nor harbour.” It was indeed a scene of desolation. A large vaulted room, the beams of which, combined like those of West- minster Hall, were rudely carved. at the extremities, re- “ mained nearly in the situation in which it had been left after the funeral. entertainment at Allan Lord Ravenswood’s Overturned pitchers, and black jacks, and pew- ter stoups, and flagons, still encumbered the large oaken table ; olasses, those more perishable implements of con- viviality, many of which had been voluntarily sacrificed by the euests in their enthusiastic pledges to favourite toasts, strewed the stone floor with their fragments. As for the articles of plate lent for the purpose by friends and kinsfolk, those had been carefully withdrawn so soon as the ostentatious display of festivity, equally unneces- sary and strangely timed, had been made and ended.TA Le a te Fea Ree TREE eee EEE SESE inn SS AIPA AA DIA, 124 WAVERLEY NOVELS. Nothing, in short, remained that indicated wealth; all the signs were those of recent wastefulness, and present deso- lation. The black cloth hangings, which, on the late mournful occasion, replaced the tattered moth-eaten tapes- tries, had been partly pulled down, and, dangling from the wall in irregulai festoons, disclosed the rough stone-work of the building, unsmoothed either by plaster or the chisel, The seats threwn down, or left in disorder, intimated the careless confusion which had coneluded the mournful revel. “This room,” said Ravenswood, holding up the lamp—“ this room, Mr. Hayston, was riotous when it should have been sad; it is a just retribution that if should now be sad when it ought to be cheerful.” They left this disconsolate apartment, and went up stairs, where, after opening one or two doors in vain, Ravenswood led the way into a little matted anteroom; in which, to their great joy, they found a tolerable good fire, which Mysie, by some such expedient as Caleb had sug- gested, had supplied with a reasonable quantity of fuel. Glad at the heart to see more of comfort than the castle had yet seemed to offer, Bucklaw rubbed his hands heartily over the fire, and now listened with more com- placency to the apologies which the Master of Ravens- wood offered. “ Comfort,” he said, “I cannot provide for you, for I have it not for myself; if is long since these walls have known it, if, indeed, they were ever acquainted with it. Shelter and safety, I think, I can promise you.” “ Excellent matters, Master,’ replied Bucklaw, “and with a mouthful of food and wine, positively all [ can require to-night.” “J fear,” said the Master, “ your supper will be a poor one: I hear the matter in discussion betwixt Caleb and Mysie. Poor Balderston is something deaf, amongst hisTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. Ither accomplishments, so that much of what he means should be spoken aside is overheard by the whole audi- ence, and especially by those from whom he is most Hark!” They listened, and heard the old domestic’s voice in conversation with Mysie to the following effect. “Just mak the best o’t, mak the best ot, woman; it’s easy to anxious to conceal his private manceuvres put a fair face on ony thing.” “ But the auld-brood-hen !—she’ll be as teugh as bow- strings and bend-leather!” “* Say ye made a mistake say ye made a mistake, Mysie,” replied the faithful seneschal, in a soothing and undertoned voice; “tak it a’ on yoursell; never let the credit o’ the house suffer.” “ But the brood-hen,” remonstrated Mysie,—“ ou, she’s sitting some gate aneath the dais in the hall, and I am feared to gae in in the dark for the bogle; and if I didna see the bogle, I could as ill see the hen, for it’s pit mirk, and there’s no another light in the house, save that very blessed lamp whilk the Master has in his ain hand. And if I had the hen, she’s to pu’, and to draw, and to dress; how can I do that, and them sitting by the only fire we have?” : “ Weel, weel, Mysie,” said the butler, “bide ye there a wee, and I'll try to get the lamp wiled away frae them.” Accordingly, Caleb Balderston entered the apartment, little aware that so much of his by-play had been audible there. “ Well, Caleb, my old friend, is there any chance pf supper?” said the Master of Ravenswood. “Ohance of supper, your lordship?” said Caleb, with an emphasis of strong scorn at the implied doubt,—* How should there be ony question of that, and us in your lord- ship’s house >—Chance of supper, indeed !—But ye’ll ne ed coe Ss a Ree eeseae Nee AE BBE cribs pers Biai ee BE Soo a si ae RAP. 126 be for butcher meat ? either for syit or brander added, calling out as boldly as if such a thing had been in existence. “ Quite unnecessary,” said Bucklaw, who deemed him- self bound in courtesy to relieve some part of the anxious butler’s perplexity, “if you have any thing cold, or a morsel of bread.” “'The best relieved; “and for cauld meat, a’ that we hae is eneugh,—howbrit maist of the cauld meat and pastry was gien to the puir folk after the ceremony of interment, as gude reason was; nevertheless “ Come, Caleb,” said the Master of Ravenswood, “ I must cut this matter short. of Bucklaw 33 know “He'll be nae nicer than your lordship’s honour, I’se 9 5 watrant intelligence; “I am sorry that the gentleman is under distress, but I am blithe that he canna say muckle again our house-keeping, for I believe his ain pinches may match ours ;—no that we are pinched, thank God,” he added, retracting the admission which he had made in his first burst of joy, “ but nae doubt we telling a lee? there’s just the hinder end of the mutton- ham tha: has been but three times on the table. and the nearer the bane the sweeter, as your honours well ken; and—there’s the heel of the ewe milk kebbuck. wi’ a bit of nice butter, and—and—that’s And with great alacrity he produced his slender stock of provisions, and placed them with much formality upon a WAVERLEY NOVELS. There’s walth o’ fat poultry ready The fat capon, Mysie!” he exclaimed Caleb, much This is the young Laird ; he is under hiding, and therefore you answered Caleb, cheerfully, with a nod of we waur aff than we hae been, or suld be. And for eating,—what signifiesTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 127 small round table betwixt the two gentlemen, who were not deterred either by the homely quality or limited quan- tity of the repast from doing it full justice. Caleb in the meanwhile waited on them with grave officiousness, as if anxious to make up, by his own respectful assiduity, for the want of all other attendance. But, alas! how little on such occasions can form, how- ever anxiously and scrupulously observed, supply the lack of substantial fare! Bucklaw, who had eagerly eaten a considerable portion of the thrice-sacked mutton- ham, ncw began to demand ale. “YT wadna just presume to recommend our ale,” said Caleb; “the maut was ill made, and there was awfu’ thunner last week; but sicean water as the Tower well has ye’ll seldom see, Bucklaw, and that Tse engage for.” “But if your ale is bad, you can let us have some wine,” said Bucklaw, making a grimace at the mention of the pure element which Caleb so earnestly recom- mended. “ Wine!” answered Caleb, undauntedly, “ eneugh of wine ; it was but twa days syne—wae’s me for the cause —there was as much wine drunk in this house as would nave floated a pinnace. There never was lack of wine at Wolf’s Crag.” “ Do fetch us some then,” said his master, “ instead of talking about it.” And Caleb boldly departed. Every expended butt in the old cellar did he set a-tilt, pnd shake with the desperate expectation of collecting enough of the grounds of claret to fill the large pewter measure which he carried in his hand. Alas! each had been too devoutly drained ; and, with all the squeezing and manceuvring which his craft as a butler suggested, be could only collect about half a quart that seemed pre-ee ee Te Sa ge eee Nie ee ee eed er De eee ae Pe PE 128 WAVERLEY NOVELS. sentable. Snuill, however, Caleb was too good a general to renounce the field without a stratagem to cover his retreat. He undauntedly threw down an empty flagon, as if he had stumbled at the entrance of the apartment; called upon Mysie to wipe up the wine that had never been spilt, and placing the other vessel on the table, hoped there was still enough left for their honours. There was indeed; for even Bucklaw, a sworn friend to the grape, found no enzouragement to renew his first attack on the vintage of Wolf’s Crag, but contented himself, however reluctantly, with a draught of fair water. Arrangements were now made for his repose; and as the secret chamber | was assigned for this purpose, it furnished Caleb with a first-rate and most plausible apology for all deficiencies of furniture, bedding, &c. “ For wha,” said he, “ would have thought of the secret chaumer being needed? it*has not been used since the time of the Gowrie Conspiracy, and I durst never let a woman ken of the entrance to it, or your honour will allow that it wad not hae been a secret chaumer lang.”THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 129 CHAPTER VIIL The hearth 1m hall was black and dead, No beard was dight in bower within, Nor merry bowl, nor welcome bed; ** Here’s sorry cheer,’’ quoth the Heir of Linne. Oup BALLAD. Tue feelings of the prodigal Heir of Linne, as ex- pressed in that excellent old song, when, after dissipating his whole fortune, he found himself the deserted inhabi- tant of “the lonely lodge,” might perhaps have some resemblance to those of the Master of Ravenswood in his deserted mansion of Wolf’s Crag. The Master, however, had this advantage over the spendthrift in the legend, that if he was in similar distress, he could not impute it to his own imprudence. His misery had been bequeathed to him by his father, and joined to his high blood, and to a title which the courteous might give, or the churlish withhold at their pleasure, it was the whole inheritance he had derived from his ancestry. Perhaps this melancholy, yet co. -lato1y reflection, crossed the mind of the unfortunate young nobleman with a breathing of comfort. Favourable to calm reflec- tion, as well as to the Muses, the morning, while it dis- pelled the shades of night, had a composing and sedative effec! upon the stormy passions by which the Master of Ravenswood had bec» agitated on the preceding day. He now felt himself able to analyze the different feelings VOL. XV. gere ee ee eee WAVERLEY NOVELS. 130 by which he was agitated, and much resolved to combat and to subdue them. The morning, which had arisen calm and bright, gave a pleasant cffect even to the waste moorland view which was seen from the castle on looking to the landward; and the glorious ocean, crisped with a thousand rippling waves of silver, extended on the other side, in awful yet complacent majesty, to the verge of the horizon. With such scenes of calm sublimity the human heart sympathizes even in its most disturbed moods, and deeds of honour and virtue are inspired by their majestic influence. To seek out Bucklaw in the retreat which he had af- forded him was the first occupation of the Master, after he had performed, with a scrutiny unusually severe, the important task of self-examination. “ How now, Buck- law ?” was his morning’s salutation—* how like you the couch in which the exiled Earl of Angus once slept in security, when he was pursued by the full energy of a king’s resentment ? ” “Umph!” returned the sleeper awakened; “I have little to complain of where so great a man was quartered before me, only the mattress was of the hardest, the vault somewhat damp, the rats rather more mufinous than I would have expected from the state of Caleb’s larder ; and if there had been shutters to that grated window, or a curtain to the bed, I should think it, upon the whole, an improvement in your accommodations.” “It is, to be sure, forlorn enough,” said the Master, looking around the small vault; “but if you will rise and leave it, Caleb will endeavour to find you a better break- fast than your supper of last night.” “Pray, let it be no better,” said Bucklaw, getting up, and endeavouring to dress himself as well as the obscurityTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOPR. 131 of the place would permit,—* let it, I say, be no better, if you mean me to persevere in my proposed reformatiou. The very recollection of Caleb’s beverage has done more to suppress my longing to open the day with a morning- draught than twenty sermons would have done. And you, Master, have you been able to give battle valiantly to your bosom-snake? ).ou see I am in the way cf smothering my vipers one by one.” “ | have commenced the battle, at least, Bucklaw, and J] have had a fair vision of an angel who descended to my assistance,” replied the Master. “ Wo’s me!” unless my aunt, Lady Girnington, should betake herself said his guest, “no vision can I expect, to the tomb; and then it would be the substance of her heritage rather than the appearance of her phantom that I should consider as the support of my good resolutions. But this same breakfast, Master,—does the deer that is to make the pasty run yet on foot, as the ballad has it ie “ T will inquire into that matter,” said his entertainer ; and leaving the apartment, he went in search of Caleb, whom, after some difficulty, he found in an obscure sort of dungeon, which had been in former times the buttery of the castle. Here the old man was employed busily in the doubtful task of burnishing a pewter flagon until it should take the hue and semblance of silver-plate. “I think it may do—I think it might pass, if they winua bring it ower muckle in the light o’ the window !” were the ejaculations which he muttered from tinie to time, as if to encourage himself in his undertaking, when he was interrupted by the voice of his master. ‘“ Take this,” said the Master of Ravenswood, “and get what is neces- sary for the family.” And with these words he gave to the old butler the purse which had on the preceding | = = —ene ee ae Ae wing piyrescrnee! en cera ean nett te ree ee ee a eee 32 WAVERLEY NOVELS. evening so narrowly escaped the fangs of Craigengclt The old man shook his silvery and thin locks, and louked with an expression of the most heartfelt anguish at his master as he weighed in his hand the slender treasure, and said in a sorrowful voice, “And is this a’ that’s = jetur:” “ All that is left at present,” said the Master, affecting more cheerfulness than perhaps he really felt, “is just the green purse and the wee pickle gowd, as the old song says; but we shall do better one day, Caleb.” “ Before that day comes,” said Caleb, “ I doubt there will be an end of an auld sang, and an auld serving-man to boot. But it disna become me to speak that gate te your honour, and you looking sae pale. ‘Tak back the purse, and keep it to be making a show before company ; for if your honour would just tak a bidding, and be whiles taking it out afore folk and putting it up again, there’s naebody would refuse us trust, for a’ that’s come and gane yet.” “ But, Caleb,” said the Master, “I still intend to leave this country very soon, and I desire to do so with the reputation of an honest man, leaving no debt behind me, at least of my own contracting.” “And gude right ye suld gang away as a tru man, and so ye shall; for auld Caleb can tak the wyte of whatever is taen on for the house, and then it will be a’ just ae man’s burden ; and I will live just as weel in the tolbooth as out of it, and the credit of the family will be fn safe and sound.” The Master endeavoured, in vain, to make Caleb com- prehend, that the butler’s incurring the responsibility of dekts in his own person, would rather add to than remove the objections which he had to their being contractedTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. He He spoke to a premier, too busy in devising ways and means to puzzle himself with refuting the arguments offered aga‘nst their justice or expediency. “'There’s Eppie Sma trash will trust us for ale,” said Caleb to himself; “she has lived a’ her life under the family—and maybe wi’ a soup brandy—I canna say for wine—she is but a lone woman, and gets her claret by a runlet at a tnne—but Vil work a wee drap out o’ her by fair means or foul. For doos, there’s the doocot—there will be poultry amang the tenants, though Luckie Chirn- side says she has paid the kain twice ower. We'll mak shift and it like your honour—we’ll mak shift—keep your heart abune, for the house sall haud its credit as lang as auld Caleb is to the fore.” The entertainment which the old man’s exertions of various kinds enabled him to present to the young gentle- men for three or four days, was certainly of no splendid description, but it may readily be believed it was set be- fore no critical guests; and even the distresses, excuses, evasions, and shifts of Caleb, afforded amusement to the young men, and added a sort of interest to the scrambling and irregular style of their table. They had indeed oecasion to seize on every circumstance that might serve to diversify or enliven time, which otherwise passed away sc heavily. sucklaw, shut out from his usual field-sports and joy- os carouses by the necessity of remaining concealed within the walls of the castle, became a joyless and unin- teresting companion. When the Master of Ravenswood would no longer fence or play at shovel-board—when he vimself had polished to the extremity the coat of his palfrey with brush, currycomb, and hair-cloth—when had seen him eat his provender, and gently lie down inPLLESPVSLI SLL ALDI LI IE ee ee ee eee Sees eae teeta cdc eed tot WAVERLEY NOVELS. his stall, he could hardly help envying the animal's ap- parent acquiescence in a life so monotonous. “The stupid brute,” he said, “ thinks neither of the race-ground nor the hunting-field, or his green paddock at Bucklaw, but enjoys himself as comfortably when haltered to the rack in this ruinous vault, as if he had been foaled in it ; and I. who have the freedom of a prisoner at large, to range through the dungeons of this wretched old tower, can hardly, betwixt whistling and sleeping, contrive to pass away the hour till dinner time.” And with this disconsolate reflection, he wended his way to the bartizan or battlements of the tower, to watch what objects might appear on the distant moor, or to pelt, with pebbles and pieces of lime, the sea-mews and cormorants which established themselves incautiously within the reach of an idle young man. Ravenswood, with a mind incalculably deeper and more powerful than that of his companion, had his own anxious subjects of reflection, which wrought for him the same unhappiness that sheer ennui and want of occupa- tion inflicted on his companion. ‘The first sight of Lucy Ashton had been less impressive than her image proved to be upon reflection. As the depth and violence of that revengeful passion, by which he had been actuated in seeking an interview with the father began to abate by degrees, he looked back on his conduct towards the daughter as harsh and unworthy towards a female of rank and beauty. Her looks of grateful acknowledg- ment, her words of affectionate courtesy, had been re- pelled with something which approached to disdain; and if the Master of Ravenswood had sustained wrongs at the hand of Sir William Ashton, his conscience told him they had been unhandsomely resented towards his daughterTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. When his thoughts took this turn of self-reproach, the r2collection of Lucy Ashton’s beautiful features, rendered yet more interesting by the circumstances in which their meeting nad taken place, made an impression upon his mind at once soothing and painful. The sweetness of her voice, the delicacy of her expressions, the vivid glow of her filial affection, embittered his regret at having re- pulsed her gratitude with rudeness, while, at the same time, they placed before his imagination a picture of the most seducing sweetness. Even young Ravenswood’s strength of moral feeling and rectitude of purpose at once increased the danger of vherishing these recollections, and the propensity te entertain them. [Firmly resolved as he was to subdue, if possible, the predominating vice in his character, he admitted with willingness—nay, he summoned up in his imagination, the ideas by which it could be most power- fully counteracted ; and, while he did so, a sense of his own harsh conduct towards the daughter of his enemy naturally induced him, as if by way of recompense, to in- vest her with more of grace and beauty than perhaps she could actually claim. Had any one at this period told the Master of Ravens- wood that he had so lately vowed vengeance against the whole lineage of him whom he considered, not unjustly, as author of his father’s ruin and death, he might at first have repelled the charge as a foul calumny; yet, upon serious self-examination, he would have been compelled to admit, that it had, at one period, some foundation in truth, though, according to the present tone of his senti- ments, it was difficult to believe that this had really been the ease. There already existed in his bosom two contradictoryee re ee a aa ee eee Lee eT SE eee eT 136 WAVERLEY NOVELS. passions,—-a desire to revenge the death of his tather, strangely qualified by admiration of his enemy’s daughter. Against the former feeling he had struggled, until it seemed tc Lim upon the wane; against the latter he used no means of resistance, for he did not suspect its existence. That this was actually the case, was chiefly evinced by his resuming his resolution to leave Scotland. Yet though such was his purpose, he remained day afte: day at Wolf’s Crag, without taking measures for carrying it into execution. It is true, that he had written to one or two kinsmen, who resided in a distant quarter of Scot- land, and particularly to the Marquis of A , intimat- ing his purpose ; and when pressed upon the subject by Bucklaw, he was wont to allege the necessity of waiting for their reply, especially that of the Marquis, before taking so decisive a measure. The Marquis was rich and powerful; and although he was suspected to entertain sentiments unfavourable to the government established at the Revolution, he had never- theless address enough to head a party in the Scottish Privy Council, connected with the high chureh faction in England, and powerful cnough to menace those te whom the Lord Keeper adhered, with a probable subversion of their power. The consulting with a perscnage of such importance was a plausible excuse, which Ravenswood used to Bucklaw, and probably to himself, for continuing his residence at Wolf’s Crag; and it was rendered yet more so by a general report which began to be current, of a probable change of ministers and measures in the Scottish administration. These rumours, stronely asserted by some, and as resolutely denied by others, as their wishes or interest dictated, found their way even to the ‘uinous Tower of Wolf’s Crag, chiefy through the \. omTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 157 medium of Caleb the butler, who, amony his other excellences, was an ardent politician, and se/dom made an excursion from the old fortress to the neighbouring village of Wolf’s-hope, without bringing back what tid- Ings were current in the vicinity. But if Bucklaw could not offer any satisfactury objec tions to the delay of the Master in le -aving Scotland, he dil not the less suffer with impatience the state of inac- tion to which it confined him; and it was only the ascendency which his new companion had acquired over him, that induccd him to submit to a course of life so alien to his habits and inclinations. “You were wont to be thought a stirring active young fellow, Master,” was his frequent remoustrance ; “vet here you seem determined to live on and on like a rat in a hole, with this trifling difference, that the wiser vermin chooses a hermitage where he can find food at least ; but as for us, Caleb’s excuses become longer as his diet turns more spare, and J fear we shall realize the stories they tell of the sloth—we have almost eat up the last green leaf on the plant, and have nothing left for it but to drop from the tree and break our necks.” “Do not fear,’ said Ravenswood; “there is a fate watches for us, and we too have a stake in the revolution that is now impending, and which already has alarmed many a bosom.” “What fate—what revolution?” inquired his com- panion. “We have had one revolution too much already, I think.” Ravenswood interrupted him by putting into his hands a letter. “QO,” answered Bucklaw, “my dream’s out—I thought { heard Caleb this morning pressing some unfortunateee ae Se oa See SISAL ORS ODI A IFO Le rr A Bees i388 WAVERLEY NOVELS. fellow to a drirk of cold water, and assuring him it was better for his stomach in the morning than ale or brandy.” “Tt was my Lord of A wood, “who was doomed to experience his ostentatious ’s courier,” said Ravens- hospitality, which I believe ended in sour beer and herrings—Read, and you will see the news he has brought us.” “TY will as fast as I can,” said Bucklaw; “but I am no great clerk, nor does his lordship seem to be the first of acribes.” The reader will peruse, in a few seconds, by the aid of our friend Ballantyne’s types, what took Bucklaw a good half hour in perusal, though assisted by the Master of Ravenswood. ‘The tenor was as follows :-— “RigHt HoNnouRABLE OUR Cousin,—Our hearty commendations premised, these come to assure you of the interest which we take in your welfare, and in your purposes towards its.augmentation. If we have been less active in shewing forth our effective good-will towards you than, as a loving kinsman and blood-rela- tive, we would willingly have desired, we request that you will impute it to lack of opportunity to shew our good-liking, not to any coldness of our will. Touching your resolution to travel in foreign parts, as at this time we hold the same little advisable, in respect that your ill- willers may, according to the custom of such persons, (mpute motives for your journey, whereof, although we «now and believe you to be as clear as ourselves, yet watheless their words may find credence in places where the belief in them may much prejudice you, and which we should see with more unwillingness and displeasure than with means of remedy.THE BhIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 139 “ Having thus, as becometh our kindred, given you oar poor mind on the subject of your journeying forth of Scotland, we would willingly add reasons of weight, which might materially advantage you and your father’s house, thereby to determine you to abide at Wolf’s Crag, until this harvest season shall be passed over. But what sayeth the proverb, verbum sapienti,—a word is more to him that hath wisdom than a sermon to a fool. ‘And albeit we have written this poor scroll with our own hand, and are well assured of the fidelity of our messenger, as him that is many ways bounden to us, yet so it is, that sliddery ways crave wary walking, and that we may not peril upon paper matters which we would gladly impart to you by word of mouth. Wherefore, it was our pur- pose to have prayed you heartily to come to this barren Highland country to kill a stag, and to treat of the matters which we are now more painfully inditing to you anent. But commodity does not serve at present for such our meeting, which, therefore, shall be deferred until sic time as we may in all mirth rehearse those things whereof we now keep silence. Meantime, we pray you to think that we are, and will still be, your good kinsman and well- wisher, waiting but for times of whilk we do, as it were, entertain a twilight prospect, and appear and hope to be also your effectual well-doer. And in which hope we heartily write ourself, “ Right Honourable, “ Your loving cousin, oN , Ge “ Given from our poor house of B rscribed—* For the right honourable, and our insman, the Master of Ravenswood.—> These, Supe honoured kea Eee Ce ee a 149 WAVERLEY NOVELS. with haste, haste, post haste—ride and run until these be delivered.” “What think you of this epistle, Bucklaw?” said the Master, when his companion had hammered out all the sense, and almost all the words of which it con- sisted. “ Truly, that the Marquis’s meaning is as great a riddle us his manuscript. He is really in much need of Wit’s Interpreter, or the Complete Letter Writer, and were I you, I would send him a copy by the bearer. He writes you very kindly to remain wasting your time and your money in this vile, stupid, oppressed country, without so much as offering you the countenance and shelter of his house. In my opimion, he has some scheme in view in which he supposes you can be useful, and he wishes to keep you at hand, to make use of you when it ripens, reserving the power of turning you adrift, should his plot fail in the concoction.” “His plot?—then you suppose it is a treasonable > business,’ answered Ravenswood. “ What else can it be?” replied Bucklaw; “the Mar- quis has been long suspected to have an eye to Saint Germains.” “He should not engage me rashly in such an adven- ture,’ said Ravenswood; “ when I recollect the times of the first and second Charles, and of the last James, truly, I see little reason, that, as a man ora patriot, I should draw my sword for their descendants.” “ Humph!” replied Bucklaw; “so you have set your- self down to mourn over the crop-eared dogs, whom lonest Claver’se treated as they deserved ?” “ They first gave the dogs an ill name, and then hangedTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. them,” replied Ravenswood. “TI hope to see the day when justice shall be open to Whig and Tory, and when these nick-names shall only be used among coffee-house — - dave a ; That will not be in our days, Master—the iron has v entered too deeply into our sides and our souls.” > “Tt will be, however, one day,” replied the Master “men will not always start at these nick-names as at 9 a trumpet-sound. As social life is better protected, its z comforts will become too dear to be hazarded without a| some better reason than speculative politics.” “Tt is fine talking,” answered Bucklaw; “but my heart is with the old song,— To see good corn upon the rigs, And a gallows built to hang the Whigs, And the right restored where the right should be, O, that is the thing that would wanton me.”’ “You may sing as loudly as you will, cantabit vacuus,” —answered the Master; “but I believe the Marquis is too wise, at least too wary, to join you in such a burden. I suspect he alludes to a revolution in the Scottish Privy Council, rather than in the British kingdoms.” rl “O, confusion to your state tricks!” exclaimed Buck- law, “your cold calculating mancuvres, which old gentle- men in wrought nightcaps and furred gowns execute like so many games at chess, and displace a treasurer or lord me commissioner as they would take a rook or a pawn. Tennis for my sport, and battle for my earnest! My racket and my sword for my plaything and bread-winner ! And you, Master, so deep and considerate as you would seem, you have that within you makes the blood. boilee ee ee Se ree EEE, ee ARLES 142 WAVERLEY NOVELS. faster than suits your present humour of moralizing on political truths. You are one of those wise men who see every thing with great composure till their blood is up, and then—wo to any one who should put them in mind of their own prudential maxims!” “ Perhaps,” said Ravenswood, “you read me more rightly than I can myself. But to think justly will cer- tainly go some length in helping me to act so. But, hark! I hear Caleb tolling the dinner-bell.” “ Which he always does with the more sonorous grace, in proportion to the meagreness of the cheer which he has provided,” said Bucklaw; “as if that imfernal clang and jangle, which will one day bring the belfry down the chiff, could convert a starved hen into a fat capon, and a blade-bone of mutton into a haunch of venison.” “T wish we may be so well off as your worst conjec- tures surmise, Bucklaw, from the extreme solemnity and ecremony with which Caleb seems to place on the table that solitary covered dish.” “ Uncover, Caleb! uncover, for Heaven’s sake!” said sucklaw ; “let us have what you can give us without preface— Why, it stands well enough, man,” he continued, addressing impatiently the ancient butler, whe, without reply, kept shifting the dish, until he had at length placed it with mathematical precision in the very midst of the table. “ What have we got here, Caleb?” inquired the Master in his turn. “Ahem! sir, ye suld have known before; but his honour the Laird of Bucklaw is so impatient,’ answered Caleb, still holding the dish with one hand, and the eover with the other, with evident reluctance to disclose the contents.THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. “ But what is it, a God’s name—not a pair of clean a I hope, in the Border fashion of old times!” Ahem! ahem!” reiterated Caleb, “your honour is pleased to be facetious—natheless, I might presume to say it was a convenient fashion, and used, as I have heard, in an honourable and thriving family. But touching your present dinner, I judged that this being Saint Maeda lene’s Eve, who was a worthy queen of Scotland in her day, your honours might judge it decorous, it not alto- cether to fast, yet only to sustain nature with some slight refection, as,ane saulted herring or the like.” And, uncovering the dish, he displayed four of the savoury fishes which he mentioned, adding, in a subdued tone, “that they were no just common herring neither, bemg every ane melters, and sauted with uncommon care by the housekeeper (poor Mysie) for his honour’s especial use.” “Out upon all apologies!” said the Master, “ let us eat the herrings, since there is nothing better to be had— but I begin to think with you, Bucklaw, that we are con suming the last green leaf, and_ that, in spite of the Marquis’s political machinations, we must positively shift camp for want of forage, without waiting, the issue of them.”ALLL ALS PIAL PE EDIE, ees See ee ee eA WAVERLEY NOVEJ S&S. CHAPTER IX. Ay, and when huntsmen wind the merry horn, And from its covert starts the fearful prey, Who, warm’d with youth’s blood in his swelling veins, Would, iike a lifeless clod, outstretched lie, Shut out from all the fair creation offers? Erawstp. Scene I. Act I. Licur meals procure light slumbers; and therefore it is not surprising, that, considering the fare which Calely’s conscience, or his necessity, assuming, as will sometimes happen, that disguise, had assioned to the guests of Wolf’s Crag, their slumbers should have been short. In the morning Bucklaw rushed into his host’s apart- ment with a loud halloo, which might have awaked the dead. “Up! up! in the name of Heaven—the hunters are out. the only piece of sport I have seen this month ; and you lie here, Master, on a bed that las little to recom- mend it, except that it may be something softer than the stone-floor of your ancestor’s vault.” “‘T wish,” said Ravenswood. raising his head peevishly, “you had forburne so early a jest. Mr. Hayston—it is really no pleasure to lose the very short repose which I had just begun to enjoy, after a night spent in thoughts ipon fortune far harder than my couch, Bucklaw.” “Pshaw, pshaw !” replied his guest; “get up—get ap—the hounds are abroad—lI have saddled the horsesTHE BRIDE OY LAMMERMOOR. myself, for old Caleb was calling for grooms and lackeys, and would never have proceeded without two hours’ apology for the absence of men who were a hundred miles off.—Get up, Master—I say the hounds are out— get up, I say—the hunt is up.” And off ran Bucklaw. “ And I say,” said the Master, rising slowly, “ that nothing can concern me less. Whose hounds come so near to us?” “The Honourable Lord Bittlebrains’, Jeb, who had followed the impatient Laird of Bucklaw ” answered Ca- into his master’s bedroom, “ and truly I ken nae title they have to be yowling and howling within the free- doms and immunities of your lordship’s right of free forestry.” “ Nor I, Caleb,” replied Ravenswood, “ excepting that they have bought both the lands and the right of forestry, and may think themselves entitled to exercise the rights they have paid their money for.” “Tt may be sae, my lord,” replied Caleb ; “ but it’s no gentleman’s deed of them to come here and exercise such like right, and your lordship living at your ain castle of Wolf’s Crag. Lord Bittlebrains would do weel to re- member what his folk have been.” “ And we what we now are,” said the Master, with suppressed bitterness of feeling. “ But reach me my cloak, Caleb, and I will indulge Bucklaw with a sight of this chase. It is selfish to sacrifice my guest’s pleasure to my own.” “ Sacrifice!” echoed Caleb, in a tone which seemed to imply the total absurdity of his master making the least ‘oncession in deference to any one—* Sacrifice, indeed ! —-but I crave your honour’s pardon—and whilk doublet is it your pleasure to wear ?” VOL. XV 10eae Ce Deere AT ese ee Ce nee eon 146 WAVERLEY NOVELS. “ Any one yoa will, Caleb—my wardrobe, [ suppose, is not very extensive.” “ Not extensive!” echoed his assistant; ‘ when there is the grey and silver that your lordship bestowed on Wew Hildebrand, your outrider—and. the French velvet that went with my lord your father—(be gracious to him !'—my lord your father’s auld wardrobe to the puir 9) friends of the family—and the drap-de-berry “Which I gave to you, Caleb, and which, I suppose, is the only dress we have any chance to come at, except that 1 wore yesterday—pray, hand me that, and say no more about it.” “Tf your honour has a faney,” replied Caleb; “and doubtless it’s a sad-coloured suit, and you are in mourn- ing—nevertheless, I have never tried on the drap-de- berry—ill wad it become me—and your. honour having no change of claiths at this present—and it’s weel brushed, and as there are leddies down yonder— ” “ Ladies!” said Ravenswood; “and what _ ladies, pray ?” “What do I ken, your lordship ?—looking down at them from the Warden’s Tower, I eculd but see them glent by wi’ their bridles ringing, and tneir feathers flut- tering, like * court of Elfland.” “Well, well, Caleb,” replied the Master, “ help me on with my cloak, and hand me my sword-belt—What clat- ter is .hat in the court-yard ?” “Just Bucklaw bringing out the horses,” said Caleb, after a glance through the window, “as if there werena men eneugh in the castle, or as if I couldna serve the turn of ony o’ them that are out o’ the gate.” * Alas! Caleb, we should want litile. if your ability were equal to your will,” replied his master.THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOCR. 147 ‘And 1 hope your lordship disna want that muckle,” said Caleb; “ for, considering a’ things, I trust we sup- port the credit of the family as weel as things will permit vf,— only Bucklaw is aye sae frank and sae forward.— And there he has brought out your lordship’s palfrey, without aia saddle being decored wi’ the broidered sumpter-cloth! and I could have brushed it in a minute.” “Tt is all very well,” said his master, escaping from him, and descending the narrow and steep winding stair- ease, which led to the court-yard. “Tt may be a’ very wees,’ said Caleb, somewhat peev- ishly; “but if your lordship wad tarry a bit, I will tell you ee it will not be very weel.” “ And what is that?” said Ravenswood, impatiently, but stopping at the same time. “Why, just that ye suld speer ony gentleman hame to dinner ; for I canna mak anither fast on a feast day, as when I cam ower Bucklaw wi’ Queen Margaret—and, to speak truth, if your lordship wad but please to cast your- sell in the way of dining wr Lord Bittlebrains, I’se war- rand I wad cast about brawly for the morn; or if, stead o’ that, ye wad but dine wi’ them at the change-house, ye might mak your shift for the lawing; ye might say ye had forgot your purse—or that the carline awed ye rent, and that ye wad allow it in the settlement.” “Or any other lie that came uppermost, I suppose ?’ said his master. “ Good by, Caleb; I commend your eare for the honour of the family.” And, throwing him- self on his horse, he followed B ucklaw, who, at the mani- fest risk of his neck, had begun to gallop down the steep path which led from the tower, as soon as he saw Ra- venswood have his foot in the stirrup. Caieb Balderston looked anxiously after them, andEO PE a Oe eee Ce I ee eee a me 148 WAVERLEY NOVELS. shook his thin prey locks—“ And I trust that they will come to no evil—but they have reached the plain, and folk cannot say but that the horse are hearty and in spirits.” Animated by the natural impetuosity and fire of his temper, young Bucklaw rushed on with the careless speed of a whirlwind. Ravenswood was scarce more mod- erate in his pace, for his was a mind unwillingly roused from contemplative inactivity, but which, when once put into motion, acquired a spirit of forcible and violent pro- gression. Neither was his eagerness proportioned in all eases to the motive of impulse, but might be compared to the speed of a stone, which rushes with like fury down the hill, whether it was first put in motion by the arm of a giant or the hand of a boy. He felt, therefore, in no ordinary degree, the headlong impulse of the chase, a pastime so natural to youth of all ranks, that it seems rather to be an inherent vassion in our animal nature, which levels all differences of rank and education, than an acquired habit of rapid exercise. The repeated bursts of the French horn, which was then always used for the encouragement and direction of the hounds—the deep, though distant baying of the pack —the half-heard cries of the huntsmen—the half-seen forms which were discovered, now emerging from glens which crossed the moor, now sweeping over its surface, now picking their way where it was impeded by moras- ses ; and, above all, the feeling of his own rapid motion, animated the Master of Ravenswood, at least for the moment, above the recollections of a more painful nature by which he was surrounded. The first. thine which recalled him to those unpleasing circumstances, was feel- ing that his horse, notwithstanding all the advantagesTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 149 which h:; received from his rider’s knowledge of the country, was unable to keep up with the chase. As he drew his bridle up with the bitter feeling, that his poverty excluded him from the favourite recreation of his fore- fathers, and indeed, their sole employment when not engaged in military pursuits, he was accosted by a well- mounted stranger, who, unobserved, had kept near him during the earlier part of his career. “Your horse is blown,” said the man, with a come plaisance seldom used in a hunting-field. “ Might I crave your honour to make use of mine?” «“ Sir” said Ravenswood, more surprised than pleased at such a proposal, “I really do not know how I have merited such a favour-at a stranger’s hands.” “Never ask a question about it, Master,” said Buck- law, who, with great unwillingness, had hitherto reined in his own gallant steed, not to outride his host and enter- tainer. “ Take the goods the gods provide you, as the great John Dryden says—or stay—here, my friend, lend me that horse ;—I see you have been puzzled to rein him up this half hour. T’ll take the devil out of him for you. Now, Master, do you ride mine, which will carry you like an eagle.” And throwing the rein of his own horse to the Master of Ravenswood, he sprung upon that which the stranger resigned to him, and continued his career at full speed. « Was ever so thoughtless a being!” said the Master ; “and you, my friend, how could you trust him with your horse ?” “ The horse,” said the man, “ belongs to a person who will make your honour, or any of your honourable friends, : o ” gost welcome to him, flesh and fell,Fe eee Ne ee eee ee ee ee ees 150 WAVERLEY NOVELS. ?” asked Ravens: “ And ihe owner’s name is wood. “Your honour must excuse me, you will learn that from himself—If you please to take your friend’s horse, and leave me your galloway, I will meet you after the fall of the stag, for I hear they are blowitg him at bay.” “T believe, my friend, it will be the best way to recover your’ good horse for you,” answered NRavens- wood; and mounting the nag of his friend Bucklaw he made all the haste in his power to the spot where the blast of the horn announced ¢hat the stag’s career was nearly terminated. These jovial sounds were intermixed with the hunts- men’s shouts of ‘* Hyke a Talbot! Hyke a Teviot! now, ) boys, now!” and similar cheering halloos of the olden hunting-field, to which the impatient yelling of the hounds, now close on the object of, their pursuit, gave a lively and unremitting chorus. ‘The straggling riders began now to rally towards the scene of action, collecting from different points as to a common centre. Bucklaw kept the start which he had gotten, and arrived first at the spot, where the stag, incapable of sustaining a more prolonged flight, had turned upon the hounds, and, in the hunter’s phrase, was at bay. With his stately head bent down, his sides white with foam, his eyes strained betwixt rage and terror, the hunted animal had now in his turn become an object of intimida- sion to his pursuers. The hunters came up one by ene, ynd watched an opportunity to assail him with some ad- vantage, which, in such circumstances, can only be done with caution. ‘The dogs stood aloof and bayed loudly intimating at once eagerness and fear, and each of theTHE BRIDE Ok LAMMERMOOR. 15) sporisinen seemed to expect that his comrade would take upon him the perilous task of assaulting and disabling the animal. The ground, which was a hollow in the common or moor, afforded little advantage for approaching the stag unobserved ; and general was the shout of triumph nen Bucklaw, with the dexterity proper to an accom- plished cavalier of the day, sprang from his horse, and dashing suddenly and swiftly at the stag, brought him to the ground by a cut on the hind leg with his short hunting-sword. The pack, rushing in upon their disabled enemy, soon ended his painful struggles, and solemnized his fall with their clamour—the hunters, with their horns and voices, whooping and blowing a mort, or death-note, which resounded far over the billows of the adjacent ocean. The huntsman then withdrew the hounds from the throttled stag, and on his knee presented his knife to a fair female form, on a white palfrey, whose terror, or perhaps her compassion, had till then kept her at some distance. She wore a black silk riding-mask, which was then a common fashion, as well for preserving the com- plexion from sun and rain, as from an idea of decorum, which did not permit a lady to appear barefaced while engaged in a boisterous sport, and attended by a promis- cuous company. ‘The richness of her dress, however, as well as the mettle and form of her paltrey, together with the silvan compliment paid to her by the huntsman, pointed her out to Bucklaw as the principal person in the field. It was not without a feeling of pity, approaching even to contempt, that this enthusiastic hunter observed her refuse the huntsman’s knife, e of making the first incision in the stag’ he quality of th> venison. He presented to her for the purpos s breast, and thereby discovering tee See ee SOU eee Pee a ee Tee eae a ee en EE SO et ear nae 192 WAVERLEY NOVELS. felt more than half inclined to pay his compliments to her; but it had been Bucklaw’s misfortune, that his habits of life had not rendered him familiarly acquainted with the higher and better classes of female society, so that, with all his natural.audacity, he felt sheepish and bashful when it became necessary to address a lady of distinction. Taking unto himself heart of grace, (to use his own phrase,) he did at length summon up resolution enough to give the fair huntress good time of the day, and trust that her sport had answered her expectation. Her answer was very courteously and modestly expressed, and testified some ‘gratitude to the gallant cavalier, whose exploit had terminated the chase so adroitly, when the hounds and huntsmen seemed somewhat ata stand. “Uds daggers and scabbard, madam,” said Bucklaw, whom this observation brought at once upon his own ground, “there is no difficulty or merit in that matter at all, so that a fellow is not too much afraid of having a pair of antlers in his guts. I have hunted at foree five hundred times, madam ; and I never yet saw the stag at bay, by land or water, but I durst have gone roundly in on him. It is all use and wont, madam; and I'll tell you, madam, for all that, it must be done with cood hced and caution; and you will do well, madam, to have your hunting-sword both right sharp and double-edged, that you may strike either fore-handed or back-handed, as you see reason, for a hurt with a buck’s horn is a perilous and solnewhat venomous matter.” “TY am afraid, sir,” said the young lady, and her smile was scarce concealed by her vizard, “I shall have little use for such careful preparation.”YHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 159 “But the gentleman says very right for all that, my lady,” said an old huntsman, who had listened to Buck- law’s harangue with no small edification; “and I have hear:| my father say, who was a forester at the Cabrach, that a wild boar’s gaunch is more easily healed than a hurt from the deer’s horn, for so says the old woodmman’s rhyme,— If thou be hurt with horn of hart, it brings thee to thy bier; But tusk of boar shall leeches heal—thereof have lesser fear.” “An I might advise,” continued Bucklaw, who was now in his element, and desirous of assuming the whole management, “as the hounds are surbated and weary, the head of the stag should be cabbaged in order to reward them; and if I may presume to speak, the hunts- man, who is to break up the stag, ought to drink to your good ladyship’s health a good lusty bicker of ale, or a ta3s of brandy; for if he breaks him up without drinking, the venison will not keep well.” This very agreeable prescription received, as will be readily believed, all aeceptation from the huntsman, who, in requital, offered to Bucklaw the compliment of his knife, which the young lady had declined. This polite proffer was seconded by his mistress. “TJ believe, sir,’ she said, withdrawing herself from the circle, “ that my father, for whose amusement Lord Bittlebrains’ hounds have been out to-day, will readily surrender all care of these matters to a gentleman of your experience.” Then, bending gracefully from her horse, she wished him good morning, and, attended by one or two domestics, who seemed immediately attached to her service, retired rom the scene of action, to which Bucklaw, too muchFe ete tee pe Te i eae ee eee ee Se EO ee De eee Oe ee ake naa le Ane lot WAVERLEY NOVELS. delighted with an opportunity of displaying his wood craft to care about man or woman either, paid little attention; but was soon stript to his doublet, with tucked- up sleeves, and naked arms up to the elbows in blood and grease, slashing, cutting, hacking, and hewing with the precision of Sir Tristrem himself, and wrangling and dis- puting with all around him concerning nombles, briskets, flankards, and ravenbones, then usual terms of the art of hunting, or of butchery, whichever the reader chooses to eall it, which are now probably antiquated. When Ravenswood, who followed a short space behind his friend, saw that the stag had fallen, his temporary ardour for the chase gave way to that feeling of reluc- tance which he endured; at encountering in his fallen fortunes the gaze whether of equals or inferiors. He reined up his horse on the top of a gentle eminence, from which he observed the busy and gay scene beneath him, and heard the whoops of the huntsmen gaily mingled with the ery of the dogs, and the neighing and trampling of the horses. But these jovial sounds fell sadly on the ear of the ruined nobleman. The chase, with all its train of excitations, has ever since feudal times heen accounted the almost exclusive privilege of the aristocracy, and was anciently their chief employment in times of peace. The sense that he was excluded by his situation from enjoying the silvan sport, which his rank assigned 10 him as a special prerogative, and the feeling that new men were how exercising it over the downs, which had been jeal- ously reserved by his ancestors for their own amusement, while he,*the heir of the domain, was fain to hold him- self at a distance from their party, awakened reflections talculated to depress deeply a mind like Ravenswoad’s, which was naturally contemplative and melancholy. HisTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. loé pride, however, soon shook off this feeling of dejection, and it zave way to impatience upon finding that his vola- tile friend Bucklaw seemed in no hurry to return with his borrowed steed, which Ravenswood, before leaving the field, wished to see restored to the obliging owner. As he was about to move towards the group of assembled huntsmen, he was joined by a horseman, who like himself had kept aloof during the fall of the deer. This personage seemed stricken in years. He wore a scarlet cloak, buttoning high upon his face, and his hat was unlooped and slouched, probably by way of defence against the weather. His horse, a strong and steady palfrey, was calculated for a rider who proposed to wit- ness the sport.of the day, rather than to share it. An attendant waited at some distance, and the whole equip- ment was that of an elderly gentleman of rank and fash- ion. He accosted Ravenswood very politely, but not without some embarrassment. “You seem a gallant young gentleman, sir,” he said, “and yet appear as indifferent to this brave sport as if you had my load of years on your shoulders.” “JT have followed the sport with more spirit on other uecasions,” replied the Master; “at present, late events and besides,” he in my family must be my apology added, “I was but indifferently mounted at the beginning of the sport.” “J think,” said the stranger, “ one of my attendants had the sense to accommodate your friend with a horse.” “JT was much indebted to his politeness and yours, replied Ravenswood. “ My friend is Mr. Hayston of Bucklaw, whom [ dar say you will be sure to find in the thick of the keenest sportsmen. He will return your xervant’s horse, aud take my pony in exchange—and willee ae eas eae ete I ee pat ele a ee oe ae So ea ee 156 WAVERLEY NOVELS. add,” he concluded, turning his horse’s head from the stranger, “his best acknowledgments to mine for the accommodation.” The Master of Ravenswood having thus expressed himself, began to move homeward, with the manner of one who has taken leave of his company. But the stranger was not so to be shaken off. He turned his horse at the same time, and rode in the same direction so near to the Master, that, without outriding him, which the formal civility of the time, and the respect due to the stranger’s age and recent civility would have rendered >) improper, he could not easily escape from his company. The stranger did not long remain silent. “ This, then,” he said, “is the ancient Castle of Wolf’s Crag, often mentioned in the Scottish records,” looking to the old tower, then darkening under the influence of a stormy cloud, that formed its background ; for at the distance of a short mile, the chase having been circuitous, had brought the hunters nearly back to the point which they had attained, when Ravenswood and Bucklaw had set forward to join them. Ravenswood answered this observation with a cold and distant assent. “Tt was, as I have heard,” continued the stranger, una- bashed by his coldness, “ one of the most early possessions of the honourable family of Ravenswood.” “Their earliest possession,” answered the Master, “ and probably their latest.” > s I—I—TI should hope not, sir,” answered the stranger, clearing his voice with more than one cough, and making an effort to overcome a certain degree of hesitation — “Scotland knows what she owes ‘o this ancient family end remembers their frequent and honourable achieveTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 1d% ments. [ have little doubt, that, were it properly represented to her majesty, that so ancient and noble a family were subjected to dilapidation—I mean to decay ——means might be found, ad re-edificandum antiquam ”? domum “TI will save you the trouble, sir, of discussing this point farther,” interrupted the Master, haughtily. “I am the heir of that unfortunate house—I am the Master of Ravenswood. And you, sir, who seem to be a gentleman of fashion and education, must be sensible, that the next mortification after being unhappy, is the being loaded with undesired commiseration.” “ I beg your pardon, sir,” said the elder horseman—*I did not know—I am sensible I ought not to have men- tioned—nothing could be farther from my thoughts than 9 to suppose “There are no apologies necessary, sir,’ answered Ravenswood, “for here, I suppose, our roads separate, and I assure you that we part in perfect equanimity on my side.” As speaking these words, he directed his horse’s head towards a narrow causeway, the ancient approach to Wolf’s Crag, of which it might be truly said, in the 9 oO? words of the Bard of Hope, that Frequented by few was the grass-cover’d road, Where the hunter of deer and the warrior trode, To his hills that encircle the sea. But, ere he could disengage himself from his companion, the young lady we have already mentioned, came up ta join the stranger, followed by her servants. “Daughter,” said the stranger to the masked damsel, “ this is the Master of Ravenswouu.”ae ene een a ee ee eee a i EO Ee 158 WAVERLEY NOVELS. It would have been natural that the gentleman should have replied to this introduction ; but there was some- thing in the graceful form and retiring modesty of the female to whom he was thus presented, which not only prevented him from inquiring to whom, and by whom, the annunciation had been made, but which even for the time struck him absolutely mute. At this moment the cloud which had long lowered above the height on which Wolf’s Crag is situated, and which now, as it advanced, spread itself in darker and denser folds both over land and sea, hiding the distant objects, and obscuring those which were nearer, turning the sea to a leaden com- plexion, and the heath to a darker brown, began now, by one or two distant peals, to announce the thunders with which it was fraught; while two flashes of lightning, following each other very closely, shewed in the distance the grey turrets of Wolt’s Crag, and, more nearly, the rolling billows of the ocean, crested suddenly with red and dazzling light. The horse of the fair huntress shewed symptoms of impatience and restiveness, and it became impossible for Ravenswood, as a man or a gentleman, to leave her abruptly to the care of an aged father or her menial attendants. He was, or believed himself, obliged in courtesy to take hold of her bridle, and assist her in Managing the unruly animal. While he was thus en- eaged, the old gentleman observed that the storm seemed to increase—that they were far from. Lord Bittlebrains’, whose guests they were for the present—and that he would be obliged to the Master of Ravenswoed to point him the way to the nearest place of refuge from the storm. At the same time he cast a wistful and embar- rassed look towards the Tower of Wolf’s Crag, which zm!THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 159 seemed to render it almost impossible for the owner te avoid offering an old man and a lady, in such an emer- gency, the temporary use of his house. Indeed, the con- dition of the young huntress made this courtesy indis- pensable; for, in the course of the services which he rendered, he could not but perceive that she trembled much, and was extremely agitated, from her apprehen- sions, doubtless, of the coming storm. I Know not if the Master of Ravenswood shared her torrors, but he was not entirely free from something like a similar disorder of nerves, as he observed, “ The Tower of Wolf’s Crag has nothing to offer beyond the shelter of its roof, but if that can be acceptable at such a mo- ment—” he paused, as if the rest of the invitation stuck in his throat. 3ut the old gentleman, his self-constituted companion, did not allow him to recede from the invita- tion, which he had rather suffered to be implied than directly expressed. “The storm,” said the stranger, “must be an apology for waiving ceremony—his daughter’s health was weak— she had suffered much from a recent alarm—he trusted their intrusion on the Master of Ravenswood’s hospitality would not be altogether unpardonable in the circumstances of the case—his child’s safety must be dearer to him than c2remony.” There was no room to retreat. The Master of Ravens- wood led the way, continuing to keep hold of the lady’s bridl2 to prevent her horse from starting at some unex- pected explosion of thunder. He was not so bewildered ‘n his own hurried reflections, but that he remarked, that the deadly paleness which had occupied her neck and temples, and such of her features as the riding-mask left exposed, gave place to a deep and rosy suffusior ; and heee eee A eer Te am EEE ea aie ana tee 160 WAVERLEY NOVELS. felt with embarrassment that a flush was by tacit sym- pathy excited in his own cheeks. The stranger, with watchfulness which he disguised under apprehensions for the safety of his daughter, continued to observe the ex- pression of the Master’s countenance as they ascended the hill to Wolf’s Crag. When they stood in front of that ancient fortress, Ravenswood’s emotions were of a very complicated description; and as he led the way into the rude court-yard, and halloo’d to Caleb to give attendance, there was a tone of sternness, almost of fierceness, which seemed somewhat alien from the courtesies of one who is receiving honoured guests. Caleb came; and not the paleness of the fair stranger at the first approach of the thunder, nor the paleness of any other person, in any other circumstances whatever, equalled that which overcame the thin cheeks of the dis- consolate seneschal, when he beheld this accession of guests to the castle, and reflected that the dinner hour was fast approaching. “Is he daft?” he muttered to himself,—* is he clean daft a’thegither, to bring lords and Jeddies, and a host of folk behint them, and twal-o-clock 33 chappit ? Then approaching the Master, he craved pardon for having permitted the rest of lis people to go out to see the hunt, observing, that “they wad never think of his lordship coming back till mirk night, and that he dreaded they might play the truant.” “ Silence, Balderston!” said Ravenswood, sternly; “your folly is unseasonable.—Sir and madam,” he said, turning to his guests, “this old man, and a yet older and wzore imbecile female domestic, form my whole retinue. Our means of refreshing you are more scanty than even so miserable a retinue, and a dwelling so dilapidated, might seem to promise you; but, such as they may ehance to be, you may command them.”THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMUOR. 16] The elder stranger, struck with the ruined and sven Savage appearance of the Tower, rendered still more dis- consolate by the lowering and gloomy sky, and perhaps not altogether unmoved by the grave and determined voice in which their host addressed them, looked round him anxiously, as if he half repented the readiness with which he had accepted the offered hospitality. But there was now no opportunity of receding from the situation in which he had placed himself. As for Caleb, he was so utterly stunned by his master’s public and unqualified acknowledgment of the nakedness of the land, thaf for two minutes he could only mutter within his hebdomadal beard, which had not felt the razor for six days, “ He’s daft—clean daft—red wud, and awa wit! But deil hae Caleb Balderston,” said he, collecting his powers of invention and resource, “if the family shall lose credit, if he were as mad as the seven wise masters !” He then boldly advanced, and in spite of his master’s frowns and impatience, gravely asked, “if he should not serve up some slight refection for the young leddy, and a glass of tokay, or old sack—or—— ft “Truce to this ill-timed foolery,” said the Master, sternly,— put the horses into the stable, and interrupt us no more with your absurdities.” “Your honour’s pleasure is to be obeyed aboon a’ things,’ said Caleb ; “nevertheless, as for the sack and tokay, which it is not your noble guests’ pleasure te ” uccept 3ut here the voice of Bucklaw, heard even above the clattering of hoofs and braying of horns with which it mingled, announced that he was scaling the pathway to the Tower at the head of the greater part of the gallant hunting train. VOL. XV. 11ee EEE ee an eee 162 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 3 “The deil be in me,” said Caleb, taking heart in spite of this new invasion of Philistines, “if they shall beat me yet! The hellicat ne’er-do-weel !—to bring such a erew here, that will expect to find brandy as plenty as ditch-water, and he kenning sae absolutely the case in whilk we stand for the present! But I trow, could I get rid of thae gaping gowks of flunkies that hae won into the eourt-vard at the back of their betters, as mony a man gets preferment, I could make a’ right yet.” The measures which he took to execute this dauntless resolution, the reader shall learn in the next chapter.THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. CHAPTER X. With throat unslaked, with black lips baked, Agape they heard him call; Gramercy they for joy did grin, And all at once their breath drew in, As they had been drinking all! CoLERIDGE’s ‘* RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER.”? Hayston of Bucklaw was one of the thoughtless class who never hesitate between their friend and their jest. When it was announced that the principal persons of the chase had taken their route towards Wolf’s Crag, the huntsmen, as a point of civility, offered to transfer the venison to that mansion; a proffer which was readily accepted by Bucklaw, who thought much of the astonish- ment which their arrival in full body would occasion poor old Caleb Balderston, and very little of the dilemma to which he was about to expose his friend the Master, so ill circumstanced to receive such a party. But in old Caleb he had to do with a crafty and alert antagonist, prompt at supplying, upon all emergencies, evasions and excuses suitable, as he thought, to the dignity of the family. “Praise be blest!” said Caleb to himself, “ae leat of the muckle gate has been swung to wi’ yestreen’s wind, and I think I can manage to shut the ither.” But he was desirous, like a prudent governor, at the same time to get rid, if possible, of the internal enemy, in which light he considered almost every one who eat andTre PO OLA LINO LOOSE OE Oe ee ae een eee Lf 4 WAVERLEY NOVELS: drank, ere he took measures to exclude those whom their jocund noise now pronounced to be near at hand. He waited, therefore, with impatience until his master had shewn his two principal guests into the Tower, and then eommenced his operations. “J think,” he said to the stranger menials, “ that as they are bringing the stag’s head to the castle in all honour, we, who are in-dwellers, should receive them at the gate.” The unwary grooms had no sooner hurried out, in compliance with this insidious hint, than, one folding-door of the ancient gate being already closed by the wind, as has been already intimated, honest Caleb lost no time in shutting the other with a clang, which resounded from donjon vault to battlement. Having thus secured the pass, he forthwith indulged the excluded huntsmen in brief parley, from a small projecting window, or shot-hole, through which, in former days, the warders were wont to reconnoitre those who presented themselves before the gates. He gave them to understand, in a short and pithy speech, that the gate of the castle was never on any account opened during meal-times—that his honour, the Master of Ravenswood, and some guests of quality, had just sat down to dinner—that there was excellent brandy at the hostler’s-wife’s at Wolf’s-hope down below—and he held out some obscure hint that the reckoning would be discharged by the Master; but this was uttered ina very dubious and oracular strain, for. like ~Louis XIYV., Caleb Balderston hesitated to carry finesse so fir as direct falsehood, and was content to deceive, if possible, without directly lying. This annunciation was received with surprise by some, with laughter by others, and with dismay by the expelled lackeys, who endeavoured to demonstrate that theit rightTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 165 of re-admission, for the purpose of waiting upon their master and mistress, was at least indisputable. But Caleb was not in a humour to understand or admit any distine- tions. He stuck to his original proposition with that dogged, but convenient pertinacity, which is armed against all conviction, and deaf to all reasoning. 3ucklaw now came from the rear of the party, and demanded admittance in a very angry tone. But the resolution of Caleb was immovable. “Tf the king on the throne were at the gate,” he declared, “his ten fingers should never open it contrair to the established use and wont of the family of Raven., wood, and his duty as their head-servant.” Bucklaw was now extremely incensed, and with more oaths and curses than we care to repeat, declared himself most unworthily treated, and demanded peremptorily to speak with the Master of Ravenswood himself. But to this, also, Caleb turned a deaf ear. “ He’s as soon a-bleeze as a tap of tow the lad Buck- law,” he said; “but the deil of ony master’s face he shall see till he has sleepit and waken’d on’t. He’ll ken himsell better the morn’s morning. It sets the like o’ him to be bringing a crew of drunken hunters here, when he kens there is but little preparation to sloken his ain drought.” And he disappeared from the window, leaving them all to digest their exclusion as they best might. But another person, of whose presence Caleb, in the animation of the debate, was not aware, had listened in silence to its progress. This was the principal domestie of the stranger—a man of trust and consequence—the sume who, in the hunting-field, had accommodated Buck- law with the use of his horse. He was in the stable when Caleb had contrived the expulsion of his fellow-ee LE EE ARE ee ee a eee eee eee a are Ee ne en Ee 166 WAVERLEY NOVELS. servants, and thus avoided sharing the same fate from which his personal importance would certainly not have otherwise saved him. This personage perceived the manceuvre of Caleb, easily appreciated the motive of his conduct, and knowing his master’s intentions towards the family of Ravenswood, had no. difficulty as to the line of conduct he ought to adopt. He took the place of Caleb (unperceived by the latter) at the post of audience which he had just left, and announced to the assembled domestics, “that it was his master’s pleasure that Lord Bittlebrains’ retinue and his own should go down to’ the adjacent change-house, and call for what refreshments they might have occasion for, and he should take care te discharge the lawing.” The jolly troop of huntsmen retired from the inhos- pitable gate of Wolf’s Crag, execrating, as they descended the steep pathway, the niggard and unworthy disposition of the proprietor, and damning, with more than silvan license, both the castle and its inhabitants. Bucklaw, with many qualities which would have made him a man of worth and judgment in more favourable circumstances, had been so utterly neglected in point of education, that he was apt to think and feel according to the ideas of the companions of his pleasures. The praises which had recently been heaped upon himself he contrasted with the general abuse now levelled against Rayenswood—he recalled to his mind the dull and monotonous days he had spent in the Tower of Wolf’s Crag, compared with the joviality of his usual life—he felt, with great indignation, his exclusion from the castle, which he considered as a gross affront, and every mingled feeling led him to break off the union whieh he -had formed with the Master of Ravenswood.THE BRWE OF LAMMERMOOR. Ou arriving ai the change-house of the village of Wolf’s-hope, he unexpectedly met with an old acquaint- ance just alighting from his horse. ‘This was no other than the very respectable Captain Craigengelt, who imme: diately came up to him, and, without appearing to retain any recollection of the indifferent terms on which they had parted, shook him by the hand in the warmest manner possible. A warm grasp of the hand was what Bucklaw could never help returning with cordiality, and no sooner had Craigengelt felt the pressure of his fingers than he knew the terms on which he stood with him. “ Long life to you, Bucklaw!” he exclaimed; “there’s life for honest folk in this bad world yet!” The Jacobites at this period, with what propriety 1 know not, used, it must be noticed, the term of honest men as peculiarly descriptive of their own party. “Ay, and for others besides, it seems,” answered Bucklaw; “otherways, how came you to venture hither, noble Captain?” “ Who—I?—I am as free as the wind at Martinmas, that pays neither land-rent nor annual; all is explained— all settled with the honest old drivellers yonder of Auld Reekie—Pooh! pooh! they dared not keep me a week of days in durance. A certain person has better friends among them than you wot of, and can serve a friend when it is least likely.” “ Pshaw!” answered Hayston, who perfectly knew and thoroughly despised the character of this man, “ none of your cogging vibberish—tell me truly, are you at liberty and in safety “ “Free and safe as a whig bailie on the causeway of his own borough, or a canting Presbyterian minister in his own pulpit—ard I came to tell yuu that you need not remain in hiding any longer.”Mee LLIN LTT tL EDL AALS ALLL LI DDD Oe ae eee STASI, {68 WAVERLEY NOVELS. “Then I suppose you call yourself my friend, Captain Craigengelt?” said Bucklaw. “Friend?” replied Craigengelt, “my cock of the pit? why, I am thy very Achates, man, as I have heard scholars thine to life and say—hand and glove—bark and tree death !” “T’ll try that in a moment,” answered Bucklaw. “Thou ari never without money, however thou comest by it. Lend me two pieces to wash the dust out of these honest > fellows’ throats in the first place, and then——— “Two pieces? twenty are at thy service, my lad—and twenty to back them.” “Ay—say you so?” said Bucklaw, pausing, for his natural penetration led him to suspect some extraordinary motive lay couched under such an excess of generosity. “Craigengelt, you are either an honest fellow in right good earnest, and J scarce know how to believe that—or you are cleverer than I took you for, and I searce know how to believe that either.” “Lun wempéche pas lautre,” said Craigengelt, “ touch and try—the gold is good as ever was weighed.” He put a quantity of gold pieces into Bucklaw’s hand, which he thrust into his pocket without either counting or looking at them, only observing, “that he was so circumstanced that he must enlist, though the devil offered the press-money;” and then turning to the hunts- men, he called out, “ Come along, my lads—all is at my cost.” “Long life to Bucklaw!” shouted the men of the chase. “And confusion to him that takes his share of the spert, and leaves the hunters as dry as a drumhead,” added another, by way of corollary.THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 169 “The house of Ravenswood was ance a gude and an honourable house in this land,” said an a I man, “but it’s fost its credit this day, and the Master has shewn himself no better than a greedy cullion.” And with this conclusion, which was unanimously agreed to by all who heard it, they rushed tumultuously into the house of entertainment, where they revelled till a late hour. The jovial temper of Bucklaw seldom permitted him to he nice in the choice of his associates; and on the present occasion, when his joyous debauch received additional zest from the intervention of an unusual space of sobriety, and almost abstinence, he was as happy in leading the revels, as if his comrades had been sons of princes. Craigengelt had his own purposes, in- fooling him up to the tep of his bent; and having some low humour, much impudence, and the power of singing a good song, understanding besides thoroughly the disposition of his regained associate, he readily suc- ceeded in involving him bumper-deep in the festivity of the meeting. A very different scene was in the meantime passing in the Tower of Wolf’s Crag.. When the Master of Ravenswood left the court-yard, too much busied with his own perplexed reflections to pay attention to the manceuvre of Caleb, he ushered his guests into the great hall of the castle The indefatigable Balderston, who from choice or habit, worked on from morning to night, had, by degrees, cleared this desolate apartment of the confused relics of the funeral banquet, and restored it to some order. But not all his skill and labour, in disposing to advantage the little furniture which remained, could remove the dark and disconsolate appearance of those ancient and dixA Ae en eee, ies AAP STAD 170 WAVERIEY NOVELS. furnished walls. The narrow windows, flanked by deep indentures into the wall, seemed formed rather to exclude than to admit the cheerful light; and the heavy and gloomy appearance of the thunder-sky added still farther to the obscurity. As Ravenswood, with the grace of a gallant of that period, but not without a certain stiffmess and embarrass- ment of manner, handed the young lady to the upper end of the apartment, her father remained standing more near to the door, as if about to disengage himself from his hat and cloak. At this moment the clang of the portal was heard, a sound at which the stranger started, stepped hastily to the window, and looked with an air of alarm at Ravenswood, when he saw that the gate of the court was shut, und his domestics excluded. “You have nothing to fear, sir,’ said Rayenswood, yravely; “this roof retains the means of giving protec- tion, though not welcome. Methinks,’ he added, “it is time that I should know who they are that have thus highly honoured my ruined dwelling ?” The young lady remained silent and motionless, and the father, to whom the question was more directly addressed, seemed in the situation of a performer who has ventured to take upon himself a part which he finds himself unable to present, and who comes to a pause when it is most to be expected that he should speak While he endeavoured to cover his embarrassment with \he exterior ceremonials of a well-bred demeanour, it was obvious, that, in making his bow, one foot shuffled for- ward, as if to advance—the other backward, as if with the purpose of escape and as he undid the cape of his eoat, and raised his beaver from his face, his fingers fumbled as if the one had been linked with rusted iron,THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 171 pr the other had weighed equal with a stone of lead. The darkness of the sky seemed to increase, as if to Bupply the want of those mufflings which he laid aside with such evident reluctance. The impatience of Ravense- wood increased also in proportion to the delay of the stranger, and he appeared to struggle under agitation, though probably from a very different cause. He labourec to restrain his desire to speak, while the Stranger, to all appearance, was at a loss for words to express what he felt it necessary to say. At length Ravenswood’s impatience broke the bounds he had im- posed. upon it. “T perceive,’ he said, “that Sir William Ashton is unwilling to announce himself in the Castle of Wolf’s Crag.” “YT had hoped it was unnecessary,” said the Lord Keeper, relieved from his silence, as a spectre by the voice of the exorcist; “ and I am obliged to you, Master of Ravenswood, for breaking the ice at once, where cir- cumstances—unhappy circumstances, let me call them— rendered self-introduction peculiarly awkward.” “ And am I not then,” said the Master of Ravenswood, gravely, “to consider the honour of this visit as purely accidental ? ” “ Let us distinguish a little,” said the Keeper, assuming an appearance of ease which perhaps his heart was a stranger to; “this is an honour which J have eagerly desired for some time, but which I might never have pbtained, save for the accident of the storm. My daughter and I are alike grateful for this opportunity of thanking the brave man, to whom she owes her life pnd I mine.” The hatred which divided the great families in the d—they renew ed again their shouts of laughter! Caleb, in the meantime, stood his ground with a grave, angry, and scornful dignity, enhanced the ridicule of the scene, a and the which gre atly mirth of ic. spect ators. = —— eesree ae Me aed ae el eae oe 180 WAVERLEY NOVELS. At length, when the voices, and nearly the strength of the laughers, were exhausted, he exclaimed, with very little ceremony, “The deil’s in the gentles ! they breakfast sae lordly, that the loss of the best dinner ever cook pat fingers to, makes them as merry as if it were the best jeest in a’ George Buchanan. If there was as little in your honour’s wames, as there is in Caleb Balderston’s, less caickling wad serve ye on sic a grava- minous subject.” Caleb’s blunt expression of resentment again awakened the mirth of the company, which, by the way, he regarded not only as an aggression upon the dignity of the family, but a special contempt of the eloquence with which he himself had summed up the extent of their supposed losses ;—“ a-description of a dinner,” as he said afterwards to Mysie, “that wad hae made a fu’ man hungry, and them to sit there laughing at it.” “ But,” said Miss Ashton, composing her countenance as well as she could, “are all these delicacies so totally destroyed, that no scrap can be collected ? ” “ Collected, my leddy! what wad ye collect out of the sute and the ass? Ye may gang down yoursell, and look into our kitehen—the cookmaid in. the trembling exies—the gude-vivers lying a’ about—beef—capons, and white broth—florentine and flams—bacon, wi’ rev- erence, and a’ the sweet confections and whim-whams ! yell see them a’ my leddy—that is,” said he, correcting himself, “ ye’ll no see ony of them now, for the eook has soopit them up, as was weel her part; but yell see the white broth where it was spilt. I pat my fingers in it, and it tastes as like sour milk as ony thine else; if that isna the effect of thunner, I kenna what is.—This gentle- man here couldna but hear the clash of our hail dishes china and silver thegither ? ”THE BRIDE UF LAMMERMOOR. 181 ‘The Lord Keeper’s domestic, though a statesman’s attendant, and of course trained to command his counte- nance upon all occasions, was somewhat discomposed by this appeal, to which he only answered by a bow. “1 think, Mr. Butler,” said the Lord Keeper, whe pegan to be afraid lest the prolongation of this scene should at length displease Ravenswood,—“ I think, the< were you to retire with my servant Lockhard—he has travelled, and is quite accustomed to accidents and contin- gencies of every kind, and I hope betwixt you, you may find out some mode of supply at this emergency.” “His honour kens,” said Caleb, who, however hope- less of himself of accomplishing what was desirable, would, like the high-spirited elephant, rather have died in the effort than brooked the aid of a brother in commis- sion,—“ his honour kens weel I need nae counsellor, when the honour of the house is concerned.” “J should be unjust if I denied it, Caleb,” said his master; “but your art lies chiefly in making apologies, upon which we can no more dine, than upon the bill of fare of our thunder-blasted dinner. Now, possibly, Mr. Lockhard’s talent may consist in finding some substitute for that, which certainly is not, and has in all probability never been.” “ Your honour is pleased to be facetious,” said Caleb, “but I am sure, that for the warst, for a walk as far as Wolf’s-hope, I could dine forty men,—no that the folk there deserve your honour’s custom. They hae been ill advised in the matter of the duty-eggs and butter, I winna feny that” “ Do go consult together,” said the Master ; “ go down to the village, and do the best you can. We must not let onr guests remain without refreshment, to save theeee ere ee Ls2 WAVERLEY NOVELS honour of a ruined family. And here, Caleb—take iny purse ; I believe that will prove your best ally.” “ Purse? purse, indeed?” quoth Caleb, indignantly dinging out of the room,—“ what suld I do wi’ your hon- our’s purse, on your ain grund? I trust we are no te pay fer our ain?” The servants left ‘the hall; and the door was no sooner shut, than the Lord Keeper began to apologize for the rudeness of his mirth ; and Lucy to hope she had given no pain or offence to the kind-hearted faithful old man. “Caleb and I must both learn, madam. to undergo with good humour, or at least with patience, the ridicule which everywhere attaches itself to poverty.” “You do yourself injustice, Master of Ravenswood, on my word of honour,” answered his elder guest. “I believe I know more of your affairs than you do your- self, and I hope to shew you that I am interested in them ; and that—in short, that your prospects are better than you apprehend. In the meantime, I can conceive nothing so respectable as the spirit which rises above misfortune, and prefers honourable privations to debt or dependence.” Whether from fear of offending the delicacy, or awak- ening the pride of the Master, the Lord Keeper made these allusions with an appearance of fearful and hesitat- ing reserve, and seemed to be afraid that he was intruding too far, in venturing to touch, however lightly, upon such a topic, even when the Master had led to it. In short, he appeared at once pushed on by his desire of appear- ing friendly, and held back by the fear of intrusion. It was no wonder that the Master of Ravenswood, httie acquainted as he then was with lite, should haveTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 183 given this consummate courtier credit for more sincerity than was probably to be found in a score of his cast. He answered, however, with reserve, that he was in- debted to all who might think well of him; and, apolo- gizing to his guests, he left the hall in order to make such arrangements for their entertainment as ‘circum- stances admitted. Upon consulting with old Mysie, the accommodations for the night were easily completed, as indeed they ad- mitted of little choice. The Master surrendered his apartment for the use of Miss Ashton, and Mysie (once a person of consequence,) dressed in a black satin gown which had belonged of yore to the Master’s grandmother, and had figured in the court-balls of Henrietta Maria, went to attend her as lady’s maid. He next inquired after Bucklaw, and understanding he was at the change- house with the huntsmen and some companions, he de- sired Caleb to call there, and acquaint him how he was circumstanced at Wolf’s Crag—to intimate to him that it would be most convenient if he could find a bed in the hamlet, as the elder guest must necessarily be quartered in the secret chamber, the only spare bedroom which sould be made fit to receive him. ‘The Master saw no hardship in passing the night by the hall-fire, wrapt in his campaign-cloak ; and to Scottish domestics of the day, even of the highest rank, nay, to young men of family or fashion, on any pinch, clean straw, or a dry bay-loft, was always held good night-quarters. For the rest, Lockhard had his master’s orders to bring 1e inn, and Caleb was to trust to his The Master, indeed, but, as it was in sight ht himself obliged some venison from tl wits for the honour of his family. a second time held out his purse ; of the strange servant, the butler thougRLLESLEPLDL ILL AL ADA De mene 184 WAVERLEY NOVELS. to decline what his fingers itched to clutch. “ Couldna he hae slippit it gently into my hand?” said Caleb— * but his honour will never learn how to bear himsell in siccan cases.” Mysie, in the meantime, according to a uniform custom in remote places in Scotland, offered the strangers the produce of her little dairy, “ while better meat was get- ting ready.” And, according to another custom, not yet wholly in desuetude, as the storm was now drifting off to leeward, the Master carried the Keeper to the top of his highest tower to admire a wide and waste extent of view, ane to “ weary for his dinner.”THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 185 CHAPTER XII. **Now dame,” quoth he, ‘‘ Je vous dis sans doute, Had I nought of a capon but the liver, And of your white bread nought but a shiver, And after that a roasted pigge’s head, (But I ne wold for me no beast were dead,) Then had I with you homely sufferaunce.”? CHAUCER, SUMNER’S ‘TALE. IT was not without some secret misgivings that Caleb set out upon his exploratory expedition. In fact, it was attended with a treble difficulty. He dared not tell his master the offence which he had that morning given to Bucklaw, (just for the honour of the family,)—he dared not acknowledge he had been too hasty in refusing the and, thirdly, he was somewhat apprehensive of purse unpleasant consequences upon his meeting Hayston, under the impression of an affront, and probably by this time under the influence also of no ‘small quantity of brandy. Caleb, to do him justice, was as bold as any lion where the honour of the family of Ravenswood was concerned ; but his was that considerate valour which does not delight in unnecessary risks. This, however, was a secondary consideration; the main point was to veil the indigence of the house-keeping at the castle, and to make good his vaunt of the cheer which his resources could procure, without Lockhard’s assistance, and without supplies from his master. This was as prime a point of honour with him, as with the generous elephant with whom we haveee eee CL 1$6 WAVERLEY NOVELS. already compured him, who, being overtasked, broke his skull through the desperate exertions which he made to discharge his duty, when he perceived they were bringing up another to his assistance. : The village which they now approached had frequently afforded the distressed butler resources upon similar emergencies: but his relations with it had been of late much altered. It was a little hamlet which straggled along the side of a creek formed by the discharge of a small brook into the sea, and was hidden from the castle, to which it had been in former times an appendage, by the intervention of the shoulder of a hill forming a projecting headland. It was called Wolf’s-hope, (2. e., Wolf’s Haven,) and the few inhabitants gained a precarious subsistence by man- ning two or three fishing-boats in the herring season, and smuggling gin and brandy during the winter months. They paid a kind of hereditary respect to the Lords of Ravenswood ; but, in the difficulties of the family, most of the inhabitants of Wolf’s-hope had contrived to get feu-rights* to their little possessions, their huts, kail- yards, and rights of commonty, so that they were eman- cipated from the chains of feudal dependence, and free from the various exactions with which, under every possible pretext, or without any pretext at all, the Scot- tish landlords of the period, themselves in great poverty, were wont to harass their still poorer. tenants-at-will. They might be, on the whole, termed independent, a circumstance peculiarly galling to Caleb, who had been wont to exercise over them the same sweeping authority * That is, absolute rights of property for the payment of a sum annually, which is usually a trifle in sucu cases as are alluded to in the text.THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 187 in levying contributions which was exercised in former times in England, when “the royal- purveyors, sallying forth from under the Gothic portcullis to purchase pro- visions with power and prerogative instead of money, brought home the plunder of an hundred markets, and all that could be seized from a flying and hiding country, and deposited their spoil in a hundred caverns.” * Caleb loved the memory and resented the downfall of that authority, which mimicked, on a petty scale, the grand contributions exacted by the feudal sovereigns. And as he fondly flattered himself that the awful rule and right supremacy which assigned to the Barons of Ravenswood the first and most effective interest in all productions of nature within five miles of their castle, only slumbered, and was not departed forever, he used every now and then to give the recollection of the inhab- itants a little jog by some petty exaction. These were at first submitted to, with more or less readiness by the inhabitants of the hamlet; for they had been so long used to consider the wants of the Baron and his family as having a title to be preferred to their own, that their actual independence did not convey to them an immediate sense of freedom. ‘They resembled a man that has been long fettered, who, even at liberty, feels in imagination, the grasp of the handcuffs still binding his wrists. But the exercise of freedom is quickly followed with the natural consciousness of its immunities, as an enlarged prisoner, by the free use of his limbs, soon dispels the cramped feeling they had acquired when bound. The inhabitants of Wolf’s-hope began to grumble, tu resist, and at length positively to refuse compliance with the exactions of Caleb Balderston. It was in vain he * Burke’s Speech on Economical Reform.— Works, vol. iii. p. 209{88 WAVERLEY NOVELS. reminded them, that when the eleventh Lord Ravens- wood, called the Skipper, from his delight in naval matters, had encouraged the trade of. their port by building the pier, (a »ulwark of. stones rudely piled together.) which protected the fishing-boats from the weather, it had been matter of understanding, that he was to have the first stone of butter after the calving of every cow within the barony, and the first ege, thence called the Monday’s ego, laid by every hen on every Monday in the year. The feuars heard and scratched their heads, coughed, sneezed, and being pressed for answer, rejoined with one J voice, “ They could not say ;”—thé universal refuge of a Scottish peasant, when pressed to admit a claim which his conscience owns, or perhaps his feelings, and hig interest inclines him to deny. Caleb, however, furnished the notables of Wolf’s-hope with a note of the requisition of butter and egos, which he claimed as arrears of the aforesaid subsidy, or kindly aid, payable as above mentioned; and having intimated that he would not be averse to compound the same for goods or money, if it was inconvenient to them to pay in kind, left them, as he hoped, to debate the mode of assess- ing themselves for that purpose. On the contrary, they met with a determined purpose of resisting the exaction, and were only undecided as to the mode of grounding their opposition, when the cooper, a very important | person on a fishing station, and one of the Conscript Fathers of the village, observed, “That their hens had eaickled mony a day for the Lords of Ravenswood, and , It was time they suld caickle for those that gave them roosts ard harley.” A unanimous grin intimated the assent of the asiembly. “And,” continued the orator,TAE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 189 ‘if it’s your wull, T’ll just tak a step as far as Dunse for Davie Dingwall the writer, that’s come frae the North to settle amang us, and he'll pit this job to rights, I’se warrant him.” A day was accordingly fixed for holding a grand paluver at Wolf’s-hope on the subject of Caleb’s requisitions, and be was invited to attend at the hamlet for that purpose. He went with open hands and empty stomach, trusting to fill the one on his master’s account, and the other on his own score, at the expense of the feuars of Wolf’s hope. But, death to his hopes! as he entered the eastern end of the straggling village, the awful form of Davie Dingwall, a sly, dry, hard-fisted, shrewd country attorney, who had already acted against the family of Ravenswood, and was a principal agent of Sir William Ashton, trotted in at the western extremity, bestriding a leathern port- manteau stuffed with the feu-charters of the hamlet, and hoping he had not kept Mr. Balderston waiting, “as he was instructed and fully empowered to pay or receive, compound or compensate, and, in fine, to agé* as accords, respecting all mutual and unsettled claims what- soever, belonging or competent to the Honourable Edgar Ravenswood, commonly called the Master of Ravens- J 9 wood—— “The Right Honourable Edgar Lord Ravenswood,” said Caleb, with great emphasis; for, though conscious he had little chance of advantage in the conflict to ensue, he was resolved not to sacrifice one jot of honour. * Tord Ravenswood, then,” said the man of business: “ we shall not quarrel with you about titles of courtesy— d Lord Ravenswood, or Master of Ravens- a Scottish law commonly calle * i. e., To act as may be nec*ssary and legal: phrase.5 Rea TOLL TE Ee Ca ee A Ar i Te Fe eer ee EL ee een iia tata 190 WAVERLEY NOVELS. wood, heritable proprietor of the Jands and barony of Wolf’s Crag, on the one part, and to John Whitefish and others, feuars in the town of Wolf’s-hope, within the } J barony aforesaid, on the other part.” Caleb was conscious, from sad experience, that he would wage a very different strife with this mercenary champion, than with the individual feuars themselves, upon whose old recollections, predilections, and habits of thinking, he might have wrought by a hundred indirect arguments, to which their deputy-representative was totally insensible. ‘The issue of the debate proved the reality of his apprehensions. It was in vain he strained his eloquence and ingenuity, and collected into one mass all arguments arising from antique custom and _ heredi- tary respect, from the good deeds done by the Lord of Ravenswood to the community of Wolf’s-hope in forme: days, and from what might be expected from them in future. The writer stuck to the contents of his feu- charters—he could not see it—’twas not in the bond. And when Caleb, determined to try what a little spirit would do, deprecated the consequences of Lord Ravens- wood’s withdrawing his protection from the burgh, and even hinted at his using active measures of resentment, the man of law sneered in his face. “ His clients,” he said, “had determined to do the best they could for their own town, and he thought Lord Ravenswood, since he was a lord, might have enough to do to look after his own castle. As to any threats of stouthrief oppression, by rule of thumb, or via Sueti, as the law termed it, he would have Mr. Balderston recol- lect, that new times were not as old times—that they lived on the south of the Forth, and far from the Hich- lands—-that his clients thought they were able to protectTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 194 themselves ; but should they find themselves mistaken, they would apply to the government for the protection of a corporal and four red-coats, who.” said Mr. Dinewall, with a grin, “would be perfectly able to secure them against Lord Ravenswood, and all that he or his fol- lowers could do by the strong hand.” If Caleb could have concentrated all the lightnings of aristocracy in his eye, to have struck dead this cons ftemner of allegiance and privilege, he would have launched them at his head, without respect to the con- sequences. As it was, he was compelled to turn his eourse backward to the castle; and there he remained for full half a day invisible and inaccessible even to Mysie, sequestered in his own peculiar dungeon, where he sat burnishing a single pewter-plate, and whistling “ Magey Lauder” six hours without intermission. The issue of this unfortunate requisition had shut against Caleb all resources which could be derived from Wolf’s-hope and its purlieus, the El Dorado, or Peru, from which, in all former cases of exigence, he had been able to extract some assistance. He had, indeed, in a manner, vowed that the deil should have him, if ever he put the print of his foot within its causeway again. He had hitherto kept his word; and, strange to tell, this se- cession had, as he intended in some degree, the effect of a punishment upon the refractory feuars. Mr. Balderston had been a person in their eyes connected with a superior order of beings, whose presence used to grace their little festivities, whose advice they found useful on many occa- sions, and whose communications gave a sort of credit to their village. The place, they acknowledged, “didna look as it used to do, and should do, since Mr. Caleb keepit the castle sae closely—but, doubtless, touching the eggs eeeo ea ene ae eee eras eet oie ee aie oy 192 WAVERLEY NOVELS. and butter, it was a most unreasonable demand, as Mr. Dingwall had justly made manifest.” Thus stood matters betwixt the parties when the old butler, though it was gall and wormwood to him, found himself obliged either to acknowledge before a strange man of quality, and, what was much worse, before that straneer’s servant, the total inability of Wolf’s Crag to produce a dinner, or he must trust to the compassion of the feuars of Wolf’s-hope. It was a dreadful degrada- tion, but necessity was equally imperious and lawless. With these feelings he entered the street of the village. Willing to shake himself from his companion as soon as possible, he directed Mr. Lockhard to Luckie Sma’- trash’s change-house, where a din, proceeding from the revels of Bucklaw, Craigengelt, and their party, sounded half-way down the street, while the red glare from the window overpowered the grey twilight which was now settling down, and glimmered against a parcel of old tubs, kegs, and barrels, piled up in the cooper’s yard, on the other side of the way. “Tf you, Mr. Lockhard,” said the old butler to his companion, “will be pleased to step to the change-house where that light comes from, and where, as I judge, they ure now singing ‘ Cauld Kail in Aberdeen, ye may do your master’s errand about the venison, and I will do mine about Bucklaw’s bed, as I return frae getting the rest of the vivers.—It’s no that the venison is actually ueedfu’,” he added, detaining his colleague by the button, ‘to make up the dinner; but, as a compliment to the and, Mr. Lockhard—if they offer yea hunters, ye ken drink o’ yill, or a cup 0’ wine, or a glass o’ brandy, yell be a wise man to take it, in case the thunner should. hae soured ours at the castle—whilk is ower muckle to be dreaded.”— SSL THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 193 Sy nw he 1 3 . pn He then permitted Lockhard to depart: and with foot heavy as lead, and yet far liehter than his ae eart, stepped © on through the unequal street of the str ageling ees + meditating on whom he ought to make his first attack. Tt was necessary he should iind some one, with whom old f acknowledged greatness should ies more than recent ‘ independence, and to whom his a pplication might appear an act of high dignity, ae at once and soothing. i But he could not recollect an inhabitant of a mind SO J constructed. “Our kail is like to be eauld eneugh too,” J he reflected, as the chorus of “ Cauld Kail in Aberdeen ” ; again reached his ears. The minister—he had got his \ presentation from the late lord, but they had quarrelled about teinds :—the brewster’s wife—she had trusted long —and the bill was aye scored up—and unless the dignity of the family should actually require it, it would be a sin to distress a widow woman. None was so able—but, on the ied hand, none was likely to be less willing, to stand his friend upon the present occasion, than Gibbie Girder, the man of tubs and barrels already mentioned, a who had headed the insurrection in the matter of the egg and batter subsidy.—* But a’ comes o’ taking folk on the right side, I trow,” quoth Caleb to himself; ‘and I had ance the ill hap to say he was but a Johnny Newcome in Pog our town, and the carle bore the family an ill will ever since. But he married a bonny young quean, Jean Lightbody, aul 1 Lightbody’s daughter, him that was in the steading of Loup-t he-Dyke,—and auld Lightbody was a AT I married himself to } the family forty years syne—I hae had mony a day’s arion, that was about my lady in daffing wi’ Jean’s mither, and they say she bides on wi’ them—the carle has.Jacobuses and Georgiuses baith, an and sure I am, it’s doing him an Oo 13 ane could get at them VOL. XV.ee Se ha ea a erp mimes Pere 194 WAVERLEY NOVELS. honour him or his never deserved at our hand, the un- gracious sumph; and if he loses by us athegitlier, he 1s e’en cheap ‘Yt, he can spare it brawly.” Shaking off irresolution, therefore, and turning at once upon his heel, Caleb walked hastily back to the cooper’s house, lifted the latch without ceremony, and, in a mo- ment found himself behind the allan, or partition, from which position he could, himself unseen, reconnoitre the interior of the dwt, or kitchen apartment, of the mansion. teverse of the sad menage at the Castle of Wolf’s ] ] i Crag, a bickering fire roared up the cooper’s chimney. His wife on the one side, in her pearlings and pudding sleeves, put the last finishing touch to her holiday’s ap- parel, while she contemplated a very handsome and good- humoured face in a broken mirror, raised upon the bink (the shelves on which the plates are disposed) for her special accommodation. I ler mother, old Luckie Loup- the-Dike, “a canty carline,” as was within twenty miles of her, according to the unanimous report of the cummers, or gossips, sat by the fire in the full glory of a grogram gown, lammer beads, and a clean cockernony, whiffing a snug pipe of tobacco, and superintending the affairs of the kitchen. I‘or—sight more interesting to the anxious heart and craving entrails of the desponding seneschal, than either buxom dame or canty cummer—there bub- bled on the aforesaid bickering fire, a huge pot, or rather cauldron, steaming with beef and brewis; while before it revolved two spits, turned each by one of the cooper’s apprentices, seated in the opposite corners of the chimney ; the one loaded with a quarter of mutton, while the other was graced with a fat goose and a brace of wild ducks. The sight and scent of such a land of plenty almost wholly overcame the droopirg spirits of CalebTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 198 He turned, for a moment’s space, to reconnoitre the ben, or parlour end of the house, and there saw a sight scarce less affecting to his feelines,—a large round table covered for ten or twelve persons decored (according to his own favourite term) with mapery as white as snow; grand flagons of pewter, iniermixed with one or two silver cups, containing, as was probable, something worthy the brillianey of their outward appearance ; clean trenchers, eutty spoons, knives and forks, sharp, burnished, and prompt for action, which lay all displayed as for an especial festival. “The devil’s in the pedling tub-coopering carle!” muttered Caleb, in all the envy of astonishment; “it’s a shame to see the like o’ them gusting their gabs atsica rate. But if some o’ that gude cheer does not find its way to Wolf’s Crag this night, my name is not Caleb Balderston.” So resolving, he entered the apartment, and, in all courteous greeting, saluted both the mother and the daughter. Wolf’s Crag was the court of the barony, Caleb prime minister at Wolf’s Crag; and it has ever = been remarked, that though the masculine subject who pays the taxes sometimes growls at the courtiers by whom they are imposed, the said courtiers continue, nevertheless, welcome to the fair sex, to whom they furnish the newest small talk and the earliest fashions. 30th the dames were, therefore, at once about old Caleb’s neck, setting up their throats together by way of welcome. “ Ay, sirs, Mr. Balderston, and is this you ?—A sight of you is eude for sair een—sit down—sit down—the gudeman will be blithe to see you—ye nar saw him sae ealey in your life; but we are to christen our bit weana ee ee ee SS eee ee eee 196 WAVERLEY NOVELS. the night, as ye will hae heard, and doubtless ye will stay and ste the oidinance-—We hae killed a wether, and ane o’ our !nds has been out wi’ his gun at the moss—ye used to like wild-fowl.” “ Na—na—eudewife,” said Caleb, “I just keekit in to wish ye joy, and I wad be glad to hae spoken wr the gudeman, but—— ” moving, as if to go away. “The ne’er a fit ye’s gang,” said the elder dame, laughing, and holding him fast, with a freedom which belonged to their old acquaintance; “ wha kens what ill it may bring to the bairn, if ye owerlook it in that gate?” “But I’m in a preceese hurry, gudewife,” said the butler, suffering himself to be dragged to a seat without much resistance; “and as to eating ”—for he observed the mistress of the dwelling bustling about to place a trencher for him—“as for eating—lack-a-day, we are just killed up yonder wi’ eating frae morning to night— it’s shamefu’ epicurism; but that’s what we hae gotten frae the English pock-puddings.” “ Hout—never mind the English pock-puddings,” said Luckie Lightbody ; “try our puddings, Mr. Balderston —there is black pudding and white-hass—try whilk ye like best.” “ Baith gude—baith excellent—canna be better; but the very smell is encugh for me that hae dined sae lately, (the faithful wretch had fasted since day-break.) > But I wadna affront your housewifeskep, gudewife ; and, with your permission, I’se e’en pit*them in my napkin, and eat them to my supper at e’en, for J’m wearied of Mysie’s pastry and nonsense ye ken landward dainties ays pleased me best, Marion—and landward lasses too— (looking at the cooper’s wife)——Ne’er a bit but she locksar ee asta THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 197 far better than when she married Gilbert, and then she was the bonniest lass in our parochine and the neest till’t —But gawsie cow, goodly calf.” The women smiled at the compliment each to herself, and they smiled again to each other as Caleb wrapt up the puddings in a towel which he had brought with him, as a dragoon carries his foraging bag to receive what may fall in his way. “ And what news at the castle?” quo’ the eudewife. “ News ?—the bravest news ye ever heard—the Lord Keeper’s up yonder wi’ his fair daughter, just ready to fling her at my lord’s head, if he winna tak her out o’ his arms; and I’se warrant he’ll stitch our auld lands of Ravenswood to her petticoat tail.” h.! Sirs weel favoured ?—and what’s the colour o’ her hair ?—and ay !—and will he hae her ?—and is she >? does she wear a habit or a railly ?” were the questions which the females showered upon the butler. “Hout tout !—it wad tak a man a day to answer a’ your questions, and I hae hardly a minute. Where’s the gudeman ?” “ Awa to fetch the minister,” said Mrs. Girder, “pre- cious Mr. Peter Bide-the-Bent, frae the Moss-head—the honest man has the rheumatism wi’ lying in the hills in the persecution.” “ Ay !—a whig and a mountain man—nae less?” said Caleb, with a peevishness he could not suppress; “I hae seen the day, Luckie, when worthy Mr. Cuffcushion and the service-book would hae served your turn, (to the ulder dame,) or ony honest woman in like circumstances.” “ And that’s true too,” said Mrs. Lightbody, “ but what san a body do?—Jean maun baith sing her psalms and busk her cockernony, the gate the gudemar likes, and naeer er ae St 1 a eae eee, 198 WAVERLEY NOVELS. ither gate; for he’s maister and mair at hame, I san tell ye, Mr. Balderston.” “ Ay, ay, and does he guide the gear too ?” said Caleb, to whose projects masculine rule boded little good. “Jka penny on’t—but he'll dress her as dink as a daisy, as ye see—sae she has little reason to complain— where there’s ane better aff there’s ten waur.” “ Aweel, gudewife,” said Caleb, crest-fallen, but not beaten off, “that wasna the way ye guided your gude- man ; but ilka land has its ain lauch. I maun be ganging —I just wanted to round in the yxudeman’s lug, that I heard them say up by yonder, that Peter Puncheon that was cooper to the Queen’s stores at the Timmer Burse at Leith, is dead—sae I thought that maybe a word frae my lord to the Lord Keeper might hae served Gilbert ; but . since he’s frae hame—— , “© but ye maun stay his hame-coming,” said the dame; “Taye telled the gudeman ye meant weel to him; but he taks the tout at every bit lippening word.” “ Aweel, I’ll stay the last minute I can.” “And so,” said the handsome young spouse of Mr. Girder, “ye think this Miss Ashton is weel-favoured ?— troth, and sae should she, to set up for our young lord, with a face, and a hand, and a seat on his horse, that micht become a king’s son—d’ye ken that he aye glowers up at my window, Mr. Balderston, when he chances to ride thro’ the town, sae I hae a right to ken what like he is, as weel as ony body.” “T ken that brawly,” said Caleb, “for I hae heard his lordship say, the cooper’s wife had the blackest ee in the barony; and I said, Weel may that be, my lord, for it was her mither’s afore her, as I ken to my cost—Eh, ? Marion? Ha, ha, ha!—Ah! these were merry days!”esi acstlaiempaieiansscaiabpseuenaymaaie ean SS on cae ME i { = f = = * — PBR r THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 199 uv ‘Hout awa, auld carle,” said the old dame, “to speak sic daflin to young folk.— But, Jean—fie, woman, dinna ye Lear the bairn greet? Tse warrant it’s that dreary weid * has come over’t again.” Up got mother and erandmother, and scoured away, jostling each other as they ran, into some remote corner of the tenement, where the young hero of the evening was deposited. When Caleb saw the coast fairly clear, he tock an invigorating pinch of snuff, to sharpen and confirm his resolution. Cauld be my cast, thought he, if either Bide-the-Bent or Girder taste that broche of wild-fowl this evening; and then addressing the eldest turnspit, a boy of about eleven years old, and putting a penny into his hand, he said, “ Here is twal pennies,f my man; carry that ower to Mrs. Sma’trash, and bid her fill my mill wi’ snishing, and I’ll turn the broche for ye in the meantime—and she will gie ye a gingerbread snap for your pains.” No sooner was the elder boy departed on this mission, than Caleb, looking the remaining turnspit gravely and steadily in the face, removed from the fire the spit bearing the wild fowl of which he had undertaken the charge, clapped his hat on his head, and fairly marched off with it. He stopped at the door of the change-house only to say, in a few brief words, that Mr. Hayston of Bucklaw was not to expect a bed that evening in the castle. If this message was too briefly delivered by Caleb, it became absolute rudeness when conveyed through the medium of a suburb landlady; and Bucklaw was, as a more calm and temperate man might have been, highly * Weid, a feverish cold; adisorder incident to infants and to females, @ so called. i Monetz Scoticx, scilicet.re ee a eat MEE SOD eee Te eater) Mea YOO WAVERLEY NOVELS. meensed. Captain Craigengelt proposed, with the unan- imous applause of all present, that they should course the old fox (meaning Caleb) ere he got to cover and toss him ina blanket. But Lockhard intimated to h's-mas- ter’s servants, and those of Lord Bittlebrains, in a tone of authority, that the slightest impertinence to the Master of Ravenswo0d’s domestic, would give Sir William Ash- ton the highest offence. And having so said, in a manner sufficient to prevent any aggression on their part, he left the public-house, taking along with him two servants loaded with such provisions as he had been able to pro- cure, and overtook Caleb just when he had cleared tke village.THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. CHAPTER XII. Should I take aught of you?—’tis true I begged now; And what is worse than that, I stole a kindness; And, what is worst of all, I lost my way in’t. Wit witsout Money. Tue face of the little boy, sole witness of Caleb’s infringement upon the laws at once of property and hospitality, would have made a good picture. He sat motionless, as if he had witnessed some of the spectral appearances which he had heard told of in a winter’s evening ; and as he forgot his own duty, and allowed his spit to stand still, he added to the misfortunes of the evening, by suffering the mutton to burn as black as coal. He was first recalled from his trance of astonishment by a hearty cuff, administered by Dame Lightbody, who (in whatever other respects she might conform to her name) was a woman strong of person, and expert in the use of her hands, as some say her deceased husband had known to his cost. “ What gar’d ye let the roast burn, ye ill-cleckit gude: for-nought ?” “T dinna ken,” said the boy. “ And where’s that ill-deedy gett, Giles?” “TJ dinna ken,” blubbered the astonished declarant. “ And where’s Mr. Balderston ?—and abune a’. and in the name of council and kirk-session, that I suld say sae, x SS nek ah where’s the broche wi’ the wild-fowl202 WAVERLEY NOVELS. As Mrs. Girder here entered, and joined her mother’s ts exclamations, screaming into one ear while the old lady deafened the other, they succeeded in so utterly confounds ing the unhappy urchin. that he could not for some tine © L v tell his story at all, and it was only when the elder boy returned, that the truth began to dawn on their minds. “ Weel. sirs)” said Mrs. Lightbody, “ wha wad hae ee thought o’ Caleb Balderston playing an auld acquaintance sic a pliskie !” “QO, weary on him!” said the spouse of Mr. Girder; Sea ee “and what am I to say to the gudeman *—he’ll brain me, *¢ there wasna anither woman in a’ Wolf’s-hope.” “ Hout tout, silly quean,” said the mother; “na, na— it?s come to muckle, but it’s no come to that neither ; for Eee an he brain you ke maun brain me, and I have garr’d his betters stand back—hands aff is fair play—we maunna heed a bit flyting.” The tramp of horses now announced the arrival of the EON oO cooper, with the minister. ‘They had no sooner dis- mounted than they made for the kitchen fire, for the evening was cool after the thunder-storm, and the woods wet and dirty. The young gudewife, strong in the Eee Te See ENO Bea: charms of her Sunday gown and biggonets, threw herself in the way of receiving the first attack, while her mother, like the veteran division of the Roman legion, remained in the rear, ready to support her in case of necessity. Both hoped to protract the discovery of what had hap- pencd—the mother, by interposing her bustling person betwixt Mr. Girder and the fire, and the daughter by the extreme cordiality with which she received the minister nnd her husband, and the anxious fears which she expressed lest they should have “ gotten eauld.” “ Cauld ?” quoth the husband surlily—for he was not ob ee_—— = Seer ree eS THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 203 £ pf that class of lords and masters whose wives are vicee roys over them—* we'll be cauld eneugh, I think, if ye dinna let us in to the fire.” And so saying, he burst his way through both lines of defence: and, as he had a careful eye over his property . of every kind, he perceived at one glance the absence of ° the spit with its savoury burden. “ What the deil, woman 7 “ Fie for shame!” exclaimed both the women; “and i before Mr. Bide-the-Bent!” ‘J “T stand reproved,” said the cooper; “ but y a! “The taking in our mouths the name of the great \ enemy of our souls,” said Mr. Bide-the-Bent 39 . “ J stand reproyed,” said the cooper. “Ts an exposing ourselves to his temptations,” con- tinued the reverend monitor, “and an inviting, or, in some sort, a compelling, of him to lay aside his other trafficking with unhappy persons, and wait upon those in whose speech his name is frequent.” “ Weel, weel, Mr. Bide-the-Bent, can a man do mair than stand reproved?” said the cooper; “ but just let me ask the women what for they hae dished the wild-fowl * before we came.” “They arena dished, Gilbert,” said his wife; “ but— r al but an accident- “ What accident?” said Girder, with flashing eyes— “ Nae ill come ower them, I trust? Uh?” His wife, who stood much in awe of him, durst not reply; but her mother bustled up to her support, with . arnis disposed as if they were about to be a-kimbo at the next reply,—* I gied them to an acquaintance of mine, Gibbie Girder; and what about it now?” Her excess of assurance struck Girder mute for anrn Ae pee dg ee ere ee Se ea ae ae eg eae ee Oe aeee) ADEE SPIDER ALR A oe PAIS IDS ve tate 204 WAVERLEY NGVELS. instant. “And ye gied the wild-fowl, the best end of our christening dinner, to a friend of yours, ye auld rudas: And what might Ais name be, I pray ye ?” “ Just worthy Mr. Caleb Balderston, frae Wolf’s Crag,” answered Marion, prompt and prepared for battle. Girder’s wrath foamed over all restraint. If there was a circumstance which could have added to the resent- ment he felt, it was, that this extravagant donation had been made in favour of our friend Caleb, towards whom, for reasons to which the reader is no stranger, he nour- ished a decided resentment. He raised his riding-wand against the elder matron, but she stood firm, collected in herself, and undauntedly brandished 1 l just been flambing (Anglice, basting) the } } he iron ladle with which she ha roast of mutton. Her weapon was certainly the better, and her arm not the weakest of the two; so that Gilbert thought it safest to turn short off upon his wife, who hax by this time hatched a sort of hysterical whine, which greatly moved the minister, who was in fact as simple and kind-hearted a creature as ever breathed.—< And you, ye thowless jadd, to sit still and see my substance disponed upon to an idle, drunken, reprobate, worm-eaten, 1 , I serving-man, just because he kittles the lugs o’ a silly auld wife wi’ useless clavers, and every twa words a lee? -—I’ll gar you as eude——” Here the minister interposed, both by voice and action, while Dame Lightbody threw herself in front of her daughter, and flourished her ladle. “Am I no to chastise my ain wife?” exclaimed the fooper, very indignantly. “Ye may chastise your ain wife if ye like,” answered Dame Lightbody; “but ye shall never lay finger on my > taughter, and that ye may found upon.2 : THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 205 “For shame, Mr. Girder!” said the clergyman; “ this is what I little expected to have seen of you, that you suld give rein to your sinful passions against your nearest and your dearest; and this night too, when ye are called to the most solemn duty of a Christian parent—and a’ for what? for a redundancy of creature-comforts, as worth- less as they are unneedful.” “Worthless!” exclaimed the cooper; “a better guse never walkit on stubble; twa finer dentier wild-ducks never wat a feather.” > “ Be it sae, neighbour,” rejoined the minister; “ but see what superfluities are yet revolving before your fire. I have seen the day when ten of the bannocks which stand upon that board would have been an acceptable dainty to as many men, that were starving on hills and bogs, and in caves of the earth, for the Gospel’s sake.” “ And that’s what vexes me maist of a’,” said the cooper, anxious to get some one to sympathize with his not altogether causeless anger; “an the quean had gien it to ony suffering sant, or to ony body ava but that reaving, lying, oppressing tory villain, that rade in the wicked troop of militia when it was commanded out against the sants at Bothwell Brigg by the auld tyrant Alian Ravenswood, that is gane to his place, I wad the less hae minded it. But to gie the principal part o’ the 129 feast to the like o’ him “ Aweel, Gilbert,” said the minister, “and dinna ye see a high judgment in this ?—The seed of the righteous think of the son of a are not seen begging their bread powerful oppressor being brought to the pass of support- ing his household from your fulness.” “ And, besides,” said the wife, “it wasna for Lord Ravenswood neitber, an he wad hear hut a body speak—ee a cts ee a aa ALA SIIDDI LAPP IT ee Ee er eee SE ee nS 206 WAVERLEY NOVELS. iti was to help to entertain the Lord een as they ca him, that’s up yonder at W on Ore ag, “Sir William Ashton at Wolf's Crag!” ejaculated the astonished man of hoops and staves. “ And ae and glove wi’ Lord Ravenswood,’ added Dame Lightbody. i. eee idiot |—that auld clavering sneckdrawer wad gar ye trow the moon is made of green cheese. ‘The Lord Keeper and Ravenswood! they are eat and dog, hare and hound.” “J tell ye they are man and wife, and gree better than some others that are sae,” retorted the- mother-in-law ; ‘forby, Peter Puncheon, that’s cooper to the Queen’s stores, is dead, and the place is to fill, and———” “Od guide us, wull ye haud your skirling toneues 2?” said Girder,—for we are to remark, that this explanation was given like a catch for two voices, the younger dame, much encouraged by the turn of the debate, taking up, and repeating in a higher tone, the words as fast as they were uttered by her mother. “The gudewife says naething but what’s true, maister,” said Girder’s foreman, who had come in during the fray. “J saw the Lord J] a servants drinking and driving ower at Luckie Sma’trash’s, ower by yonder.” “And is their Eni up at Wolf’s Crag?” said Girder. “ Ay, troth is he,’ re plied his man of confidene “ And friends wi’ Bevcuainbad “one “It’s like sae,” answered the foreman, “since he is putting up * wi’ him “ And Peter Puncheon’s eae cr “ Ay, ay—Puncheon has leaked out at las , the auld * Taking up his abode.THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 207 aria? cas Decay : ‘ f ? parle,” said the foreman; “ mony a dribble o brandy has gaen through him in his day. But as for the broche and the wild-fowl, the saddle’s no aff your mare yet, maister, and I could follow and bring it back, for Mr. Balder- ston’s no far aff the town yet.” “J)o sae, Will—and come here—IT’'ll tell ye what to do when ye owertake him.” He relieved the females of his presence, and gave Will . bis private instructions. “ A bonny-like thing,” said the mother-in-law, as the cooper re-entered the apartment, “ to send the innocent lad afier an armed man, when ye ken Mr. Balderston aye wears a rapier, and whiles a dirk into the bargain.” “TI trust,” said the minister, “ye have reflected weel on what ye have done, lest you should minister cause of strife, of which it is my duty to say, he who affordeth matter, albeit he himself striketh not, is In no manner guiltless.” “Never fash your beard, Mr. Bide-the-Bent,” replied Girder; “ane canna get their breath out between wives and ministers—I ken best how to turn my ain cake.— Jean, serve up the dinner, and nae mair about it.” Nor did he again allude to the deficiency in the course of the evening. Meantime, the foreman, mounted on his mastei’s steed, and charged with his special orders, pricked swiftly forth in pursuit of the marauder, Caleb. That personage, it He inter- + may be imagined, did not linger by the way, mitted even his dearly-beloved chatter, for the purpose = 4 + + T > wie QT | € of making more haste, only assuring Mr. Lockhard that he had made the purveyor’s wife give the wild-fowl a few turns before the fire, in case tl 1 Z = Nh wed hunder, should not have her kitchen iat Mysie, who had been so wuch alarmed by the tee CE se PPLISII LP ADP LIL LLL ats oma: eee ae Sn ea We A MLO ea aaa ee cer a ZO8 WAVERLEY NOVELS. grate in full splendour. Meanwhile, alleging the neces. sity of being at Wolfs Crag as soon as possible, he pushed on so fast that his companions could scarce keep up with him. He began already to think he was safe from pur- suit, having gained the summit of the swelling eminenee which divides Wolf’s Crag from the village, when he heard the distant tread of a horse, and a voice which shouted at intervals, “ Mr. Caleb—Mr. Balderston—Mr. Caleb Balderston—hollo- Caleb, it may be well believed, was in no hurry _to . 199 bide a wee! acknowledge the summons. First, he would not hear it, and faced his companions down, that it was the echo of the wind; then he said it was not worth stopping for; and, at length, halting reluctantly, as the ficure of the horseman appeared through the shades of the evening, he bent up his whole soul to the task of defending his prey, threw himself into an attitude of dignity, advanced the spit, which in his grasp might with its burden seem both spear and shield, and firmly resolved to die rather ‘han surrender it. What was his astonishment, when the cooper’s fore- man, riding up and addressing him with respect, told him, “his master was very sorry he was absent when he came to his dwelling, and grieved that he eculd not tarry the christening dinner; and that he had taen the freedom to send a sma’ rundlet of sack, and ane anker of brandy, as he understood there were guests at the castle, and that they were short of preparation.” i have heard somewhere a story of an elderly gentle- man, who was-pursued by a bear, that had gotten loose from its muzzle, until completely exhausted. In a fit of desperation he faced round upon Bruin and lifted his franc; at the sight of which the instinct. of disciplineTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 209 prevailed, and the animal, instead of tearing him to pieces, rose up upon his hind legs, and instantly began to shuffle a saraband. Not less than the joyful surprise of the senior, who had supposed himself ai the extremity of peril from which he was thus unexpectedly relieved, was that of our excellent friend, Caleb, when he found the pursuer intended to add to his prize, inste: ad of bereaving him of it. He recovered his attitude, however, instantly, so soon as the foreman, stooping from his nag, where he sate perched betwixt the two barrels, whispered in his ear,— if ony thing about Peter Puncheon’s place could a be airted their way, John Girder wad mak it better to the Master of Ravenswood than a pair of new gloves} and that he wad be blithe to speak wi Maister Balderston on that head, and he wad find him as pliant as a hoop- willow in a’ that he could wish of him.” Caleb heard all this without rendering any answer, except that of all great men from Louis XIV. downwards, namely, “ We will see about it;” and then added aloud, for the edification of Mr. Lockhard,—“ Your master has acted with becoming civility and attention in forwarding the liquors, and I will not fail to represent it properly to my Lord Ravenswood. And, my lad,” he said, “ you mav ride on to the castle, and if none of the servants are returned, whilk is to be dreaded, as they make day and night of it when they are out of sight, ye may put them into the porter’s lodge, whilk is on the right hand of the ereat entry—the porter has got leave to go to see his friends, sae ye will meet no ane to steer ye. The foreman, having received his orders, rode en; and, having deposited the cas sks in the deserted and ruin- ; lodge, he returned Vales ee yy any one. his master’s Commission, and doffed 14 yus porter’s Having thus ex xecuted VOL. XV. eaeena ee Le Oe eT aD ee ree Ae - S oot 210 WAVERLEY NOVELS. “re . . ‘ . ‘ rod at 2 VE CO + vy his bonnet to Caleb and his company as he repassed theny in his way to the village, he returned to have his share f° ~~ *¥ of the christening festivity.’ * The raid of Caleb Balderston on the cooper’s kitchen has been universally considered, on the southern side of the Tweed as gro- tesquely and absurdly extravagant. The author can only say, that a similar anecdote was communicated to him, with date and names of the parties, by a noble Earl lately deceased, whose reinembrances of former days, both in Scotland and England, while they were given with a felicity and power of humour never to be. forgotten by those who had the happiness of meeting his lordship in familiar society, were especially invaluable from their extreme accuracy. Speaking after my kind and lamented informer, with the omission ] of names only, the anecdote ran thus:—There was a certain bachelor L gentleman in one of the midland counties of Scotland, secend son of an ancient family, who lived on the fortune of a second son, videlicit, upon some miserably small annuity, w *n yet was so managed ] ‘ ] sy a et . + : 2 TAs + + > ® and stretched out by the expedients of his man John, that his master kept the front rank with all the young men of quality in the cor inty, and hunted, dined, diced, and drank with them, upor apparently equal terms. It is true, that as the master’s so iety was extremely amusing, his Als friends contrived to reconcile his man Jo in to accept assistance of various kinds under the rose, which they dared not to have directly offered to his master. Yet, very consistently with all this good in- clination to John, and John’s master, it was t] hought among the young fox-hunters, th: at fault. t it would be an excellent jest, if possible, to take John With this intention, and. I think. in consequence of a bet of four or five of these youngsters arrived at the bachelor’s litt] l aurrived a @ vat OVS 1ICLie Maw B10n, Wilich was adjacent to a considerable village. Here they alighted . wy: ) ] { i +1 ] P a short while yeiore tie cainner-nour—ti{or it was judged recular ty give John’s ingenuity a fair. start—and, ru hing past the astonisl oO ~ _ domestic, entered the | 1g some concerted story of the cause of their invasion self-invited guests asked their lan d- lord if he could let them have some dinner. 1] heir friend eave them a hearty and unembarrassed reception, and, for the matter of referred them to John. He was summoned his master’s orders to eet dinner ready for the party who had thus anexpectedly arrived; and, without changing a muscle of his coun- tenance, promised prompt obedience. Great was the speculation ofTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. the visiters, and probably of the landlord also, what was to be the iss1.e of John’s fair PEE Some of the more curious had taken a peep into the kitchen, and could see not thing there to realize th prospect held out by the J/ yor-Domo. But punctual as the dinner- hour struck on the village clock, John placed before them a stately rump of boiled beef, with a proper accompaniment of greens, amply sufficient to dine the whole party, and to decide the bet against those the visiters who expected to take John napping. The ex- aAmMmcng planation was the same as in the case of Caleb Balderston. John had used the freedom to carry off the ee of a rich old chuff in the village, and brought it to his master’ s house, leaving the proprie- tor and his friends to dine on bread and cheese; and as John said, * good puough for them.” The fear of giving offence to so many per- kept the poor man sufficiently quiet, and he was indirect palais so that the jest sons of distinction afterwards rg Vv some was admitted a good one on all sides. In England, at any period, cy in some parts of Scotland at the present day, it aight! not have passed off so well nceenaats's aeeee cea a eee ea et eee riper mel, WAVERLEY NOVELS. CHAPTER : XIV. As, to the Autumn breeze’s bugle sound, Various and vague the dry leaves dance their round; Or, from the The chaff flies devious from the winnow’d corn; garner-door on ether borne, So vague, so devious, at the breath of heaven, From their fix’d aim are mortal counsels driven. ANONYMOUS Wr left Caleb Balderston in the extremity of triampah of the house of Ravenswood. When he hac mustered and marshalled his dishes of divers kinds, a more royal provision had not been seen in Wolf’s Crag since the funeral feast of its deceased lord. Great was the glory of the serving-man, as he decored the old oaken table with a clean cloth, and arranged upon it carbonaded venison and roasted wild fowl, with a glance, every now and then, as if to upbraid the incredulity of his master and his guests; and with many a story more or less true, was Lockhard that evening regaled concerning the ancient grandeur of Wolf’s Crag, and the sway of its Barons over the country in their neighbourhood. “ A vassal scarce held a calf or a lamb his ain, till he had first asked if the Lord of Ravenswood was pleased to accept it; and they were obliged to ask the lord’s consent before they married in these days, and mony a merry tale they tell about that right as weel as others._ —————— CC THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 212 And although,” said Caleb, “ these times are not like the eude auld times, when authority had its right, yet true it is, Mr. Lockhard, and you yoursell may partly have re- marked, that we of the house of Ravenswood do our endeavour in keeping up, by all just and lawful exertion of our baronial authority, that due and fitting connexion betwixt superior and vass: 1, whilk is in some danger of falling into desuetude, owing to the general license and misrule of these present unhappy times.” “Umph!” said Mr. Lockhard ; “and, if J may m- Mr. Balderston, pray do you find your people at quire, for J must needs say, that the village yonder amenable ? at Ravenswood Castle, now pertainmg to my master, the Lord Keeper, ye have not left behind ye the most cora- pliant set of tenantry.” “ Ah! but Mr. Lockhard,” replied Caleb, “ ye must consider there has been a change of hands, and the auld lord might expect twa turns frae them, when the new comer canna get ane. A dour and fractious set they thae tenants of Ravenswood, and ill to live wi ken their master—and if your master vill not put them were, when they dinna put them mad ance, the whole country \ down.” “ Troth,” said Mr. Lockhard, “ and such be the case, ing for us a wad be to hammer up T think the wisest tl vinsome young a match between your young lord and our V leddy up by there; and Sir William might just stitch your auld barony to her ad sune * another out o’ somebody else, cown-sleeve, and he w cuitle sic-a lang head as he has.” Caleb shook his head. —“I wish,” he said, “JT wish % Cuitle may answer to the elegant modern phrase dddte.ee ee ee nee eer a 214 WAVERLEY NOVELS. that may answer, Mr. Lockhard. There are auld ypro- phecies about this house I wad like ill to see fulfilled wi my auld een, that has seen evil eneugh already.” “‘ Pshaw! never mind freits,” said his brother butler; “if the young folk liked ane anither, they wad make a winsome couple. But, to say truth, there is a leddy sits in our hall-neuk, maun have her hand in that as well as in every other job. But there’s no harm in Srpriany to their healths, nad I will fill Mrs. Mysie a eup of Ma, Girder’s Canary.” While they thus enjoyed themselves in the kitchen, the company in the hall were not less pleasantly engaged. So soon as Ravenswood had determined upon giving the Lord Keeper such hospitality as he had to offer, he deemed it incumbent on him to assume the open and courteous brow of a well-pleased host. It has been often remarked, that when a man commences by acting a character, he frequently ends by adopting it in good ear- nest. In the course of an hour or two, Ravenswood, to his own surprise, found himself in the situation of one who frankly does his best to entertain weleome and hon- pured guests. How much of this change in his disposi- tion was to be ascribed to the beauty and simplicity o. Miss Ashton, to the readiness with which she accammo- dated herself to the inconveniences of her situation—how much to the ae and plausible conversation of the Lord Keeper, remarkably gifted with those words which win the ear, must be left tothe reader’s ingenuity te conjecture. But Ravenswood was insensible to neither. The Lord Keeper was a veteran statesman, well ae juainted with courts and cabinets, and intimate with all the various turns of ite affairs during the last eventful years of the seventeenth century. He could talk, from- —_ A aiaelepe ear Seer mic i _—- \acnenemmsas ; THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 215 his own knowledze, of men and events, in a way which failed not to win attention, and had the peculiar art, while he never said a word which committed himself, at the same time, to persuade the hearer that he was speaking without the least shadow of scrupulous caution or reserve. Ravenswood, in spite of his prejudices, and real grounds of resentment, felt himself at once amused and instructed in listening to him, while the statesman, whose inward feelings had at first so much impeded his efforts to make himself known, had now regained all the ease and fluency of a silver-tongued lawyer of the very highest order. His daughter did not speak much, but she smiled; and what she did say argued a submissive gentleness, and a desire to give pleasure, which, to a proud man like Ra- yenswood, was more fascinating than the most brilliant wit. Above all, he could not but observe that, whether from gratitude, or from some other motive, he himself, in his deserted and unprovided hall, was as much the object of respectful attention to his guests, as he would have been when surrounded by all the appliances and means of hospitality proper to his high birth. All deficiencies passed unobserved, or if they did not escape notice, it was to praise the substitutes which Caleb had contrived to supply the want of the usual accommodations. Where 9 smile was unavoidable, it was a very eood-humoured one, and often coupled with some well-turned compliment, to shew how much the guests esteemed the merits of their noble host, how little they thought of the inconveniences with which they were surrounded. I am not sure whether the pride of being found to outbalance, in virtue of his own personal merit, all the disadvantages of fortune, did not make as favourable an impression upon the haughty heart of the Master of Ravenswood, as the conversation of the father and the beauty of Lucy Ashton.pina tre, eee ee ee ee Ee PALI IDS ee Bei 216 WAVEMLEY NOVELS. The hour of repose arrived. The Keeper and his daughter retired to their apartments, which were “ de- cored” more properly than could have been anticipated. In making the necessary arrangements, Mysie had indeed enjoyed the assistance of a gossip who had arrived from the village upon an exploratory expedition, but had been arrested by Caleb, and impressed into the domestic drudg- ery of the evening. So that, instead of returning home to describe the dress and person of the grand young lady, she found herself compelled to be active in the domestie economy of Wolf’s Crag. According to the custom of the time, the Master of Ravenswood attended the Lord Keeper to his apartment, followed by Caleb, who placed on the table, with all the ceremonials due to torches of wax, two rudely-framed tallow-candles, such as in those days were only used by the peasantry, hooped in paltry clasps of wire, which served for candlesticks. He then disappeared, and pres- ently entered with two earthen flagons, (the china, he said, had been little used since my lady’s time,) one filled with Canary wine, the other-with brandy.* The Canary * It was once the universal custom to place ale» wine, or some strong liquor, in the chamber of an honoured guest, to assuage his thirst should he feel any on awakening in the night, which, consider- ing that the hospitality of that period often reached excess, was by no means unlikely. The author has met some instances of it in former days, and in old-fashioned families. It was, perhaps, no poetic fiction that recor 1s how ** My cummer and I lay down to sleep With two pint stoups at our bed-feet: And aye when we waken’t we drank them dry: What think you o’ my cummer and I?” It is a current story in Teviotdale, that, in the house of an ancient fainily of distinction, much addicted to the Presbyterian cause, a Bible was always put into the sleeping apartment of the guests, along with t bottie cf stromg ale. On some occasion there was a meeting ofTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMUOR. 2h sack, anneeding all probabilities of detection, he declared, had been twenty years in the cellar of Wolf’s Crag, “though it was not for him to speak before their honours ; the brandy—it was weel-kend liquor, as mild as mead, and as strong as Samson—it had been in the house ever since the memorable revel, in which auld Micklestob had been slain at the head of the stair by Jamie of Jenkle- brae, on account of the honour of the worshipful Lady Muriend, wha was in some sort an ally of the family ; 39 natheless “ But to cut that matter short, Mr. Caleb,” said the Keeper, “perhaps you will favour me with a ewer of water.” “ God forbid your lordship should drink water in this family,” replied Caleb, “to the disgrace of so honourable an house !” “ Nevertheless, if his lordship have a fancy,” said the Master, smiling, “I think you might indulge him ; for, if I mistake not, there has been water drank here at no distant date, and with good relish too.” clergymen in the vicinity of the castle, all of whom were invited to dinner by the worthy Baronet, and several abode all night. Accord- ing to the fashion of the times, seven of the reverend guests were allotted to one large barrack-room, which was used on such occasions of extended hospitality. The butler took care that the divines were presented, according to custom, each with a Bible and a bottle of ale. But, after a little consultation among themselves, they are sai | to have recalled the domestic as he was leaving the apartment. “ My friend,”* 1e yenerable guests, “you must know, when we meet youngest minister reads aloud a portion of Scripture to the rest;-—only one Bible, therefore, is necessary; take away the other six, and in their place bring six more bottles of ale.” This synod would have suited the “ hermit-sage ”’ of Johnson, whe answered a pupil who inquired for the real road to happiness, with the celebrated line, said one of tl together, as brethren, the “‘ Come, my lad, and drink some beer! ”en ee eee ee eas eee P18 WAVERLEY NOVELS. ony: ; oe fees “To be sure, if his lordship has a fancy, said Jaleb; and re-entering with a jug of pure element—* He will scarce find such water ony where as is drawn frae the well at Wolf’s Crag—nevertheless- f: “ Nevertheless, we must leave the Lord Keeper to his repose in this poor chamber of ours,” said the Master of Ravenswood, interrupting his talkative domestic, who immediately turning to the doorway, with a profound reverence, prepared to usher his master from the secret chamber. But the Lord Keeper prevented his host’s departure— “J have but one word to say to the Master of Ravens- wood, Mr. Caleb, and I fancy he will excuse your wait- ing.” With a second reverence, lower than the former, Caleb withdrew—and his master stood motionless, expecting, with considerable embarrassment, what was to close the events of a day fraught with unexpected incidents. “Master of Ravenswood,” said Sir William Ashton, with some embarrassment, “I hope you understand the Christian law too well to suffer the sun to set upon your anger.” The Master blushed and replied, “ He had no occasion that evening to exercise the duty enjoined upon him by his Christian faith.” “TI should have thought otherwise,” said his guest, ‘considering the various subjects of dispute and litigation which have unhappily occurred more frequently than was desirable or necessary betwixt the late honourable lord, your father, and myself.” “Y could wish, my lord,’ said Ravenswood. agitated by puppressed emotion, “that reference to these circum: stances should be made anywhere rather than under my father’s roof.”——— -— scalp ema THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 219 a6 Qn. 1] ATA Pe a al; > r 7 I should have felt the delicacy of this appeal at an- ce Suh cea pther time,” said Sir William Ashton, “but now I must proceed with what I mean to say.—I have suffered too much in my own mind, from the false delicacy which prevented my soliciting with earnestness, what spaced I frequently requested, a personal communing with your father—much distress of mind to him and to me might have been prevented.” u “Tt is true.” said Ravenswood, after a moment’s reflegé | tion; “I have heard my father say your lordship had A proposed a personal interview.” rn “ Proposed, my dear Master? I did indeed propose it, ‘ but I ought to have begged, entreated, beseeched it. I ought to have torn away the veil which interested persons had stretched betwixt us, and shewn myself as I was, willing to sacrifice a considerable part even of my legal rights, in order to conciliate feelings so natural as his a must be allowed to have been. Let me say for myself, my young friend, for so I will call you, that had your father and I-spent the same time together which my good fortune has allowed me to-day to pass in your company, ‘| it is possible the land might yet have enjoyed one of the q most respectable of its ancient nobility, and I should have peen spared the pain of parting in enmity from a person whose general character I so much admired and honoured.” He put his handkerchief to his eyes. Ravenswood also was moved, but awaited in silence the progress of this extraordinary communication. —- “Tt is necessary,” continued the Lord Keeper, “ and proper that you should understand, that there have been many points betwixt us, in which, although I judged it proper that there should be an exact ascertainment of myee rr: ee a re aE eee ee Peete cet at fee eee 920 WAVERLEY NOVELS. legal rights by the decree of a court of justice, yet it was never my intention to press them beyond the verge of equity ” “My Lord,” said the Master of Ravenswood, “it is unnecessary to pursue this topic farther. What the law will give you, cr has given you, you enjoy—or you shall enjoy; neither my father, nor I myself, would have received any thing on the footing of favour.” “ Favour ?—no—you misunderstand me,” resumed the Keeper ; “or rather you are no lawyer. . examination before the Privy Council “Upon what account?” said the Master of Ravens- wood, with some interest. The question led immediately to a tale which theTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. Lord Keeper had been very anxious to introduce, when he could find a graceful and fitting opportunity. He took hold of the Master’s arm, and led him back towards the hall. “The answer to your question,” he said, “though it is a ridiculous business, is only fit for your own ear.” As they entered the hall, he again took the Master apart into one of the recesses of the window, where it will be easily believed that Miss Ashton did not venture again to intrude upon their conference.ee ere eae dade a eT eae Re eg OL WAVERLEY NOVELS. CHAPTER XVIL — Here is a father now, Will truck his daughter for a foreign venture. Make her the stop-gap to some canker’d feuu, Or fling her o’er, like Jonah, to the fishes, To appease the sea at highest. ANONYMOUS. Tae Lord Keeper opened his discourse with an ap- pearance of unconcern, marking, however, very care- fully, the effect of his communication upon young Ravenswood. “You are aware,” he said, “my young friend, that suspicion is the natural vice of our unsettled times, and exposes the best and wisest of us to the imposition of artful rascals. If I had been disposed to listen to such the other day, or even if I had been the wily politician which you have been taught to believe me, you, Master of Ravenswood, instead of being at freedom, and with full liberty to solicit and act against me as you please, in defence of what you suppose to be your rights, would have been in the Castle of Edinburgh, or some other state prison ; or, if you had escaped that destiny, it must have 4 been by flight to a foreign country, and at the risk of a sen- tence of fugitation.” “My Lord Keeper,” said the Master, “I think you would not jest on such a subject—yet it seems impossible - 2 99 you can be in earnest.THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 17 oS } I A ees é . see : of 30% > Innocence,” said the Lord Keeper, “is also confident, knd sometimes, though very excusably, presumptuously “YT do not understand,” said Ravenswood, “ how a con- sciousness of innocence can be, in any case, accounted presumptuous.” “Tmprudent, at least, it may be called,” said Sir Wil- liam Ashton, “ since it is apt to lead us into the mistake of supposing that sufficiently evident to others, of which, in fact, we are only conscious ourselves. I have known a rogue, for this very reason, make a better defence than an innocent man could have done in the same circum. stances of suspicion. Having no consciousness of ino- cence to support him, such a fellow applies himself to all the advantages which the law will afford him, and sometimes (if his counsel be men of talent,) sueceeds in compelling his judges to receive him as innocent. I remember the celebrated case of Sir Coolie Condiddle, of Condiddle,’ who was tried for theft under trust, of y, and yet was not only acquitted, but lived to sit in judgment on honester folk.” “ Allow me to beg you will return to the point,” said the Master; “you seemed to say that I had suffered which all the world knew him guilt under some suspicion.” « Suspicion, Master ?—ay, truly the proofs of it; if I happen only to have them with me. —Here, Lockhard”—His attendant “ame— Fetch me the little private mail with the padlocks, that I recom: and I can shew you mended io your particular charge—d’ye hear ?” “Yes, my lord.” Lockhard vanished ; and the Keeper rontinued, as if half speaking to himself. “I think the papers are with me—I think so, for as I TOL: XVI. 2eee ee ee EE eee 18 WAVERLEY NOVELS. was to be in this country, it was natural for me to bring them with me. I have them, however, at Ravenswood Castle, that I am sure of—so perhaps you might con- descend = Here Lockhard entered, and put the leathern scrutoire, or mail-box, into his hands. The Keeper produced oue or two papers, respecting the information laid before the Privy Council concerning the riot, as it was termed, at the funeral of Allan Lord Ravenswood, and the active share he had himself taken in quashing the proceedings against the Master. These documents had been selected with care, so as to irritate the natural curiosi ty of Ravens- wood upon such a subject without t gratifying it, yet to shew that Sir William Ashton had acted upon that trying occa- sion the part of an advocate and peace-maker betwixt him and the jealous authorities of the day. Having furnished his host with such subjects for examination, the Lord Keeper went to the breakfast-table, and entered into light conversation, addressed partly to old Caleb, whose resentment against the usurper of the Castle of Ravens- wood began to be softened | by his familiarity, and partly to his daughter. After perusing these papers, the Master of Ravenswood remained for a minute or two with his hand pressed against his brow, in deep and profound meditation. He then again ran his eye hastily over the papers, as if desirous of discovering in them some deep purpose, or some mark fabrication, which’ had escaped him at first perusal. Apparently the second reading confirmed the opinion which had pressed upon him at the first. for he started from the stone bench on which he was sitting, and, going to the Lord Keeper, took his hand, and strongly pressing t, asked his pardon repeatedly for the injustice he hadTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 19 done him, when it appeared he was experienciug, at his hands, the benefit of protection to his person, and vindi- vation to his character. The statesman received these acknowledgments at first with well-feigned surprise, and then with an affectation of frank cordiality. The tears began already to start from Lucy’s blue eyes at viewing this unexpected and moving scene. To see the Master, late so haugnty and reserved, and whom she had always supposed the injured person, supplicating her father for forgiveness, was a change at once surprising, flattering, and affecting. “Dry your eyes, Lucy,” said her father; “why should you weep because your father, though a lawyer, is dis- covered to be a fair and honourable man ?—What have yuu to thank me for, my dear Master,” he continued, ad- dressing Ravenswood, “that you would not have done in my case? ‘ Suum cuique tribuito, was the Roman jus- tice, and I learned it when I studied Justinian. Besides, have ye not overpaid me a thousand times, in saving the life of this dear child?” “ Yes,” answered the Master, in all the remorse of self- accusation; “but the little service J did was an act of mere brutal instinct ; your defence of my cause, when you knew how ill I thought of you, and how much I was dis- posed to be your enemy, was an act of generous, manly, and considerate wisdom.” “ Pshaw !” said the Lord Keeper, “ each of us acted in his own way; you as a gallant soldier, I as an upright judge and privy-councillor. We could not, perhaps, have changed parts—at least I should have made a very sorry Tauridor, and you, my good Master, though your cause is so excellent, might have pleaded it perhaps worse yor self, than I who acted for you before the council.’ee ane I Oa a Eee ae ee De aes 20 WAVERLEY NOVELS. “My generous friend!” said Ravenswood ;—and with that brief word, which the Keeper had often lavished upon him, but which he himself now pronuunced for the first time, he gave to his feudal enemy the full confidence of a haughty but honourable heart. ‘The Master had been remarked among his contemporaries for sense and acuteness, as well as for his reserved, pertinacious, and irascible character. His prepossessions accordingly, how- ever obstinate, were of a nature to give way before love and gratitude; and the real charms of the daughter, joined to the supposed services of the father, cancelled in his memory the vows of vengeance which he*bad taken so deeply on the eve of his father’s funeral. . But they had been heard and registered in the book of fate. Caleb was present at this extraordinary scene, and he could conceive no other reason for a proceeding so extra: ordinary than an alliance betwixt the houses, and Ravens- wood Castle assigned for the young lady’s dowry. AQaA : 99 draws the whole family after her at her pleasure.ee eee eee ema B6 WAVERLEY NOVELS. Even this allusion to his daughter, though artfully thrown out, did not recall Ravenswood from his own topic. i * We were obliged to leave,” he said. “some armour and portraits in this apartment—may I ask where they have been removed to?” “ Why.” answered the Keeper. with some hesitation ~ | 3 “ihe room was fitted up in our abs-nee—and cedant arma tega@, is the maxim of lawyers, you know—I am afraid it has ‘been here somewhat too literally complied with. J hope—lI believe they are safe—I am sure ] eave orders —may I hope that when they are recovered, and put in proper order, you will do me the honour to accept them at my hand, as an atonement ‘or their accidental derange- ment?” The Master of Ravenswood bowed stiffly, and, with folded arms, again resumed his survey of the room. Henry, a spoilt boy of fifteen, burst into the room, and ran up to his father. “Think of Lucy, papa; she has come home so cross and so fractious, that she will not go down to the stable to see my new pony, that Bob Wilson brought from the Mull of Gallo- way.” “J think you were very unreasonable to ask her,” said the Keeper. “Then you are as cross as she is,” answered the boy; ‘ but when mamma comes home, she’ll claw up both your mittens.” “Hush your impertinence, you little forward imp !” gaid his:father ; “ where is your tutor? ” “Gone to a wedding in Dunbar—I hope he'll get & haceis to his dinner;” and he began to sing the ald ™ 4 ee “ Scottivh song,THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 9 og “ There was a haggis in Dunbar, Fal de ral, &c. has— Mony better and few waur, Fal de ral, &e.” “Y am much obliged to Mr. Cordery for his attentions,’ said the Lord Keeper; “and pray who has had the charge of you while I was away, Mr. Henry ?” “ Norman and Bob Wilson—forby my own self.” “ A crdom and a gamekeeper, and your own silly self —proper guardians for a young advocate !—Why, you will never know any statutes but those against shooting red-deer, killing salmon, and——” “ And speaking of red-game,” said the young scape- grace, interrupting his father without scruple or hesitation, « Norman has shot a buck, and I shewed the branches te Lucy, and she says they have but eight tynes; and she says that you killed a deer with Lord Bittlebrains’ hounds, when you were west away, and, do you know, she says it had ten tynes—is it true?” “Tt may have had twenty, Henry, for what I know; but if you go to that gentleman, he can tell you all about it—Go speak to him, Henry—it is the Master of Ravens- wood.” While they conversed thus, the father and son were standing by the fire; and the Master having walked towards the upper end of the apartment, stood with his pack towards them, apparently engaged in examining one of the paintings. The boy ran up to him, and pulled him*by the skirt of the coat with the freedom of a spoilt phild, saying, “I say, sir—if you please to tell me ”—-—— but when the Master turned round, and Henry saw his face, he became suddenly and totally discorcerted— walked two or three steps backward, and still gazed OBB6 WAVERLEY NOVELS. Evenswood with an air of fear and wonder, which had le thytally banished from his features their usual expression ga of pert vivacity. “Come to me, young gentleman,” said the Master, < OETA “and I will tell you all I know about the hunt.” ee Ce “Go to the gentleman, Henry,” said his father; “you are not used to be so shy.” But neither invitation nor exhortation had any effect en the boy. On the contrary, he turned round 4s soon as he had completed his survey of the Master, and, walking eee as cautiously as if he had been treading upon eggs, he glided back to his father, and pressed as close to him as possible. favenswood, to avoid hearing the- dispute betwixt the father and the over-indulged boy, thought it most polite to turn his face once more towards the pictures, and pay no attention to what they said. “ Why do you not speak to the Master, you little fool?” said the Lord Keeper. . “Tam afraid,” said Henry, in a very low tone of voice. “ Afraid, you goose!” said his father, giving him a slight shake by the collar,—* What makes you afraid?” “ What makes him so like the picture of Sir Malise Ravenswood, then?” said the boy, whispering. “What picture, you natural?” said his father. “J used to think you only a scape-grace, but I believe you will turn out a born idiot.” “T tell you it is the picture of old Malise of Ravens: wood, and he is as like it as if he had loupen out of the eanvass; and it is up in the old Baron’s hall that the maids launder the clothes in, and it has armour, and not pa coat like the gentleman—and he has not a beard and whiskers like the picture—and it has another kind ofTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. ag thing about the throat, and no band-strings as he has— and : “And why should not the gentleman be like his ances tor, you silly boy?” said the Lord Keeper. “Ay; but if he is come to chase us all out of the castle,” said the boy, “and has twenty men at his back in disguise—and is come to say, with a hollow voice, J and is to kill you on the hearth as Malise ~ bide my tiie did the other man, and whose blood is still to be seen!” “Hush! nonsense!” said the Lord Keeper, not him- self much pleased to hear these disagreeable coincidences forced on his notice.—“ Master, here comes Lockhard to Say Supper is served.” And, at the same instant, Lucy entered at another door, having changed her dress since her return. The exquisite feminine beauty of her countenance, now shaded only by a profusion of sunny tresses; the sylph-like form disencumbered of her heavy riding-skirt, and mantled in azure silk; the grace of her manner and of her smile, cleared, with a celerity which surprised the Master him- self, all the gloomy and unfavourable thoughts which had for some time overclouded his fancy. In those features, so simply sweet, he could trace no alliance with the pinched visage of the peak-bearded, black-capped puritan, or his starch-withered spouse, with the craft expressed in the Lord Keeper's countenance, or the haughtiness which predominated in that of his lady; and, while he gazed on Lucy Ashton, she seemed to be an angel descended on earth, unallied to the coarser mortals among whom she deigned to dwell for a season. Such is the power of beauty over a youthful and enthusiastic fancy.CL LLLALLSLLL LIL ALBA IDLE DLO ae ee ee nee * 4 x SPP OLD AAA DAA OB WAVERLEY NOVELS CHAPTER XIX. — J do too ill in this, And must not think but that a parent’s plaint Will move the heavens to pour forth misery Upon the head of disobediency. Yet reason tells us, parents are o’erseen, When with too strict a rein they do hold in Their child’s affection, and control that love } Which the high powers divine inspire them with. Tus IloG HATH LOST HIS PEARL. Tne feast of Ravenswood Castle was as remarkable if thy for its profusion, as that of Wolf’s Crag had been for ita ill-veiled penury. The Lord Keeper might feel internal pride at the contrast, but he had too much tact to suffer it to appear. On the contrary, he seemed to remember with pleasure what he called Mr. Balderston’s bachelor’s meal, and to be rather disgusted than pleased with the display upon his own groaning board. “ We do these things,’ he said, “ because others do them—but I was bred a plains man at my father’s frugal table, and I should like well, would my wife and family permit me, to return to my sowens and my poor-man-of- enutton.” * * The blade-bone of a shoulder of mutton is called in Scotland “q poor man,” as in some parts of England it is termed “a poor knight of Windsor;’’ in contrast, it must be presumed, to the baro- nial Sir-Loin. It is said, that in the last age an old Scottish peer, whose conditions (none of the most gentle) were marked by a strangeTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR 4] This was alittle overstretched. The Master anly answered, “That different ranks—I mean,” said he, cor- recting himself, “different degrees of wealth require a different style of housekeeping.” This dry remark put a stop to farther conversation on the subject, nor is it necessary to record that which was substituted in its place. ‘Lhe evening was spent with v frecdom, and even cordiality; and Henry had so- far overcome his first apprehensions, that he had settled a party for coursing a stag with the representative and living resemblance of grim Sir Malise of Ravenswood, ry. called the Kevenger. The next morning was_ the appointed time. It rose upon active sportsmen and successful sport. The hanquet came in course; and a pressing invitation to tarry yet another day was given and accepted. This Havenswood had resolved should be the last of his stay but he recollected he had not yet visited the ancient and devoted servant of his house, Old Alice, and it-was but kind to dedicate one morning to the gratification of so ancient an adherent. To visit Alice, therefore, a day was devoted, and Lucy was the Master’s guide upon the way. Henry, it is true, e accompanied them, and took from their walk the air of a (ére-a-téte, while, in reality, it- was little else, considering and fierce-looking exaggeration of the Highland countenance, chanced to be indisposed while he was in London attending Parliament. The master of the hotel where he lodged, anxious to shew attention to his noble euest, waited on him to enumerate the contents of his well- stocked larder, so as to endeayour to hit on something which might suit his appetite. “I think, landlord,” said his lordship, rising up h, and throwing back the tartan piaid with which he “T think I could eat a morsel of a poor man.” The landlord fled ‘in terror, having no doubt bal, who might be in the habit of eating a from his coue had screened his grim and ferocious visage that his guest was a cannl slice of a tenant, as light food, when he was under regimen.ee Ae ee eae Be ee eA NI? SS ome ‘2 WAVERLEY NOVEL>. the variety of circumstances which occurred to prevent the boy from giving the least attention to what passed between his companions. Nowa rook settled on a branch within shot—anon a hare crossed their path, and Ienry and his greyhound went astray in pursuit of it—then he had to hold a long conversation with the forester, which detained him awhile behind his companions—and again he went to examine the earth of a badger, which carried him on a good way before them. The conversation betwixt the Master and his sister, meanwhile, took an interesting, and almost a confidential turn. She could not help mentioning her sense of the pain he must feel in visiting scenes so well known to him, bearing now an aspect so different; and so gently was her sympathy expressed, that Ravenswood felt it for a moment as a full requital of all his misfortunes. Some such sentiment escaped him, which Lucy heard with more of confusion than displeasure; and she may be forgiven the imprudence of listening to such language, considering that the situation in which she was placed by her father seemed to authorize Ravenswood to use it. Yet she made an effort to turn the conversation, and she succeeded; for the Master also had advanced farther than he intended, and his conscience had instantly checked him when he found himself on the verge of speaking love to the daugh- ter of Sir William Ashton They now approached the hut of old Alice, which | iad of late been rendered more comfortable, and nibs an appearance less picturesque, perhaps, but fur neater than before. The old woman was on her accustomed seat beneath the weeping birch, basking, with the listless enjoyment of age and infirmity, in the beams cf the sutunin sun. At the arrival of her visitors she turnedTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 43 ner head towards them. “I hear your step, Miss Ash ton,’ she said, “but the gentleman who attends you is not my lord, your father.” “ And why should you think so, Alice?” said Lucy; “or how is it possible for you to judge sc accurately by the sound of a step, on this firm earth, and in the open air?” “My hearing, my child, has been sharpened by my blindness, and I can now draw conclusions from the slightest sounds, which formerly reached my ears as unheeded as they now approach yours. Necessity is a stern, but an excellent schoolmistress, and she that has lost her sight must collect her information from other sources.” “Well, you hear a man’s step, I grant it,” said Lucy ; “but why, Alice, may it not be my father’s?” “The pace of age, my love, is timid and cautious—the foot takes leave of the earth slowly, and is planted down upon it with hesitation ; it is the hasty and determined step of youth that I now hear, and—could I give credit to so strange a thought—I should say it was the step of a Ravenswood.” “ This is, indeed,” said Ravenswood, “ an acuteness of organ which I could not have credited had I not witnessed it I am indeed the Master of Ravenswood, Alice, the son of your old master.” “You!” said the old woman, with almost a scream of surprise—* You the Master of Ravenswood—here-—in this place, and thus accompanied ?—I cannot believe it— Let me pass my old hand over your face, that my touch may bear witness to my ears.” The Master sate down beside her on the earthen bank, and permitted her to touch his features with her trembling hand.Ceres ea ne a eee ere Pe eo ee eae eater Se ees ee eee Fe NOVELS. WAVERLEY ! 66 “Tt js, indeed!” she said, “it is the features as well as the voice of Ravenswood—the high lines of prile, as well as the bold and haughty tone——But what do you here, Master of Ravenswood ?—what da you in your enemy’s domain, and in company with his child ?” As old Alice spoke, her face kindled, as probably that ef an ancient feudal vassal might have done in whose presence his youthful lie ve-lord had shewed some symp- tum of degenerating from the spirit of his ancestors. “The Master of Ravenswood,” said Lucy, who liked not the tone of this expostulation, and was desirous to abridge il, “is upon a visit to my father.” . Indeed ! 3 said the old blind woman in an accent of surprise. “JT knew,” continued Lucy, “I should do him a pleasure by conducting him to your cottage.” “Where, to say the truth, Alice,” said Ravenswood, “T expected a more cordial reception.” “Tt is most wonderful!” said the old woman, mutter- ing to herself; “ but the ways of Heaven are not like our ways, and its judgments are brought about by means far beyond our fathoming.—Hearken, young man,” she seid; “your fathers were implacable, but they were honourable foes; they sought not to ruin their enemies under the mask of hospitality. What have you to do with Lucey Ashton ?—why should your steps move in the same footpath with hers?—why should your voice sound in the same chord and time with those of Sir William Ashton’s daughter ?— Young man, he who aims at revenge by dishonourable means—— ” “ Be silent, woman!” said Ravenswood, sternly; “is it the devil that prompts your voice ?—Know that thisTRE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 45 young lady has not on earth a friend, who would venture farther to save her from injury or from insult.” L ce altered but. melancholy tone— Then God help you beth! 2 “ Amen! Alice,” said Lucey, who had not compre- és - say . pie 2 } ° “ And is it even so?” said the old woman, in an hended the import of what the blind woman had hinted, “and send you your senses, Alice, and your good-humour. If you hold this mysterious language, instead of welcom- ing your friends, they will think of you as other people do.” « And how do other people think?” said Ravenswood, for he also began to believe the old woman spoke with incoherence. “They think,” said Henry Ashton, who came up at that moment, and whispered into Ravenswood’s ear, “ that she is a witch, that should have been burned with them that suffered at Haddington.” “ What is that you say?” said Alice, turning towards the boy, her sightless visage inflamed with passion: “ that I am a witch, and ought to have suffered with the helpless old wretches who were murdered at Had- dington ?” “Hear to that now,” again whispered Henry, “and me whispering lower than a wren cheeps ?” “Jf the usurer, and the oppressor, and the grinder of the poor man’s face, and the remover of ancient land- marks, and the subverter of ancient houses, were at the same stake with me, I could say, light the fire, in Gad’s name!” “This is dreadful,” said Lucy ; “T have never seen the poor deserted woman in this state of mind; but #ge anid poverty can ill bear reproach.—- Come, Henry, weeames ee a eae Ss eee ee Sane awe ee eee ae EE EEE BE ee NOVELS. 46 WAVERLEY will leave her for the present—she wishes to speak with the Master alone. We will walk homeward, and rest us,” she added, looking at Ravenswood, “by the Mer- maiden’s Well.” « And, Alice,” said the boy, “if you know of any hare that comes through among the deer and makes them drop their calves out of season, you may tell her, with my compliments to command, that if Norman has not got a silver bullet ready for her, I'll lend him one of my doublet-buttons on purpose.” Alice made no answer till she was aware that the sister and brother were out of hearing. She then said to Ra- venswood, “ And you, too, are angry with me for my ove ?—it is just that strangers should be offended, but you, too, are angry ies “JT am not angry, Alice,” said the Master, “ only sur- prised that you, whose good sense I have heard so often praised, should give way to offensive and unfounded suspicions.” «“ Offensive ?” said Alice—* ay, truth is ever offensive —but, surely, not unfounded.” “T tell you, dame, most groundless,” replied Ravens- wood. “Then the world has changed its wont, and the Ra: venswoods their hereditary temper, and the eyes of old Alice’s understanding are yet more blind than those of her countenance. When did a Ravenswood seek the house of his enemy, but with the purpose of revenge ?— and hither are you come, Edgar Ravenswood, either in fatal anger, or in still more fatal love.” “In neither,” said Ravenswood, “I give you mine Sonour—I mean, I assure you.” Alice could not see his blushing cheek, but she noticedTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 47 his hesitation, and that he retracted the pledge which he seemed at first disposed to attach to his denial. “Tt is so, then,” she said, “ and therefore she is to tarry by the Mermaiden’s Well! Often has it been called a place fatal to the race of Ravenswood—often has it proved go—but never was it likely to verify eld sayings as mach as on this day.” “ You drive me to madness, Alice, said Ravenswood ; “you are more silly and more superstitious than old Bal- derston. Are you sucha wretched Christian as to supe pose I would in the present day levy war against the Ashton family, as was the sancuinary custom in elder times? or do you suppose me so foolish, that I cannot walk by a young lady’s side without plunging headlong in love with her?” “ My thoughts,” replied Alice, “are my own; and if my mortal sight is closed to objects present with me, it may be I can look with more steadiness into future events. Are you prepared to sit lowest at the board which was once your father’s own, unwillingly, as a con- nexion and ally of his proud successor ?—Are you ready to live on his bounty—to follow him in the bypaths of intrigue and chicane, which none can better point out to you—to gnaw the bones of his prey when he has de- voured the substance ?—Can you say as Sir William Ashton says—think as he thinks—vote as he votes, and call your father’s murderer your worshipful father-in-law and revered patron ?—Master of Ravenswood, I am the eldest servant of your house, and I would rather see you shrouded and coffined !” The tumult in Ravenswood’s mind was uncommomy great ; she struck upon and awakened a chord which he had for some time successfully silenced. He strode back:eae ee ee ee enema paetrasr SNR 4 4 y i 48 WAVERLEY NOVELS. wards and forwards through the little garden with a hasty pace ; and at length checking himself, and stopping right opposite to Alice, he exclaimed, “ Woman! on the verge of the grave, dare you urge the son of your master to blood and to revenge ?” “ God forbid!” said Alice, solemnly; “ and therefore ] would have you depart these fatal bounds, where your love, as well as your hatred, threatens sure mischief, or at Jeast disgrace both to yourself and to others. I would shield, were it in the power of this withered hand, the Ashtons from you, and you from them, and both from their own passions. You can have nothinge—ought to have nothing, in common with them—Begone from among them; and if God has destined vengeance on the oppres- sor’s house, do not you be the instrument.” “J will think on what you have said, Alice,” said Ravenswood, more composedly. “I believe you mean truly and faithfully by me, but you urge the freedom of an ancient domestic somewhat too far. But farewell; and if Heaven afford me better means, I will not fail to con- tribute to your comfort.” He attempted to put a piece of gold into her hand, which she refused to receive; and, in the slight struggle attending his wish to force it upon her, it dropped to the earth. “Tet it remain an instant on the ground,” said Aliee, as the Master stooped to raise it ; “and believe me, that piece of gold is an emblem of her whom you love; she i3 AS precious, I grant, but you must stoop even to abase- ment before you can win her. For me, I have as little to do with gold as with earthly passions; and the best news that the world has in store for me is, that Edgar Ravenswood is a hundred miles distant from the seatTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 49 of his ancestors, with the determination never again to behold it.” “ Alice,” said the Master, who began to think this earnestness had some mere secret cause than arose trom any thing that the blind woman could have gathered from this casual visit, “I have heard you praised by my mother for your sense, acuteness, and fidelity ; you are no fool to start at shadows, or to dread old superstitious saws, like Caleb Balderston; tell me distinctly where my danger lies, if you are aware of any which is tending towards me. If I know myself, I am free from all such views respecting Miss Ashton as you impute to me. I have necessary business to settle with Sir William—that arranged, I shall depart ; and with as little wish, as you may easily believe, to return to a place full of melancholy subjects of reflec- tion, as you have to see me here.” Alice bent her sightless eyes on the ground, and was for some time plunged in deep meditation. “ I will speak the truth,” she said at length, raising up her head—*I will tell you the source of my apprehensions, whether my candour be for good or for evil.—Lucy Ashton loves you, Lord of Ravenswood !” “Tt is impossible,” said the Master. “A thousand circumstances have proved it to me,” replied the blind woman. “ Her thoughts have turned on no one else since you saved her from death, and that my experienced judgment has won from her own conversation. Having told you this—if you are indeed a gentleman and your father’s son—you will make it a motive for flying from her presence. Her passion will die like a lamp, for want of that the flame should feed upon; but, if you re- main here, her destruction, or yours, or that of both, will be the inevitable consequence of her misplaced attach- VOL. XVI. 4ee Ate td AOA teeta ee SEA ne x ‘ ; N WL ee CLG I Pa ees 50 WAVERLEY NOVELS. ment. J tell you this secret unwillingly, but it could not have been hid long from your own observation ; and it is better you learn it from mine. Depart, Master of Ra- venswood—you have my secret. If you remain an hour under Sir William Ashton’s roof without the resolution to marry his daughter, you are a villain—if with the purpose of allying yourself with him, you are an infatuated and predestined fool.” So saying, the old blind woman arose, assumed her staff, and, tottering to her hut, entered it and closed the loor, leaving Ravenswood to his own reflections ; oDTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. CHAPTER XX. Lovelier in her own retired abode than Naiad by the side Cf Grecian brook—or Lady of the Mere Lone sitting by the shores of old romance WORDSWORTH. Tue meditations of Ravenswood were of a very mixed complexion. He saw himself at once in the very dilemma which he had for some time felt apprehensive he might be placed in. The pleasure he felt in Lucy’s company had indeed approached to fascination, yet it had never alto- gether surmounted his internal reluctance to wed with the daughter of his father’s foe; and even in forgiving Sir William Ashton the injuries which his family had received, and giving him credit for the kind intentions he professed to entertain, he could not bring himself to con- template as possible an alliance betwixt their houses. Still he felt that Alice spoke truth, and that his honour now required he should take an instant leave of Ravens- wood Castle, or become a suitor of Lucy Ashton. The possibility of being rejected, too, should he make advances to sue for the hand to her wealthy and powerful father of an Ashton and be refused—this were “J wish her well,” he said to himself, a consummation too disgraceful. “and for her sal done to my house ; more !” ‘ “ Prithee, stop thy gambling cant for one instant,” said Bucklaw. “Things have come thus far, that I have entertained the proposal of my kinswoman, agreed to the terms of jointure, amount of fortune, and so forth, and that the affair is to go forward when Lady Ashton comes down, for she takes her daughter and her son in her own hand. Now they want me to send up a confidential person with some writings.” “ By this good wine, I'll ride to the end of the world— the very gates of Jericho, and the judgment-seat of Prester John, for thee!” ejaculated the Captain. “Why, I believe you would do something for me, and a great deal for yourself. Now, any one could carry the writings; but you will have a little more to do. You must contrive to drop out before my Lady Ashton, just as if it were a matter of little consequence, the residenee ot Ravenswood at her husband’s house, and his closeTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 79 intercourse with Miss Ashton; and you may tell her, that all the country talks of a visit from the Marquis of A——, as it is supposed, to make up the match betwixt Ravens. wood and her daughter. I shculd like to hear what she says to all this; for, rat me, if I have any idea of starting for the plate at all, if Ravenswood is to win the race, and he has odds against me already.” “ Never a bit—the wench has too much sense—and ia that belief I drink her health a third time; and, were time and place fitting, I would drink it on bended knees, and he that would not pledge me, I would make his guts garter his stockings.” “Hark ye, Craigengelt; as you are going into the society of women of rank,” said Bucklaw, “Vl thank you to forget your strange blackeuard oaths and damme’s —Tll write to them, though, that you are a blunt untaught fellow.” “ Ay, ay,” replied Craigengelt ; “a plain, blunt, hones downright soldier.” “ Not too honest, nor too much of the soldier neither; but such as thou art, it is my luck to need thee, for I must have spurs put to Lady Ashton’s motions.” “T’ll dash them up to the rowel-heads,” said Craigen- gelt; “she shall come here at the gallop, like a cow chased by a whole nest of hornets, and her tail twisted over her rump like a corkscrew.” “And hear ye, Craigie,” said Bucklaw; “your boots and doublet are good enough to drink in, as the man says in the play, but they are somewhat too greasy for tea- table service—prithee, get thyself a little better rigged out, and here is to pay all charges.” “ Nay, Bucklaw—on my soul, man—~you use me ill— However,” added Craigengelt, pocketing the money, “ ifDe ee LABIA AIP Te ee aes ao ecient ce a _ nenengs me SO WAVERLEY NOVELS. you will have me so far indebted to you, I must be con- forming.” “ Well, horse and away!” said the patron, “so soon as you have got your riding livery in trim. You may and, hark ye, V’ll make youa ride the black crop-ear present of him to boot.” “J drink to the good luck of my mission,” answered the ambassador, “ in a half-pint bumper.” “JT thank ye, Craigie, and pledge you—I see nothing against it but the father or the girl taking a tantrum, and T am told the mother can wind them both round her little finger. ‘Take care not to affront her with any of your Jacobite jargon.” e ay, true —she is a whig, and a friend of old Sall of Marlborough—thank my stars, I can hoist any colours ata pinch. I have fought as hard under John Churchill as ever I did under Dundee or the Duke of Berwick.” “T verily believe you, Craigie,” said the lord of the mansion; “ but, Craigie, do you, pray, step down to the cellar, and fetch us up a bottle of the Burgundy, 1675-— it isin the fourth bin from the right-hand turn—And I pay, Craigie, you may fetch up half-a-dozen whilst you Egad, we'll make a night on’t!” — are about it.THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. CHAPTER XXIE And scon they spied the merry-men green, And eke the coach and four. DUKE Upon DuKgz. CRAIGENGELT set forth on his mission so soo as his équipage was complete, prosecuted his journey with all diligence, and accomplished his commission with all the dexterity for which Bucklaw had given him credit. As he artived with credentials from Mr. Hayston of Bucklaw, he was extremely welcome to both ladies; and those whe are prejudiced in favour of a new acquaintance can, for a time at least, discover excellences in his very faults, and perfections in his deficiencies. Although both ladies were accustomed to good society, yet, being predetermined to find out an agreeable and well-behaved gentleman in Ir. Hayston’s friend, they succeeded wonderfully in im- posing on themselves. It is true that Craigengelt was now handsomely dressed, and that was a point of no small consequence. But, independent of outward show, his blackguard impudence of address was construed into honourable bluntness, becoming his supposed military profession; his hectoring passed for courage, and_ his sauciness for wit. Lest, however, any one should think this a violation of probability, we must add, in fairness to the two ladies, that their discernment was greatly blinded, and their favour propitiated, by the opportune arrival of VOL. 5-1. 6Ore ee Ie Ae cee ee ed tae oe See cs aoe ee eee iene ann, be ALIAS TE EE Oem enti 82 WAVERLEY NOVELS. Captain Craigengelt in the moment when they were long ing for a third hand to make a party at tredrille, in which, as in all games, whether of chance or skill, that worthy person was a great proficient. When he found himself established in favour, his next point was how best to use it for the furtherance of his patron’s views. He found Lady Ashton prepossessed strongly in favour of the motion, which Lady Blenkensop, partly from regard to her kinsman, partly from the spirit of match-making, had not hesitated to propose to her; so that his task was an easy one. Bucklaw, reformed from his prodigality, was just the sort of husband which she desired to have for her Shepherdess of Lammermoor ; and while the marriage gave her an easy fortune, and a respectable country gentleman for her husband, Lady Ashton was of opinion that her destinies would be fully and most favourably accomplished. Jt so chanced, alse, that Bucklaw, among his new acquisitions, had gained the management of a little political interest in a neigh- bouring county, where the Douglas family originally held large possessions. It was one of the bosom-hopes of Lady Ashton, that her eldest son, Sholto, should repre- sent this county in the British Parliament, and she saw this alliance with Bucklaw as a circumstance which might be highly favourable to her wishes. Craigengelt, who in his way by no means wanted sagacity, no sooner discovered in what quarter the wind of Lady Ashton’s wishes sate, than he trimmed his course accordingly. “There was little to prevent Bucklaw him- self from sitting for the county—he must earry the heat —must walk the course. Two cousins-german—six more distant kinsmen, his factor and his chamberlain, were all hollow votes—and the Girnington interest hadTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 83 always carried, betwixt love and fear, about as many more. But Bucklaw cared no more about riding the first horse, and that sort of thing, than he, Craigengelt, did about a game at birkie—it was a pity his interest was not In good guidance.” All this Lady Ashton drank in with willing and atten- tive ears, resolving internally to be herself the person who should take the management of the political influence ef her destined son-in-law, for the benefit of her eldest born, Sholto, and all other parties concerned. When he found her ladyship thus favourably disposed, the Captain proceeded, to use his employer’s phrase, to set spurs to her resolution, by hinting at the situation of matters at Ravenswood Castle, the long residence which the heir of that family had made with the Lord Keeper, and the reports which (though he would be d—d ere he gave credit to any of them) had been idly circulated in the neighbourhood. It was not the Captain’s cue to appear himself to be uneasy on the subject of these rumours ; but he easily saw from Lady Ashton’s flushed cheek, hesitating voice, and flashing eye, that she had caught the alarm which he intended to communicate. She had not heard from her husband so often or so regularly as she thought him bound in duty to have written, and of this very interesting intelligence, con- cerning his visit to the Tower of Wolf’s Crag, and the guest whom, with such cordiality, he had received at Ravenswood Castle, he had suffered his lady to remain ultogether ignorant, until she now learned it by the vhance information of a stranger. Such concealment approached, in her apprehension, to a misprision, at least, of treason, if not to actual rebellion against her watrimonial authority ; and in her inward soul did shePe Oe ee ee ee PEN ee eer Fe ae BA WAVERLEY NOVELS. vow to take vengeance on the Lord Keeper, as on-a subject detected in meditating revolt. Mer indignation burned the more fiercely, as she found herself obliged to cuppress it in presence of Lady Blenkensop, the kins- woman, and of Craigengelt, the confidential friend of Bucklaw, of whose alliance she now became trebly desirous, since it occurred to her alarmed imagination, that her husband might, in his policy or timidity, prefer that of Ravenswood. The Captain was engineer enough to discover that the train was fired; and therefore heard, in the course of the same day, without the least surprise, that Lady Ashton had resolved to abridge her visit to Lady Blenkensop, and set forth with the peep of morning on her return to Scotland, using all the despatch which the state of the roads, and the mode of travelling, would possibly permit. Unhappy Lord Keeper !—little was he aware what @ storm was travelling towards him in all the speed with which an old-fashioned coach and six could possibly achieve its journey. He, like Don Gayferos, “ forgot his lady fair and true,” and was only anxious about the expected visit of the Marquis of A——. Soothfast tidings had assured him «that this nobleman was at length, and without fail, to honour his castle at one in the afternoon, being a late dinner-hour; and much was the bustle in consequence of the annunciation. The Lord Keeper traversed the chambers, held consultation with the butler in the cellars, and even ventured, at the risk of a démélé with a cook, of a spirit lofty enough to ecorn the admonitions of Lady Ashton herself, to peep into the kitchen. Satisfied, at length, that everything was in as active a train of preparation as was possible, ;THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 85 he summoned Ravenswood and his daughter te walk upon the terrace, for the purpose of watching, from that symptoms of his lord. ship’s approach. Tor = a with slow and idle step, he paraded the tc" ae ei h, flanked with a heavy Stone battlement, stre nt rel of the castle upon a : ars found access a late Journ’ eit access to the court by a_projectine commandine position, the earliest co] level with the first story o \ bartizan or flate “mailecoach po 1444 ue leaded roof of which was ac ale - Lhwasle tertacenhy, an easy flicht of low and broad steps.” The whole bore a resemblance partly to a castle, partly to a nobleman’s seat; and though calculated, in some respects, for defence, evinced that it had been constructed under a sense of the power and security of the ancient Lords of Ravenswood. This pleasant walk commanded a be: autiful and exten- Sive view. But what was most to our present purpose, there were seen from the terr: ace two roads, one leading from, the east, and one from the westw: id, which, crossing a ridge opposed to the eminence on which the castle stood, at different angles, gradually approached each other, until they joined not far from the gate of the avenue. It was to the westward : approach that the Lord Keeper, from a sort of fidgeting anxiety, his daughter, from complaisance to him, and Ray enswood, though feel- ing some symptoms of internal impatience, out of com- plaisance to his daughter, directed their eyes to see the precursors of the Marquis’s approach. These were not long of presenti: 1g themselves. Two running footmen, dressed in white, with black jockey- eaps, and long staffs in their hands, headed the train; and such was their agility, that they found no difficulty in Keeping the neecssary advance, which the etiquette ofCe ee IE, eae eat BG WAVERLEY NOVELS. their station required, before the carriage and horsemen. Onward they came at a long swinging trot, arguing un- wearied speed in their long-breathed calling. Such running footmen are often / Lided to in old plays, (1 . “wie arninrliy 4 ‘ f ‘(spe ‘ Tay would particularly instanygelt, the tors Mad World my Masters,”) and perbaylliance cull remembered by some old persons in S¢gecurred to 4" of the retinue of the ing in full ceremony.* LBe- ancient nobility 4 might, 1 hind these g “change a leg” with a peer of the realm. It was not so in the days of which I write; and the Marquis’s approach, so long expected in vain, now took place in the full pomp of ancient aristocracy. Sir William Ashton was so much interested in what he beheld, and in considering the cere- monial of reception in case any circumstance had been omitted, that he scarce heard his son Henry exclaim, “There is another coach“and six coming down the east road, papa—can they both belong to the Marquis of A At leneth when the youngster had fairly compelled his oS ase attention by pulling his sleeve, He turn’d his eyes, and, as he turn’d, survey’d An awful vision. Sure enough, another coach and six, with four servants or out-riders in attendance, was descending the hill from the eastward, at such a pace as made it doubtful which of the carriages thus approaching from different quarters would first reach the gate at the extremity of the avenue. [he one coach was green, the other blue; and not the green and blue chariots in the Circus of Rome or Con- stantinople excited more turmoil among the citizens than the double apparition occasioned in the mind of the Lord Keeper. We all remember tbe terrible exclamation of88 WAVERLEY NOVELS. the dying ;rofligate, when a friend, to destroy what he supposed the hypochondriac idea of a spectre appearing ina certain shape at a given hour, placed before him a person dressed up in the manner he described. “ Mon Dieu!” said the expiring sinner, «who, it scems, saw both the real and polygraphic apparition— 7 y ena deux!” The surprise of the Lord Keeper was scarcely less un- pleasing at the duplication of the expected arrival; his mind misgave him strangely. There was no neighbour who would have approached so unceremoniously, at a time when ceremony was held in such respect. It must be Lady Ashton, said his conscience, and followed up the hint with an anxious anticipation of the purpose of her sudden and unannounced return. He felt that he was eaught “in the manner.” That the company in which she had so unluckily surprised him was likely to be highly distasteful to her, there was no question; and the only hope which remained for him was her hich sense of dignified propriety, which, he trusted, micht prevent a public explosion. But so active were his doubts and fears, as altogether to derange his purposed ceremonial for the reception of the Marquis. These feelings of apprehension were not confined to Sir William Ashton. “It is my mother—it is my mother!” said Lucy, turning as pale as ashes, and clasp- ing her hands together as she looked at Ravenswood. “And it it be Lady Ashton,” said her lover to her in a low tone, “what can be the occasion of such alarm !— Surely, the return of a lady to the family from which she has been so long absent, should excite other sensations than those of fear and dismay.” “You do not know my mother,” said Miss Ashton, inTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 89 a a tone almost breathless with terror; “what will she say when she sees you in this place!” “ My stay has.been too long,” said Ravenswood some- what haughtily, “if her displeasure at my presence is likely to be so formidable. My dear Lucy,” he resumed, in a tone of soothing encouragement, “you are too child- ishly afraid of Lady Ashton; she is a woman of family —a lady of fashion—a person who must know the world, and what is due to her husband and her husband’s guests.” Lucy shook her head; and, as if her mother, still at the distance of half a mile, could have seen and scrutin- ized her deportment, she withdrew herself from beside Ravenswood, and, taking her brother Henry’s arm, led him to a different part of the terrace. The Keeper also shuffled down towards the portal of the great gate, with- out inviting Ravenswood to accompany him, and thus he remained standing alone on the terrace, deserted and shunned, as it were, by the inhabitants of the mansion. This suited not the mood of one who was proud in proportion to his poverty, and who thought that, in sacri- ficing his deep-rooted resentments so far as to become Sir William Ashton’s guest, he conferred a favour and received none. “I can forgive Lucy,” he said to him- self; “she is young, timid, and conscious of an important engagement assumed without her mother’s sanction; yet she should remember with whom it has been assumed, and leave me no reason to suspect that she is ashamed of her choice. For the Keeper, sense, spirit, and expres- sion seem to have left his face and manner since he had the first glimpse of Lady Ashton’s carriage. I must watch how this is to end; and, if they give me reason to think myself an unwelcome guest, my visit is soor abridged.”ee cee neem ea eens eo OAD OP PV pie eee ee ere eee peor 90 WAVERLEY NOVELS. With these suspicions floating on his mind, he lett the terrace, and walking towards the stables of the castle, gave directions that his horse should be kept in readiness, ‘n case he should have occasion to ride abroad. In the meanwhile the drivers of the two carriages, the approach of which had occasioned so much dismay at the had become aware of each others presence, as different lines to the head of the avenue, as a common centre. Lady Ashton’s driver and castle, they approached upon postilions instantly received orders to get foremost, if possible, her ladyship being desirous of despatching her first interview with her husband before the arrival of these guests, whoever they might happen to be. On the other hand, the coachman of the Marquis, conscious of his own dignity and that of his master, and observing the rival charioteer was mending his pace, resolved, like a true brother of the whip, whether ancient or modern, to vindicate his right of precedence. So that, to increase the confusion of the Lord Keeper’s understanding, he saw the short time which remained for consideration abridged by the haste of the contending coachmen, who, fixing their eyes sternly on each other, and applying the lash smartly to their horses, began to thunder down the de- scent with emulous rapidity, while the horsemen who attended them were forced to put on to the hand-gallop. Sir William’s only chance now remaining was the pos- sibility of an overturn, and that his lady or visitor might break their necks. I am not aware that he formed any distinct wish on the subject, but I have no reason to think that his grief in either case would have been altogether Sneonsolable. This chance, however, also disappeared ; for Lady Ashton, though insensible to fear, began to see the ridicule of running a race with a visitor of distine-THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. Of lion, the goal being the portal of her own castle, and commanded her coachman, as they approached the avenue, to slacken his pace, and allow precedence to the stranger’s equipage; a command which he gladly obeyed, as coming in time to save his honour, the horses of the Marquis’s carriage being better, or, at least, fresher than his own. He restrained his pace, therefore, and suffered the green coach to enter the avenue, with all its retinue, which pass it occupied with the speed of a whirlwind. The Marquis’s laced charioteer no sooner found the pas davance was granted to him, than he resumed a more deliberate pace, at which he advanced under the em= bowering shade of the lofty elms, surrounded by all the attendants; while the carriage of Lady Ashton followed, still more slowly, at some distance. In the front of the castle, and beneath the portal which admitted guests into the inner court, stood Sir William Ashion, much perplexed in mind, his younger son and daughter beside him, and in their rear a train of attendants of various ranks, in and out of livery. The nobility and gentry of Scotland, at this period, were re- markable even to extravagance for the number of their servants, whose services were easily purchased in a country where men were numerous beyond proportion to the means of employing them. The manners of a man, trained like Sir William Ashton, are too much at his command to remain long disconcerted with the most adverse concurrence of cir- cumstances. He received the Marquis, as he alighted from his equipage, with the usual compliments of wel- come; and, as he ushered him into the great hall, ex- pressed his hope that his journey had been pleasant. The Marquis was a tall, well-made man, with a thoughtfuli et MeN ee He ene J2 WAVERLEY NOVELS. nnd intelligent countenance, and an eye, in which the fire of ambition had for some years replaced the v ivacity of youth; a bold, proud expression of countenance, yet chastened by habitual caution, and the desire which, as the head of a party, he necessarily entertained of acquirs ing popul wity. He answered with courtesy the courteous inquires of the Lord Keeper, and was formally pre sented to Miss Ashton, in the course of which ceremony the Lord Keeper gave the first symptom of what was chiefly occupying his mind, by introducing his daughter as “his wife, Lady Ashton.” Lucy blushed; the Marquis looked surprised at the extremely juvenile appearance his hostess, and the Lord Keeper with difficulty rallied himself so far as to explain. “I should have said my daughter, my lord; but the truth is, that I saw Lady As hton’s carriage enter the 9? avenue shortly after your lordship’s, and “ Make no apology, my lord,” replied his noble guest ; “Jet me entreat you will wait on your lady, and leave me to cultivate Miss Ashton’s acquaintance. Iam shocked my people should have taken precedence of our jm at her own gate; but your lordship ts aware that I sup- posed Lady Ashton was still in the south. Permit me to beseech you will wave ceremony, and hasten to wel- come her.” This was precisely what the Lord Keeper longed to do; and he instantly profited by his lordship’s okliging permission. To see Lady Ashton, and encounter the first burst of her displeasure in private, might prepare her, in some degree, to receive her unwelcome guests with due decorum. As her carriage, theretore, stopped, the arm of the attentive husband was ready to assist Lady Ashton in dismounting. Looking as if she saw him not,THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 93 Bhe put his arm aside, and requested that of Captain Craigengelt, who stood by the coach with his laced hat under his arm, having acted as cavaliére servente, or squire in attendance, during the Journey. Taking hold of this respectable person’s arm as if to Support her, Lady Ashton traversed the court, uttering a w rd or two by way of direction to the servan ts, but not one to Sir William, who in vain endeavoured to attract her attention, as he rather followed than accompanied her into the hall, in which they found the Marquis in close conversation with the Master of Ravenswood: Lucy had taken the first opportunity of escapmg. ‘There was embarrassment on every countenance except that of the Marquis of A -; for even Craigengelt’s impudence was hardly able to veil his fear of Ravenswood, and the rest felt the awkwardness of the position in which they were thus unexpectedly placed. After waiting a moment to be presented by Sir Wil- liam Ashton, the Marquis resolved to introduce himself “The Lord Keeper,” he said, bowing to Lady Ashton, “has just introduced to me his daughter as his wife—he might very easily present Lady Ashton as his daughter, so little does she differ from what I remember her some years since. Will she permit an old acquaintance the privilege of a cuest ?” He saluted the lady with too good a grace to apprehend a repulse, and then proceeded — This, Lady Ashton, is a peace-making visit, and therefore I presume to intro- duce my cousin, the young Master of Ravenswood, to your favourable notice.” Lady Ashton could not choose but courtesy ; but there was in her obeisance an air of haughtiness approaching 0 contempiuous repulse. Ravenswood could not chooseee I ee ae ee ee ee Ter 94 WAVERLEY NOVELS. but bow ; but his manner returned the scorn with whieh he had been greeted. “ Allow me,” she said, “ to present to your lordship my friend.” Craigengelt, with ‘he forward impudence which men of his cast mistake for ease, made a sliding bow to the Marquis, which he graced by a flourish of his gold- laced hat. ‘The lady turned to her husband—* you and I Sir William,” she said, and these were the first words she had addressed to him, “ have acquired new acquain- tances since we parted—let me introduce the acquisition I have made to mine—Captain Craigengelt.” Another bow, and another flourish of the gold-laced hat, which was returned by the Lord Keeper without intimation of former recognition, and with that sort of unxious readiness, which intimated his wish, that peace and amnesty should take place betwixt the contending parties, including the auxiliaries on both sides. “ Let me introduce you to the Master of Ravenswood,” said he to Captain Craigengelt, following up the same amicable system. But the Master drew up his tall form to the full extent of his height, and without so much as looking towards the person thus introduced to him, he said, in a marked tone, “Captain Craigengelt and I are already perfectly well acquainted with each other.” “ Perfectly—perfectly,” replied the Captain, in a mum- bling tone, like that of a double echo, and with a flourish of his hat, the circumference of which was greatly abridged, compared with those which had so cordially graced his introduction to the Marquis and the Lord Keeper. Lockhard, followed by three menials, now entered with wine and refreshments, which it was the fashion to offer as a whet before dinner; and when they were placedTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 95 before the guests, Lady Ashton made an apology for withdrawing her husband from them for some minutes upon business of special import. The Marquis, of course, requested her ladyship would lay herself’ under ho restraint; and Craigengelt, bolting with speed a second glass of racy Canary, hast ned to leave the room, feeling no great pleasure in the prospect of being left alone with the Marquis of A— and the Master of Ravenswood ; the presence of th. former holding him in awe, and that of the latter in bodily terror. Some arrangements about his horse and baggage formed the pretext for his sudden retreat, in which he persevered, although Lady Ashton gave Lockhard orders to be careful most particularly to accommodate Captain Craigengelt with all the attendance which he could pos- sibly require. The Marquis and the Master of Ravens- wood were thus left to communicate to each other their remarks upon the reception which they had met with, while Lady Ashton led the way, and her lord followed somewhat like a condemned criminal, to her ladyship’s dressing-room. So soon as the spouses had both entered, her ladyship gave way to that fierce audacity of temper, which she had with difficulty suppressed, out of respect to appear- ances. She shut the door behind the alarmed Lord Keeper, took the key out of the spring-lock, and with a countenance which years had not bereft of its haughty charms, and eyes which spoke at once resolution and resentment, she addressed her astounded husband in these words :—“ My lord, I am not greatly surprised at the zonnexions you have been pleased to form during my absence—they are entirely in conformity with your birth and breeding; and if I did expect anything else, Ji ee eee Se ree cee ee 96 WAVERLEY NOVELS. heartily own my error, and that I merit, by having done so, the disappointment you had prepared for me.” “My dear Lady Ashton—my dear Eleanor,” said the Lord Keeper, “listen to reason for a moment, and I will convince you I have acted with all the regard due to the dignity, as well as the interest, of my family.” “To the interest of your family I conceive you per fectly capable of attending,” returned the indignant lady, “and even to the dignity of your own family also, as far as it requires any looking after—But as mine happens to be inextricably involved with it, you will excuse me if I choose to give my own attention so far as that 1s concerned.” “ What would you- have, Lady Ashton?” said the husband—“ What is it that displeases you? Why is it that, on your return after so long an absence, I am ar- raigned in this manner ? ” “Ask your own conscience, Sir William, what has prompted you to become a renegade to your political party and opinions, and led you, for what I know, to be on the point of marrying your only daughter to a beg- garly Jacobite bankrupt, the inveterate enemy of, your family to the boot.” “Why, whdt in the name of common sense and > civility, would you have me do, madam ?’ answered her husband—*“ Is it possible for me, with ordinary decency, to turn a young gentleman out of my house, who saved my dauchter’s life and my own, but the other morning as it were?” “Saved your life! Ihave heard of that story,” said the lady—* the Lord Keeper was seared by a dun cow, and he takes the young fellow who killed her for Guy of Warwick an eanal claim on your hospitality. any butcher from Haddington may soon have ?THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 97 “iady Ashton,” stammered the Keeper, “this is in tolerable—and when I am desirous, too, to make you €asy by any sacrifice—if yu1 would but tell me what you would be at.” | “Go down to your guests,” said the imperious dame, “and make your apology to-Ravenswood, that the arrival of Captain Craigengelt and some other friends, renders it impossible for you to offer him lodgings at the castle—I expect young Mr. Hayston of Bucklaw.” “ Good heavens, madam!” ejaculated her husband— “Ravenswood to give place to Craigengelt, a common gambler and an informer !—it was all I could do to for- bear desiring the fellow to get out of my house, and I was much surprised to see him in your ladyship’s train.” “Since you saw him there, you might be well as sured,” answered this meek helpmate, “that he was proper society. As to this Ravenswood, he only meets with the treatment which, to my certain knowledge, he gave toa much-valued friend of mine, who had the mis- fortune to be his guest some time since. But take your resolution ; for, if Ravenswood does not quit the house, I will.” Sir William Ashton paced up and down the apartment in the most distressing agitation; fear, and shame, and anger contending against the habitual deference he was in the use of rendering to his lady. At length it ended, as is usual with timid minds placed in such circumstances, in his adopting a mezzo termine, a middle measure. “Y tell you frankly, madam, I neither can nor will bs guilty of the incivility you propose to the Master of Ravenswood—he has not deserved it at my hand. If you wil be so unreasonable as to insult a man of quality under VOL. XVI. 7WEB cept 93 WAVERLEY NOVELS. your own roof, 1 cannot prevent you 5 put L will not at least be the agent in such a preposterous proceeding.” “ You will not ?” asked the lady. “ No, by heavens, madam !” her husband replied; “ask me any thing congruent with common decency, as to drop his acquaintance by degrees, or the like—but to bid him leave my house is what I will not, and cannot cor3ent to.” “ Then the task of supporting the honour of tht family will fall on me, as it has often done before,” said the lady. She sat down, and hastily wrote a few lines. The Lord Keeper made another effort to prevent her taking a step so decisive, just as she opened the door to call ber female attendant from the anteroom. “Think what you are doing, Lady Ashton—you are making a mortal enemy of a young man, who is like to have the means of harming us——” “ Did you ever know a Douglas who feared an enemy a answered the lady contemptuously. “ Ay, but he is as proud and vindictive as a hundred Douglasses, and a hundred devils to boot. Think of it for a night only.” “ Not for another moment,” answered the lady ;—* here, Mrs. Patullo, give this billet to young Ravenswood.” “To the Master, midam ?” said Mrs. Patullo. “ Ay, to the Master, if you call him so.” “] wash my hands of it entirely,” said the Keeper; “and J shall go down into the garden, and see that Jardine gathers the winter fruit for the dessert.” “Do so,” said the lady, looking after him with glances of infinite contempt ; “and thank God that you leave one behind you as fit to protect the honour of the family, as you are to look after pippins and pears.”THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR, 99 The Lord Keeper remained long enough in the garden to give her ladyshiy ys mind time to explode, and to let, ag he thought, at least the first violence of Ravenswoed’s displeasure blow over. When he entered the hall, he found the Marquis of A~— giving orders to some of hig attendants. He seemed in high displeasure, and intere rupted an apology which Sir William had commenced, for having left his lordship alone. “T presume, Sir William, you are no stranger to this singular billet with which my kinsman of Ravenswood” (an emphasis on the word my) “has been favoured by your lady—and, of course, that you are prepared to re ceive my adieus—My kinsman is already gone, having thought it unnecessary to offer any on his part, since all former civilities had been cancelled by this singular insult.” “T protest, my lord,” said Sir William, holding the billet in his hand, “I am not privy to the contents of this letter. I know Lady Ashton ‘is a warm-tempered and prejudiced woman, and I am sincerely sorry for any offence that has been given or taken; but I hope your > Lordship will consider that a lady “Should bear herself towards persons of a certain rank with the breeding of one,” said the Marquis, completing the half-uttered sentence. “True, my lord,” said the unfortunate Keeper ; “ but 33 Lady Ashton is still a woman “And as such, methinks,” said the Marquis, again interrupting him, “should be taught the duties which correspond to her station. But here she comes, and I will learn from her own mouth the reason of this extra- ordinary and unexpected affront offered to my near rela ¥on, while both he and I were her lailyship’s guests.”Ce EL PPPOE IS Pes £00 WAVERLEY NOVELS. Lady Ashton accordingly entered the apartment at this moment. Her dispute with Sir William, and a subse- quent interview with her daughter, had not prevented her from attending to the duties of her toilette. She appeared in full dress; and, from the character of her countenance and manner, well became the splendour with which ladies of quality then appeared on such occasions. The Marquis of A——— bowed haughtily, and she returned the salute with equal pride and distance of de meanour. He then took from the passive hand of Sir William Ashton the billet he had given him the moment before he approached the lady, and was about to speak, when she interrupted him. “I perceive, my lord, you are about to enter upon an unpleasant subject. I am sorry any such should have occurred at this time, to inter- rupt, in the slightest degree, the respectful reception due to your lordship—but so it is—Mr. Edgar Ravenswood, for whom I have addressed the billet in your lordship’s hand, has abused the hospitality of this family, and Sir William Ashton’s softness of temper, in order to seduce a young person into engagements without her parents’ consent, and of which they never can approve.” Both gentlemen answered at once,—“ My kinsman is incapable ” said the Lord Marquis. “JT am confident that my daughter Lucy is still more incapable ” said the Lord Keeper. Lady Ashton at once interrupted, and replied to them both.—“ My Lord Marquis, your kinsman, if Mr. Ravens- wood has the honour to be so, has made the attempt privately to secure the affections of this young and inex- verienced girl. Sir William Ashton, your daughter has keen simple enou oh to give more encouragement than she ought to have done to so very improper a suitor.”THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 161 “And I think, madam,” said the Lord Keeper, losing his aceustomed temper and patience, “that if you had nothing better to tell us, you had better have kept this family secret to yourself also.” “You will pardon me, Sir William,” said the Lady, calmly; “the noble Marquis has a right to know the cause of the treatment I have found it necessary tc use to a gentleman whom he calls his blood-relation.” “It is a cause,” muttered the Lord Keeper, “ which has emerged since the effect has taken place; for if it exists at all, [am sure she knew nothing of it when her letter to Ravenswood was written.” “ It is the first time that I have heard of this,” said the Marquis ; “but since your ladyship has tabled a subject so delicate, permit me to say, that my kinsman’s birth and connections entitled him to a patient hearing, and at least a civil refusal, even in case of his being so ambitious as to raise his eyes to the daughter of Sir William Ashton.” “You will recollect, my lord, of what blood Miss Lucy Ashton is come by the mother’s side,” said the lady. “JT do remember your descent—from a younger branch of the house of Angus,” said the Marquis—‘ and your ladyship—forgive me, lady—ought not to forget that the Ravenswoods have thrice intermarried with the main stem. Come, madam—I know how matters stand—old and long-fostered prejudices are difficult to get over— I make every allowance for them—lI ought not, and I would not otherwise have suffered my kinsman to depart alone, expelled, in a manner, from this house—but I had hopes of being a mediator. I am still unwilling to leave you in anger—and shall not set forward till after noon, as I rejoin the Master of Ravenswood upon the road a rew miles from hence. Let us talk over this matter more soolly.”eon, Pe A Ca are Dee ene rem ee ee ee eT, 102 WAVERLEY NOVELS. “Tt is what I anxiously desire, my lord,” said Sir Wil- liam Ashton, eagerly. “ Lady Ashton, we will not permit my Lord of A compel him to tarry dinner at the castle.” “The castle,” said the lady, “and all that it contains, to leave us in displeasure. We must are at the command of the Marquis, so long as he chooses to honour it with his residence ; but touching the farther 9 discussion of this disagreeable topic “Pardon me, good madam,” said the Marquis, “but I cannot allow you to express any hasty resolution on a subject so important. I see that more company is ar- riving; and since I have the good fortune to renew my former acquaintance with Lady Ashton, I hope she will give me leave to avoid perilling what I prize so highly apon any disagreeable subject of discussion—at least, till we have talked over more pleasant topics.” The lady smiled, courtesied, and gave her hand to the Marquis, by whom, with all the former gallantry of the time, which did not permit the guest to tuck the lady of the house under the arm, as a rustic does his sweetheart at a wake, she was ushered to the eating-room. Here they were joined by Bucklaw, Craigengelt, and other neighbours whom the Lord Keeper had previously invited to meet the Marquis of A——. An apology, founded upon a slight indisposition, was alleged as an excuse for the absence of Miss Ashton, whose seat appeared unoccupied. The entertainment was splendid to profusion, and was protracted till a late hour.THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. CHAPTER XXTII. Such was our fallen father’s fate, Yet better than mine own; He shared his exile with his mate, I’m banish’d forth alone. WALLER. I wILt not attempt to describe the mixture of indigna- tion and regret with which Ravenswood left the seat which had belonged to his ancestors. The terms in which Lady Ashton’s billet was couched rendered it impossible for him, without being deficient in that spirit of which he perhaps had too much, to remain an instant longer within its walls. The Marquis, who had his share in the affront, was, nevertheless, still willing to make some efforts at conciliation. He therefore suffered his kinsman to depart alone, making him promise, however, that he would wait for him at the small inn called the Tod’s-hole, situated, as our readers may be pleased to recollect, half way betwixt Ravenswood Castle and Wolf’s Crag, and about five Scottish miles distant from each. Here the Marquis proposed to join the Master of Ravenswood, either that night or the next morning. His own feelings would have induced him to have left the castle directly, but he was loath to forfeit, without at least one effort, the advantages which he had proposed from his visit to the Lord Keeper; and the Master of Ravenswood was, even in the very heat of his resentment, mwilling to foreclose any chanceae EE nt eee Ene Se ae 104 WAVERLEY NOVELS. pf reconciliation which might arise out of the partiality which Sir William Ashton had shewn towards him, as well as the intercessory arguments of his noble kinsman. He himself departed without a moment’s delay, farther than was necessary to make this arrangement. At first he spurred his horse at a quick pace through an avenue of the park, as if, by rapidity of motion, he could stupefy the confusion of feelings with which he was assailed. But as the road grew wilder and more sequese tered, and when the trees had hidden the turrets of the castle, he gradually slackened his pace, as if to indulge the painful reflections which he had in vain endeavoured to repress. ‘The path in which he found himself led him to the Mermaiden’s Fountain, and to the cottage of Alice; and the fatal influence which superstitious belief attached to the former spot, as well as the admonitions which had been in vain offered to him by the inhabitant of the latter, forced themselves upon his memory. “Old saws speak truth,’ he said to himself; “and the Mermaiden’s Well has indeed witnessed the last act of rashness of the heir of Ravenswood.—Alice spoke well, he continued, ] “and I am in the situation which she foretold—or rather, I am more deeply dishonoured—not the dependent and ally of the destroyer of my father’s house, as the old sibyl presaged, but the degraded wretch, who has aspired to hold that subordinate character, and has been rejected with disdain.” We are bound to tell the tale as we have received its and, considering the distance of the time, and propensity of those through whose mouths it has passed to the marvellous, this could not be called a Scottish story, unless it manifested a tinge of Scottish superstition. As Ravenswood approached the solitary fountain, he is saidTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMUOR. 19? — © ty huve met with the following singular adventure ;—the liorse, which was moving slowly forward, suddenly inter. rupted its steady and composed pace, snorted, reared, and, though urged by the spur, refused to proceed, as if come object of terror had suddenly presented itself. On looking to the fountain, Ravenswood discerned a female figure, dressed in a white, or rather greyish mantle, placed on the very spot on which Lucy Ashton had reclined while listening to the fatal tale of love. Tlis immediate impression was, that she had conjectured by which path he would traverse the park on his departure, and placed herself at this well-known and sequestered place of rendezvous, to indulge her own sorrow and his in a parting interview. In this belief he jumped from his horse, and, making its bridle fast to a tree, walked hastily towards the fountain, pronouncing eagerly, yet under his breath, the words, “ Miss Ashton !—Lucy !” The figure turned as he addressed it, and discovered to his wondering eyes the features, not of Lucy Ashton, but of old blind Alice. The singularity of her dress, whieh rather resembled a shroud than the garment of a living woman—the appearance of her person, larger, as it struck him, than it usually seemed to be—above all, the strange circumstance of a blind, infirm, and decrepit person being found alone and at a distance from her habitation, (con- siderable, if her infirmities be taken into account,) com- hined to impress him with a feeling of wonder approaching to fear. As he approached, she arose slowly from her seat, held her shrivelled hand up as if to prevent his soming more near, and her withered lips moved fast, although no sound issued from them. Ravenswood stopped; and as, after a moment’s pause, he again ad- vanced iowards her, Alice, or her apparition, mo+ed orDe ee ere Ce aE aaa TAVUERRTEEY NOVE 104 WAVERLEY NOVELS. ofied backwards towards the thicket, stall keeping her ‘ace turned towards him. The trees soon hid the form from his sight; and, yielding to the strong and terrific impression that the being which he had seen was not of this world, the Master of Ravenswood remained rooted te the ground whereon he had stood when he caught his last view of her. At length, summoning up his courage, he advanced to the spot on which the figure had seemed to be seated ; but neither was there pressure of the grass, nor any other circumstance, to induce him to beliéve that what he had seen was real and substantial. Full of those strange thoughts and confused appreher sions which awake in tLe bosom of one who conceives he has witnessed some preternatural appearance, the Master of Ravenswood walked back towards his horse, frequently however looking behind him, not without apprehension as if expecting that the vision would re-appear. But the apparition, whether it was real, or whether it was the creation of a heated and agitated imagination, returned not again; and he found his horse sweating and terrified, as if experiencing that agony of fear, with which the presence of a supernatural being is supposed to agitate the brute creation. The Master mounted, and rode slowly forward, soothing his steed from time to time, while the animal seemed internally to shrink and shudder, as if expecting some new object of fear at the opening of every glade. The rider, after a moment’s consideration, resolyed to investigate the matter farther. “Can my eyes have deceived me,” he said, “and deceived me for such a space of time ?—Or are this woman's infirmities but feigned, in order to excite compassion '—And even then, her motion resembled not that of a living and exist- ing person. Must I adopt the popular creed, and thinkTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR [97 that the unhappy being has formed a le: gue with the powers of darkness ?—I am determined to he resolved— [ will not brook imposition even from my own eyes.” In this uncertainty he rode up to the little wicket of Alice’s garden. Her seat beneath the birch-tree was vacant, though the day was pleasant, and the sun was high. He approached the hut, and heard from within the sobs and wailing of a female. No answer was returned when he knocked, so that, after a moment’s pause, he lifted the latch and entered. It was indeed a house of solitude and sorrow. Stretched upon her miser- able pallet lay the corpse of the ‘ast retainer of the house of Ravenswood, who still abode on their paternal domains! Life had but shortly departed; and the little girl, by whom she had been attended in her last moments, was wringing her hands and sobbing, betwixt childish fear and sorrow, over the body of her mistress. The Master of Ravenswood had some difficulty te compose the terrors of the poor child, whom his unex- pected appearance had at first rather appalled than comforted ; and when he succeeded, the first expression which the girl used intimated that “he had come too late.” Upon inquiring the meaning of this expression, he learned that the deceased, upon the first attack of the mortal agony, had sent a peasant to the castle to beseech an interview of the Master of Ravenswood, and had expressed the utmost impatience for his return. But the messengers of the poor are tardy and negligent: the fellow had not reached the castle, as was afterwards \earned, until Ravenswood had left it, and had then found too much amusement among the retinue of the strangers to return in any haste to the cottage of Alice. Meantime wer anxiety of mind seemed to increase with the agonySe ee ee Ne eee ee ee 168 WAVERLEY NOVELS. of her body; and, to use the phrase of Babie, her only attendant, “she prayed powerfully that she night see her master’s son once more, and renew her warning.” She died just as the clock in the distant village tolled cne; and Ravenswood remembered, with internal shud- derings, that he had heard the chime sound through the wood just before he had seen what he was now much disposed to consider as the spectre of the deceased. It was necessary, as well from his respect to the departed, as in common humanity to her terrified attend- ant, that he should take some measures to relieve the girl from her distressing situation. ‘The deceased, he under- stood, had expressed a desire to be buried. tn a solitary churchyard, near the little inn of the Tod’s-hole, called the Hermitage, or more commonly Armitage, in which lay interred some of the Ravenswood family, and many of their followers. Ravenswood conceived it his duty to gratify this predilection, so commonly found to exist among the Scottish peasantry, and despatched Babie to the neighbouring village to procure the assistance of sume females, assuring her that, in the meanwhile, he would himself remain with the dead body, which, as in ‘Thessaly of old, it is accounted highly unfit to leave without a watch. Thus, in the course of a quarter of an hour or little more, he found himself sitting a solitary guard over the inanimate corpse of her, whose dismissed spirit, unless nis eyes had strangely deceived him, had so recently manifested itself before him. Notwithstanding his natural courage, the Master was considerably affected by a con- currence of circumstances so extraordinary. “She died expressing her eager desire to see me. Can it be, then,” —-was his natural course of reflection—* can strong andTHE BRIDE OF LAMMc&RMOOR. 109 earnest wishes, formed during the last agony of nature, survive its catastrophe, surmount the awful bounds of the spiritual world, and place before us its inhabitants in the hues and colouring of life ?—And why was that manifested to the eye which could not unfold its tale to the ear ?-— and wherefore should a breach be made in the laws of ature, yet its purpose remain unknown? Vain questions, which only death, when it shall make me like the pale and withered form before me, can ever resolve.” He laid a cloth, as he spoke, over the lifeless face, upor whose features he felt unwilling any longer to dwell. He then took his place in an old carved oaken chair, ornamented with his own armorial bearings, which Alice had contrived to appropriate to her own use in the pillage which took place among creditors, officers, domestics, and miessengers of the law, when his father left Ravenswood Castle for the last time. ‘Thus seated, he banished, as much as he could, the superstitious feelings which the late incident naturally inspired. His own were sad enough, without the exaggeration of supernatural terror, since he found himself transferred from the situation of a successful lover of Lucy Ashton, and an honoured and respected friend of her father, into the melancholy and solitary guardian of the abandoned and forsaken corpse of a common pauper. He was relieved, however, from his sad office sooner than he could reasonably have expected, considering the distance betwixt the hut of the deceased and the village, and the age and infirmities of three old women, who came from thence, in military phrase, to relieve guard xpon the body of the defunct. On any other occasion she speed of these reverend sibyls would have been much nore moderate, for the first was eighty years of age andee ene ee ee Osea 110 WAVERLEY NOVELS. upwards, the second was paralytic, and the third lame of a leg from some accident. But the burial duties ren- dered to the deceased, are, to the Scottish peasant of either sex, a labour of love, I know not whether it is from the temper of the people, grave and enthusiastic as it certainly is, or from the recollection of the ancient Catholic opinions, when the funeral rites were always considered as a period of festival to the living; but feast- ing, good cheer, and even inebriety, were, and are, the frequent accompaniments of a Scottish old-fashioned burial. What the funeral feast, or dirgie, as it is called, was to the men, the gloomy preparations of the dead body for the coffin were to the women. To straight the contorted limbs upon a board used for that melancholy purpose, to array the corpse in clean linen, and over that in its woollen shroud, were operations committed always to the old matrons of the village, and in which they found ] nt. a singular and gloomy delig The old women paid the Master their salutations with a ghastly smile, which reminded him of the meeting betwixt Macbeth and the witches on the blasted heath of Forres. He gave them some money, and recommended to them the charge of the dead body of their contempo- rary, an office which they willingly undertook ; intimating to him, at the same time, that he must leave the hut, m order that they might begin their mournful duties, Ravenswood readily agreed to depart, only tarrying to recommend to them due attention to the body, and to receive information where he was to find the sexton, or beadle, who had in charge the deserted churchyard of the Armitage, in order to prepare matters for the reception pf old Alice in the place of repose which she had selected tor herself.TRE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 111 “ Ye'll no be pinched to find out Johnie Mortsheugh,” said the elder sibyl, and still her withered cheek bore a grisly smile,—“ he dwells near the Tod’s-hole, a house of eutertainment where there has been mony a blithe birling —for death and drink-draining are near neighbours to ane anither.” “Ay! and that’s e’en true, cummer,” said the lame hag, propping herself with a crutch which supported the shortness of her left leg, “for I mind when the father of this Master of Ravenswood that is now standing before us, sticked young Blackhall with his whinger, for a wrang word said ower their wine, or brandy, or what not—he gaed in as light asa lark, and he came out wi’ his feet foremost. I was at the winding of the corpse; and when the bluid was washed off, he was a bonny bouk of man’s body.” It may easily be believed, that this ill-timed anecdote hastened the Master’s purpose of quitting a company so evil-omened and so odious. Yet, while walking to the tree to which his horse was tied, and busying himself with adjusting the girths of the saddle, he could not avoid hearing, through the hedge of the little garden, a conver- sation respecting himself, betwixt the lame woman and the octogenarian sibyl. The pair had hobbled into the garden to gather rosemary, southernwood, rue, and other plants proper to be strewed upon the body, and burned by way of fumigation in the chimney of the cottage. The paralytic wretch, almost exhausted by the journey, was left guard upon the corpse, lest witches or fiends might play their sport with it. The following low croaking dialogue was necessarily yverheard by the Master of Ravenswood :— « That's a fresh and full-grown hemlock, Annie Winnteene re ete Cre ean a a a ee PES Seid sie nice: 112 WAVERLEY NOVELS. —mony a cummer lang syne wad hae sought uae better horse to flee over hill and how, through mist and moons light, and light down in the King of France’s cellar.” * Ay, cummer! but the very deil has turned as hard- hearted now as the Lord Keeper, and the grit folk that hae breasts like whin-stane. They prick us and they pine us, and they pit us on the pinny-winkles for witcheg ; and, if I say my prayers backwards ten times ower, Satan will never gie me amends o’ them.” “ Did ye ever see the foul thief?” asked her neighbour. “Nal” replied the other spokeswoman ; “ but I trow I hae dreamed of him mony a time, and I think the dav will come they will burn me for’t.—But ne’er mind, cum- mer! we hae this dollar of the Master’s, and we’ll send doun for bread and for yill, tobacco, and a drap brandy to burn, and a wee pickle saft sugar—and be there deil, or nae deil, lass, we’ll hae a merry night o’t.” Here her leathern chops uttered a sort of cackling ghastly laugh, resembling, to a certain degree, the ery of the screech-owl. “He’s a frank man, and a free-handed man, the Master,” said Annie Winnie, “and a comely personage— broad in the shouthers, and narrow around the lungies— he wad mak a bonny corpse—I wad like to hae the streaking and winding o’ him.” “It is written on his brow, Annie Winnie,’ returned the octogenarian, her companion, “that hand of woman, or of man either, will never straught him—dead-deal will never be laid on his back—make you your market of that, for I hae it frae a sure hand.” “Will it be his lot to die on the battle-ground, then. Ailsie Gourlay ?—Will he die by the sword, or the ball, as his forbears hae dune before him, mony ane ¢’ thea,”THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMCOR. 113 “ Ask nae mair questions about it—he'll no be graced sae far,” replied the sage. “T ken ye are wiser than ither folk, Ailsie Crourlay — But wha tell’d ye this? ” “ Fashna your thumb about that, Annie Winnie,” an swered the sibyl—* I hae it frae a hand sure eneugh.” “ But ye said ye never saw the foul thief,” reiterated her in.juisitive companion “I hae it frae a sure hand,” said Ailsie, “and frae them that spaed his fortune before the sark gaed ower his head.” “Hark! I hear his horse’s feet riding aff,’ said the other; “they dinna sound as if good luck was wi’ them.” “ Mak haste, sirs,” criéd the paralytic hag from the - cottage, “and let us do what is needfw’ and say what is fitting; for if the dead corpse binna straughted it will girn and thraw, and that will fear the best o’ us.” Ravenswood was now out of hearing. He despised most of the ordinary prejudices about witchcraft, omens, and vaticination, to which his age and country still gave such implicit credit, that to express a doubt of them, was accounted a crime equal to the unbelief of Jews or Saracens; he knew also that the prevailing belief con- cerning witches, operating upon the hypochondriac habits of those whom age, infirmity, and poverty rendered liable to suspicion, and enforced by the fear of death, and the pangs of the most cruel tortures, often extorted those confessions which encumber and disgrace the criminal records of Scotland during the seventeenth century. But the vision of that morning, whether real or imaginary, had impressed his mind with a superstiticus teeling which be in vain endeavoured to shake off. The nature of the yusiness which awaited him at the little inn, called Tod’s- 8 VOL. xVtee ee a aE Cece ater ee Mt LE ene Wea oe Se ren ES ene 114 WAVERLEY NOVELS. hole, where he soon after arrived, was not of a kind ts restore his spirits. It was necessary he should see Mortsheugh, the sexton of the old burial-ground at Armitage, to arrange matters for the funeral of Alice; and as the man dwelt near the place of her late residence, the Master, after a slight refreshment, walked towards the place where the body of Alice was to be deposited. It was situated in the nook formed by the eddying sweep of a stream which issued from the adjoining hills. A rude cavern in an adjacent rock, which, in the interior, was cut into tha shape of a cross, formed the hermitage, where some Saxon saint had in ancient times done penance, and given name to the place. The rich abbey of Colding- hame had, in latter days, established a chapel in the neighbourhood, of which no vestige was now visible, though the churchyard which surrounded it was still, as upon the present occasion, used for the interment of par- ticular persons. One or two shattered yew-trees still grew within the precincts of that which had once been holy ground. Warriors and barons had been buried there of old, but their names were forgotten, and their monuments demolished. The only sepulchral memorials which re- mained, were the upright headstones which marked the graves of persons of inferior rank. The abode of the sex- ton was a solitary cottage adjacent to the ruined wall of the cemetery, but so low, that, with its thatch, which nearly reached the ground, covered with a thick crop of grass, for, and house-leeks, it resembled an overgrown grave. On inquiry, however, Ravenswood found that the man of the last mattock was absent at a bridal, being fiddler as well as grave-digger to the vicinity. He therefore retired to the little inn, leaving a message that early nextTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 115 morning he would again call for the person whose double occupation connected him at once with the house of mourning and the house of feasting. An outrider of the Marquis arrived at Tod’s-] iole shortly after, with a message, intimating that his master would join Ravenswood at that place on the following morning; and the Master, who would otherwise have proceeded to his old retreat at Wolf’s Crag, remained there accordingly, to give meeting to his noble kinswan,BO ne En eee ee NOVELS. WAVERLEY CHAPTER XXIV. Hamtrt.—Has this fellow no feeling of his business? —he sings et grave-making. HoratTi0.- -Custom hath made it in him a property of easiness. HamMtet.— ’Tis e’en so: the hand of little employment hath the daintier sense. HaAMuet, Act V. Scene I. THE sleep of Ravenswood was broken by ghastly and agitating visions, and his waking intervals disturbed by melancholy reflections on the past, and painful anticipa- tions of the future. He was perhaps the only traveller who ever slept in that miserable kennel without com- plaining of his lodgings, or feeling inconvenience from their deficiencies. It is when “the mind is free the body’s delicate.” Morning, however, found the Master an early riser, in hopes that the fresh air of the dawn might afford the refreshment which night had refused him. He took his way toward the solitary burial-ground, which lay about half-a-mile from the inn. The thin blue smoke, which already began. to curl up» ward, and to distinguish the cottage of the living feom the habitation of the dead, apprized him that its inmate had returned and was stirring. Accordingly, on entering the little churchyard, he saw the old man labouring in a half-made grave. My destiny, thought Ravenswoed, seems to lead me to scenes of fate and of death; br these are childish thoughts, and they shall not master meTHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR, 117 J will not again suffer my imagination to beguile my senses.—The old man rested on his spade as the Master approached him, as if to receive his commands; and as he did not immediately speak, the sexton opened the dis« course in his own way. “Ye will be a wedding customer, sir, I’se warrant.” “What makes you think so, friend?” replied the Master. “T live by twa trades, sir,” replied the blithe old man; “fiddle, sir, and spade; filling the world, and emptying of it; and I suld ken baith cast of customers by head- mark in thirty-years’ practice.” “You are mistaken, however, this morning,” replied Ravenswood. “Am I?” said the old man, looking keenly at him, “troth and it may be; since, for as brent as your brow is, there is something sitting upon it this day, that is as near akin to death as to wedlock. Weel, weel; the pick and shovel are as ready to your order as bow and fiddle.” “TI wish you,” said Ravenswood, “to look after the decent interment of an old woman, Alice Gray, who lived at the Craig-foot in Ravenswood Park.” “ Alice Gray! blind Alice!” said the sexton; “and is she gane at last? that’s another jow of the bell to bid me be ready. I mind when Habbie Gray brought her down to this land; a likely lass she was then, and looked over her southland nose at us a. I trow her pride got a downcome. And is she e’en gane?” “ She died yesterday,” said Ravenswood; “ and desired to be buried here, beside her husband; you know where he lies, no doubt ? ” “Ken where he lies?” answered the sexton, withee Ee meme A ee ee FALSE F ERAS Aa re ai eae Sis Se eee Cie Aenea tia ten 118 WAVERLEY NOYELS. national indirection of response, “I ken where a’ bedy lies, that lies here. But ye were speaking o’ her grave? -—Lord help us—it’s no an ordinar grave that will haud her in, if a’s true that folk said of Alice in her auld days; and if I pae to six feet deep,—and a warlock’s grave shouldna be an inch mair ebb, or her ain witch cummers would soon whirl her out of her shroud for a’ their auld acquaintance—and be’t six feet, or bet three, wha’s to pay the making o’t, I pray ye?” “J will pay that, my friend, and all reasonable charges.” “Reasonable charges?” said the sexton; “ou, there’s (though the bell’s broken, and _bell-siller grundmail nae doubt) bit fee—and some brandy and yill to the drigie—I am no thinking that you can inter her, to ca’ decently, under and the kist—and my day’s wark—and my saxteen pund Scots.” “There is the money, my friend,” said Ravenswood, “and something over. Be sure you know the grave.” “Yell be ane o’ her English relations, ’se warrant,” said the hoary man of skulls; “I hae heard she married far below her station ; it was very right to let her bite on the bridle when she was living, and it’s very right to gie her a decent burial now- she’s dead, for that’s a matter 0’ credit to yoursell rather than to her. Folk may let their kindred shift for themsells when they are alive, aud can bear the burden of their ain misdoings ; but it’s an unnat- ural thing to let them be buried like dogs, when a’ the discredit gangs to the kindred—what kens the dead corpse about it?” “You would not have people neglect their relations on a bridal occasion neither?” said Ravenswood, who was amused with the prcfessional limitation of the grave-dig- yer’s philanthropy.THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 119 The old man cast up his sharp grey eyes with a shrewd smile, as if he understood the Jest, but instantly continued, with his former gravity,— Bridals—wha wad neglect bridals, that had ony regard for plenishing the earth? To be sure, they suld be celebrated with all manner of good cheer, and meeting of friends, and musical instru- ments, harp, sackbut, and psaltery ; or gude fiddle and pipes, when these auld-warld instruments of melody are hard to be compassed.” “The presence of the fiddle, I daresay,” replied Ravens wood, “ would atone for the absence of all others.” The sexton again looked sharply up at him, as he nae doubt—if it were weel answered, “Nae doubt played ;—but yonder,” he said, as if to change the dis- course, “is Halbert Gray’s lang hame, that ye were speering after, just the third bourock beyond the muckle through-stane that stands on sax legs yonder, abune some ane of the Ravenswoods; for there is mony of their kin and followers here, deil lift them! though it isna just their main burial-place.” “They are no favourites, then, of yours, these Ravens- woods?” said the Master, not much pleased with the passing benediction which was thus bestowed on_ his family and name. “J kenna wha should favour them,” said the grave- digger ; “when they had lands and power, they were ill guides of them baith, and now their head’s down, there’s few care how lang they may be of lifting it again.” “Indeed!” said Ravenswood; “I never heé ard that this unhappy family deserved ill-will at the hands of their country. I grant their poverty—if that renders them rontemptible.” “Jt will gang a far way till't,” said the sexton of Her.nameyyievrp pre ney eee eames eae fr Ua ee ar Ke {20 WAVERLEY NOVELS. mitage, “ye may tak my word for that—-at least, I ken naething else that suld mak myself contemptible, and folk are far frae respecting me as they wad do if I lived in a twa-lofted sclated house. But as for the Ravenswo0ds, [ hae seen three generations of them, deil ane to mend other.” “J thought they had enjoyed a fair character in the country,” said their descendant. “Character! Ou, ye See, sir, for the auld oude-sire body of a lord, I lived on his land a swapnking young chield, and could hae ly, for I had wind eneugh this trumpeter Marine that I have 1e Lords of the Circuit, 1 wad hae than of a bairn and a bawbee layed ° Boot and saddle,’ or with me—he > said the sexton, “a3 when I was blawn the trum then—and touching heard play afore tl o him yet Wl Ony box made nae mair whistle—I defy him to hae p ¢ Horse and away, or” Gallants, come trot, hadna the tones.” “ But what is all this friend ?” said the Master, who, with natural in bh was desirous of prosecuting to old Lord Ravenswood, my an anxiety not un- is circumstances, the musician’s first topic—" What had his memory to do with the degeneracy of the trumpet mus “ Just this, sir,” answered the sexton, “that I lost Ye see I was trumpeter at the < of day, and a as ic?’ my wind in his service. blawing at break lowanes for was company whiles when there 1 when he raised his castle, and had al me, and other my lord; ant > othwell Brigg I behoved, reason or at dinner-ti about, and it pleased aper awa to | against the wrang- militia to ¢ headed wastland whigs, nane, to and caper awa wi able,” said Ravenswo munt a horse them.” “ And very reason sant and vassal.” od; “you were his serTHE BRIDE CK LAMMERMOOIOoR. 123 “ Scrvitor, say ye?” replied the sexton, “and sing, and just =) ¢ —but it was aw folk tc a ee a ea oe t was to blaw folk to their warm dinner, or at bite and warst to a decent kirkyard, and no to:skirl them awa to a bluidy brae side, where there was deil a. bedral but the hooded craw. But bide ye—ye shall hear what cam o’t, and how far I am bund to be bedesman to the Ravens: woods.—Till’t, ye see, we gaed on a braw simmer morn- ing, twenty-fourth of June, saxteen hundred and se’enty- nine, of a the days of the month and year,—drums beat —guns rattled—horses kicked and trampled. Hackstoun of Rathillet keepit the brigg wi? musket and carabine and pike, sword and scythe for what I ken, and we horsemen were ordered down to cross at the ford,—I hate fords at a? times, let abe when there’s thousands of armed men on the other side. There was auld Ravenswood brandishing his Andrew Ferrara at the head, and crying to us to come and buckle to, as if we had been gaun to a fair,—there was Caleb! Balderston, that is living yet, flourishing in the rear, and swearing Gog and Magog, he would put steel through the guts of ony man that turned bridle,— there was young Allan Ravenswood, that was then it was a Master, wi’ a bended pistol in his hand, mercy it gaed na aff,—crying to me, that had scarce as much wind left as serve the necessary purpose of my ain lungs, “Sound, you poltroon! sound, you damned cowardly villain, or I will blow your brains out!’ and, to be sure, I blew sic points of war, that the seraugh of a clockin- hen was music to them.” “ Well, sir, cut all this short,” said Ravenswood. “ Short!—I had like to hae been cut short mysell, in Scripture says ; and that’s the the flower of my youth, as en o.—Weel! in to the water very thing that I comple we behoved a’ to splash, heels ower head, sit or fa’—ae henee ee ce ee eee eee ore Neh oe entree eS Sy eae er mete eel ee LIZ OOE. ee SAI LPS TT STN AS 120 WAVERLEY NOVELS. mitage ariving on anither, as 1s 4 riders that hae as little sense,—the side were: ableeze wi the flashes of the whig ae . guns 5 and my horse had just taen the grund, when a Bo blackavised westland carle—I wad mind the face o him “a 9 hundred years yet—an ce like a wild faleon’s, and 4 | beard as bivad as my shovel, clapped the end o’ his lang black gun within grace o Mercy, the the way of brute beasts, nae very bushes on the ither a quarter's length of my lug !|—by the . horse swarved round, and I fell aff at ball whistled by at the tither, and the the tae side as the k wi’ his broad- fell auld lord took the sword that he made two pieces 0 ? a his bowk abune me.” rather obliged to the ol » whig such a swau > his head, and down fell the lurdane w “ You were d lord, I think,” said Ravenswood. “Was Il? my sartie ! ardy, would I nould [—and then tor on the tap o’ me, that dang the very wind out of my body ?-—I hae been short-breathed ever since, and canna ls without peghing like a mill lace as trumpeter !” said frat for bringing me into jeop- whomling a chield gang twenty yar er’s aiver.” “You lost, then, your Pp Ravenswood. “ Tost it? to be sure I lost it, I couldna hae played pew upon a‘ h. for I keepit the wage an ie fiddle : replied the sexton, “ for iry humlock ;—but ! might hae dune weel eneug 1 little to do but play on th the free house, an last Lord Ravenswood, that was fa r them, but for Allan, waur than ever his father was.” «“ What,” said the Master, “did my Lord Ravenswood, deprive father—I mean, did his father’s son—this last his father allowed you?” he old man; “for he Sir William you of what the- bounty ot “ Ay, troth did he,” answered t toot his affairs gang to the dogs, and Tet in thisrHE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 123 Ashton on us, that will gie naething for naething, and just removed me and @ the puir creatures that had bite and soup in the castle, and a hole to put our heads in, when things were in the auld way.” “If Lord Ravenswood protected his people, my friend, while he had the means of doing so, I think they might spare his memory,” replied the Master. “Ye are welcome to your ain opinion, sir,” said the sexton ; “ but ye winna persuade me that he did his duty, either to himsell or to huz puir dependent creatures, im guiding us the gate he has done—he might hae gien us liferent tacks of our bits o’ houses and yards—and me, that’s an auld man, living in yon miserable cabin, that’s fitter for the dead than the quick, and killed w’ rheuma- tise, and John Smith im my dainty bit mailing, and his window glazen, and a’ because Ravenswood guided his gear like a fule!” “Tt is but too true,’ said Ravenswood, conscicnce= struck ; “the penalties of extravagance extend far beyond the prodigal’s own sufferings.” “ However,” said the sexton, “ this young man Edgar is like to avenge my wrangs on the hail of his kindred.” “ Indeed?” said Ravenswood ; “ why should you sup- pose so?” “ They say he is about to marry the daughter of Leddy Ashton; and let her leddyship get his head ance under her oxter, and see you if she winna gie his neck a thraw. Sorra a bit, if I were him—Let her alane for hauding a’ thing in het water that draws near her—sae the warst wish 1 shall wish the lad is, chat he may take his ain ereditable gate o’t, and ally himsell wr his father’s ene- mies, that have taken his broad lands and my bonny kailyard from the lawful owners thereof.”LA SIESTA ET LITT TLS TY 124 WAVERLEY NOVELS. Cervantes acutely remarks, that flattery is pleasing even from the mouth of a madman as praise, often affects us, whil and motives on which it is ; and censure, as well € we despise the opinions founded and expressed. Ravenswood, abruptly reiterating his command {] 1at Alice’s funeral should be attended to, flung away from the sexton, under the painful impression that the great, as well as the small vulear » Would think of his engage- ment with Lucy li >) ——— Here the old man caught at her unfinished words. “Thy 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 ‘are 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 i “Fate,” she replied, “may have in store the joyful restoration of our banished Prince.” “Too late for my time, Alice,” said the knight; Sar 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 for ever, 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, E warrant me, drop nought but sweet balm, and honey, and oil, on my dis- temperature—if that is the phrase for an old man’s ail- ment, when he is wellnigh heart-broken.—Once more, what of thy uncle Everard ?” TOL XL. 6B2 WAVERLEY NOVELS. His last words were uttered in a high and peevish tone A of voice; and Alice Lee answered her father in a tremb- Wi ling 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 and economical house-keeping, eee a LeeLee) : the fracments of a thrice-sacked capon twice a-week, and a plentiful fast on the other five days ?—Will he give us eo beds beside his half-starved nags, and put them under a short allowance of straw, that his sister’s husband—that I should have called my deceased angel by such a name! ee em —and his sister’s daughter, may not sleep on the stones? aes a Or will he send us a noble each, with a warning to make it last, for he had never known the ready-penny so hard to come by? Or what else will your uncle Everard do for us? Get us a furlough to beg? Why, I can do that without him.” “You misconstrae him much,” answered Alice, with more spirit than she had hitherto displayed; “ and would you but question your own heart, you would acknowledge that your tongue utters what i speak with reverence your better judgment would disown. My uncle Everard neither so fond of the is neither a miser nor a hypocrite goods of this world that he would not supply our dis- tresses 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 is a Muggletonian, or a Ranter, or a Brownist, but a sectary? and thy phrase places them all,WOODSTOCK. 83 wit. Jack Presbyter himself, on the same footing with our learned prelates and religious clergy! Such is tke vant 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? ” “Jf you speak thus, my dear father,” said Alice, “ what can I 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 media- tor, do your errand, and you shall have no reason to com- plain 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, heedfully to abstain from giving them obstacle 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 com- mittee 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 communicated his advice, I have no occasion to urge your patience with farther argument.” “Tt is well thou dost not, Alice,” answered Sir Henry Lee, in a tone of suppressed anger ; “ for, by the blessed ood, thou hast well-nigh led me into the heresy of think- ing thee no daughter of mine.—Ah! my beloved com- ; P a ay ra Cc sve %f ‘ if panion, who art now far from the sorrows aud cares 0:ee nT wee ea a a ee ee ee 4 Z Zs WAVERLEY NOVELS. this weavy 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 ner 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 mur- derers, a wretched remnant of the royal property he haz been robbed of !—Why, wench, if I must beg, think’st thou I will sue to those who have made me a mendicant ? No. Iwill never show my gray beard, worn in sorrow for my sovereign’s death, to move the compassion of some proud sequestrator, who perheps was one of the parri- cides. No. If Henry Lee must sue for food, it a be of some sound loyalist like himself, who, having but half a loaf remaining, will not nevertheless refuse to se it with him. For his daughter, she may wander her own way, which leads her to a refuge with her wealthy round- head kinsfolk ; but let her no more call him father, whose honest indigence she has refused to share!” ‘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 sup- port you while you will accept an aid so feeble,” “Thou word’st me, girl,” answered the old cavalier, “thou word’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 grief, “what can thus have altered your clear judg- rent and kindly heart '—Accursed be tbese civil commo- tions! not only do they destroy men’s bodies, but they pervert their souls; and the brave, the noble, the gener:WOODSTOUK. 85 ous, become suspicious, harsh, and mean! Why upbraid me with Markham Everard? Have I seen or spoke to him since you forbid him my company, with terms less kin.d—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 old man was moved. “I 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; perhaps it is a punishment on me, who thought the loyalty of my house 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 Shakspeare hath it :— ‘Gentle daughter, Give even way unto my rough affairs; Put you not on the temper of the times, Nor be, like them, to Percy troublesome.’ ”” “JT am glad,” answered the young lady, “to hear you quote your favourite again, sir. Our little jars are ever well-nigh ended when Shakspeare comes in play.” “His book was the closet companion of my blessed master,” said Sir Henry Lee; “after the Bible, (with reverence for naming them together,) he felt more com- fort in it than in any other; and as I have shared hig disease, why, it is natural’ I should take his medicine. A Albeit, I pretend noi to my master’s art in explaining theB6 WAVERLEY NOVELS. | dark passages; for I am but a rude man, and rustically i brought up to arms and hunting.” “You have seen Shakspeare yourself, sir?” said the young lady. «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 Jonson I knew, and could tell ne ee HE thee many a tale of our meetings at the Mermaid, where, Ta a ‘f 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 Henry Lee of Ditchley, Knight and Baronet ?’” “JI do not remember them at present, sir,’ replied Alice. “J 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 think what is to be done about leaving Woodstock—or defending it?” “ My dearest father,” said Alice, “can you still nourish a moment’s hope of making good the place?” “J 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 con- fess.” “(jh, let it do so, sir,” replied Alice; “ there areWOODSTOCK. 87 soldiers in the town, and there are three regiments at Oxford!” “Ah, poor Oxford!” exclaimed Sir Henry, whose va- cillating state of mind was turned by a word to any new subject that was suggested,—“ Seat of learning and loy- alty! 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 per- secution.” “ True, sir,’ said Alice, “and it may not be useless to recollect, that any stirring of the royalists at this unpro- pitious moment will make them deal ‘yet more harshly with the University, which they consider 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 re- mains which the civil wars have left to the colleges. That, and the risk of my 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 ad, or a bunch of engendering adders, with: viper, or a to a little disgust ? and though out any worse feeling than a roundhead, and especially a red-coat, are In my opinion yers, more loathsome than toads, more poisonous than vif ted adders, yet can I overcome more hateful than knotee 73 88 WAVERLEY NOVELS. my nature so far, that should one of them appear at this moment, thyself should see how civilly I would. entreat him.” As he spoke, the military preacher abandoned his leafy sereen, and stalking forward, stood unexpectedly before the old cavalier, who stared at him, as if he had thought his expressions had actually raised a devil. “Who art fhou?” at length said Sir Henry, in a raised rnd angry voice, while his daughter clung to his arm in terror, little confident that her father’s pacific resolutions would abide the shock of this unweleome apparition. “T am one,” replied the soldier, “ who neither fear nor shame to call myself a poor day-labourer in the great work of England—umph !—Ay, a simple and sincere upholder of the 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 Com- missioners,” answered the sokdier. “ Welcome art thou as salt would be to sore eyes,” said the cavalier ; “ but who be your Commissioners, man?” The soldier with little courtesy held out a scroll, which Sir Henry 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, indeed, to Alice, but in such a tone that showed he cared not for its being heard by the soldier. “ Desborough—the ploughman Desborough—as erovel- ling a clown as is in Enegland—a fellow. that would be vest be at home like an ancient Scythian. under the tilt ef aWOODSTOCK. 8 wagzon—d—n him. Harrison—a_ bloody-minded, rant- ing enthusiast, who read the Bible to such purpose, that he never lacked a text to justify a murder—d—n him too. Bletson—a true-blue Commonwealth’s man, one of Hlarrison’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 Hall, and takes old Noll for a Roman consul—Adad, he is like to prove a dictator amongst them instead. Never ee sees the Areopagus in Westminster- mind—d—n Bletson too.” “Friend,” said the soldier, “ I would willingly be civil, but it consists not with my duty to hear these godly men, in whose service I am, spoken of after this irreverent and unbecoming fashion. And albeit I know that you malignants think you have a right to make free with that damnation, which you seem to use as your own por- tion, yet it is superfluous to invoke it against others, whe 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 super- fuous to curse men who already are damned as black as the smoke of hell itself.” “ T prithee forbear,” continued the soldier, “for man- ners’ sake, if not for conscience—erisly oaths suit il with eray breads.” “ Nay, that is truth, if the devil spoke it,” said the ~ ; cee kniocht ; “and I thank Heaven T can follow good counset, thoueh old Nick gives it. And so, friend, touching these them this message; that Sir rsmme Commissioners, bear ock Park, with right of (lenry Lee is keeper of Woodstee ee a fate pees ipa Beer 50 WAVERLEY NOVELS. waif and stray, vert and venison, as complete as any of them have to their estate—that is, if they possess any estate but what they have gained by plundering honest men. Nevertheless, he will ceive place to those who have made their might their 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 fear- ing 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 Commis- sioners ; “and therefore, I pray you, let us walk together into the house, that thou may’st deliver up unto me the vessels, and gold and silver ornaments. belonging unto the Egyptian Pharaoh, who committed them to thy keep- in.” “What vessels?” exclaimed the fiery old knieht; “and belenging to whom ? Unbaptized dog, speak civil of the Martyr in my presence, or I will do a deed mis- becoming of me on that caitiff eorpse of thine !”——And shaking his daughter from his right arm, the old man laid his hand on his rapier. His antavonist, on the contrary, kept his temper com- pletely, and waving his hand to ad¢ speech, he said, with 1 impression to his a calmness which 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 earnal weapon in mine own defence, but listen to the See’st thou not that the Lord hath de cided this great controversy in favour of us and ours saice of reason.WOODSTOCK. 9} against thee and thine? Wherefore, render up thy stew- ardship 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 severe blow with it, and instantly drawing it, and throw- ing the secabbard over the trees, placed himself in a pos- ture 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 his shoulders, and drawing his long tuck, stood upon his cuard. The swords clashed smartly together, while Alice, in her ter- ror, screamed wildly for assistanee. But the combat was of short duration. ‘The old cavalier had attacked a man as cunning of fence as he himself, or a little more 80, 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 ex- changed three passes ere the sword of the knight flew up in the air, as if it lad gone in search of the scabbard 5 and, burning with shame and anger, Sir Henry stood dis- armed, at the mercy of his antagonist. The republican showed no purpose of abusing-his victory; nor did he, either during the combat, or after the victory was won, in any respect alter the sour and grave composure which reiened 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 law of arms I might smite thee under the fifth rib. even as Asahel was struck dead by Abner, the son of Ner, as he followed the chase on the hill of Ammah, that9 NO WAVERLEY NOVELS | lieth before Giah, in the way of the wilderness of Gibeon ; but far be it from me to spill thy remaining drops of 1 i blood. True it is, thou art the captive of my sword and . of my spear ; nevertheless, seeing that there may be a turning from thine evil ways, and a returning to those { of which are good, if the Lord enlarge thy date for repent- ance and amendment wherefore should it be shortened by a poor sinful mortal, who is, speaking truly, but thy 33 A a tt fellow-worm ? Fé sir Henry Lee remained still confused, and unable te answer, when there arrived a fourth person, whom the cries of Alice had summoned to the spot. This was > Joceline Jolitfe, one of the under-keepers of the walk, who, seeing how matters stood, brandished his quarter- a ae re mare ee eae MO eee ee staff, 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 inter- posed. “We must trail bats now, Joceline—our time of shoul- dering them is past. It skills not striving against the stream—the devil rules the roast, and makes our slaves our tutors.” At this moment another auxiliary rushed out of the thicket to the knight’s assistance. It was a large wolf: dog, in strength a mastiff, in form and almost in fleetness a greyhound. Bevis was the noblest of the kind which ever pulled down a stag, tawny-coloured like a lion, with a black muzzle and black feet, just edged with a line of white round the toes. He was as tractable as he was strong and bold. Just as he was about to rush upon the soldier, the words, * Peaee, Bevis!” from Sir Henry eonverted the lion into-a lamb, and instead of pulling theWOODSTOCK. 93 soldier down, he walked round and round, and snuffed, as if using all his sagacity to discover who the stranger could be, towards whom, though of so questionable an appear- ance, he was enjoined forbearance. Apparently he was satisfied, for he laid aside his doubtful and threatening demonstrations, lowered his ears, smoothed down his bristles, and wagged his tail. Sir Henry, who had great respect for the sagac ity 0 of is of thy op inion; and counsels submission. There is the finger his favourite, said in a low voice to Alice, “ Ben is of Heaven in this to punish the ne ever the fault of our house.—Friend,” he continued, addressing the soldier, “thou hast given the finishing touch to a lesson, which ten years of constant misfortune have been unable fully to teach me. Thou hast distinctly shown me the folly of thinking that a good cause can strengthen a wei ik arm. God forgive me for the thought, but I could almost turn infidel. and believe that Heaven’s blessing goes ever w ith the longest sword ; but it will not be always thus. God knows his time.—Reach me my Toledo, Joceline, yonder it lies; and the scabbard, see where it hangs on the tree. —Do not pull at my cloak, Alice, and look so mise rably frightened; I shall be in no hurry tc betake me to bright steel again, I promise thee.—For thee, good fellow, | thank thee, and will make way for thy masters without farther dispute or ceremony. Joceline Joliffe is nearer a of the Lodge and household stuff.—Withhold nothing, Joliffe-—let them have ‘all. For me, I will never cross v thy degree than I am, and will make surrender to thee the threshold again—but where to rest for a night? T would trouble no one im W oodstoc k—hum—ay—it shall Alice and I, Joceline, will go down to thy hut by we will borrow the shelter of thy roc we sO, Rosamond’s well;WAVERLEY NOVELS. for one night at least; thou wilt give us welcome, wilt thou not -—-How now—a clouded brow ?” Joceline certainly looked embarrassed, directed_first a glance to Alice, then looked to Heaven, then to earth, and last to the four quarters of the horizon, and then murmured out, “ Certainly—without question—might he but run down to put the house in order.” “Order enough—order enough—for those that may soon be glad of clean straw in a barn,” said the knight; “but if thou hast an ill-will to harbour any obnoxious or malignant persons, as the phrase goes, never shame to speak it out, man. ’Tis true, I took thee up when thou wert but a ragged Nobin,* made a keeper of thee, and so forth. What of that? Sailors think no longer of the wind than when it forwards them on the voyage—thy betters turn with the tide, why should not such a poor knave as thou?” “God pardon your honour 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 honour’s sake, and Mistress Alice’s—only I could wish your honour would condeseénd to let me step down before. in case any neighbour be there—or—or—just to put matters something into order for Mistress Alice and your honour—just to make things something seemly and shapely.” “ Not a whit necessary,” said the knight, while Alice nad much trouble in concealing her agitation. “If thy matters are unseemly, they are fitter for a defeated knight —if they are unshapely, why, the liker to the rest of a * ‘The keeper's followers in the New Forest are called in popula mnguage ragged Robins.WOODSTOCK. uh world, whict. is all unshaped. Go thou with that man. -—What is thy name, friend?” “ Joseph Tomkins is my name in the flesh,” said the steward. “Men call me Honest Joe, and Trusty Tom- kins.” “Tf thou hast deserved such names, considering what trade thou hast driven, thou art a 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 fame of it—the title and the thing itself have long walked separate ways. Farewell to thee,—and farewell to fair Woodstock !” So saying, the old knight turned round, end pulling arm through his own, they walked onward his daughter’s in the same manner in which they were into the forest, intraduced to the reader.7 oy WAVERLEY NOVELS. CHAPTER If. AeA oh CA Tedd os Now, ye wild blades, that make loose inns your Btago, i Xo vapour 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, eee sbee DeeeeEn eT When bullets flew between the head and ear, Whether you fought by Dan)me or the Spirit, Of you I speak. LEGEND OF CAPTAIN JONES. - OSEPH Tomx«rys and Joliffe the keeper remained for Aa Dy oa eae } s0m1> time in silence, as they stood together looking along the path in which the figures of the knight of Ditchley and pretty Mistress 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. ‘lhey heard the knight’s whistle summon Bevis; but though the good hound turned his head and pricked his ears at the sound, yet he did not obey the call, but continued to snuff around Joseph Tomkins’s cloak. “Thou art a rare gne, I fear me,” said the keeper, looking to his new acquaintance, “I have heard of men who have charms to steal both dogs and deer.” “Trouble not thyself about my qualities, friend,”. said Joseph Tomkins, “but bethink thee of doing thy master’s ee eee : My bidding.WOODSTOCK. 97 Joceline did not immediately answer, but at length, as if in sign of truce, stuck the end of his quarterstaff ups right in the ground, and leant upon it as he said orufily, «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 tt ill the blades were or jingling, or I had rung even-song upon your pate. The I Se smiled grimly-as he ee “ Nay, friend, it is well for thyself, for never should sexton have been better said 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 ark I understand, to give me peac eful possession of the Palace of Woodstock, so called—though there is now no palace shall be in the days that come after, in Eneland, no, nor the palace of the New Jerusalem, until we shall enter and-the reign of the Saints shall commence on earth.” * Pretty well begun already, friend Tomkins,” said the ‘you are little short of being kings already upon keeper; ‘ as it now stands ; and for your Jerusalem I the matter wot not, but Woodstock is a pretty nest-egg to begin with. Well, will you shog—will you ba you take : sasine and livery ?__You heard orders.’ « Umph—! know not,” said Tomkins. . “I must be- and I am alone here. Moreover, appointed by Parhament, also the old man and the of their clothes ware of ambuscades, it is the High Thanksgiving and owned to by the army— an may W: int to recover some | property, and I would not that they were Wherefore, if thou wilt deliver orning, it shall be done in. per wr é young wom and persona baulked on my account. me possession to-morrow mm VOL. XLI.en en eee I Te eee Cee —" 8 WAVERLEY NOVELS. ronal presence of my own followers, and of the Presby- terian man the Mayor, 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 Idomite—Honest Joe hath been as an Ishmaelite, 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 sovernment.” Joccline fixed his keen dark eyes upon the soldier ag he spoke, as if in design to discover whether there Was fair play in his mind or vot. He then applied his five fingers to scratch a large shock head of hair, as if that vperation was necessary to enable him to come to a con clusion. “This is all: fair sounding, brother,” 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 smelting-pot, to put our knight’s troop on horseback. Now, if thou takest not these off my hand, I may come to trouble, since it may be thought I have minished their numbers.— Whereas, I being as honest a fellow ” “ As ever stole venison,” said Tomkins—« nay, I do owe thee an interruption.” “Go to, then,” replied the keeper; “if a stag may C have come to mischance in mv walk, it was no way in the course of dishonesty, but merely ‘to keep my old dame’s pan from rusting; but for silver porringers, lankards, and such like, I would as soon have drunk the melted silver, 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 things rendered even now,—why so—and if not, hold me blame Cy Fo 3) ess.WOODSTOCK. as . sain Tomkins; “and who is to hold me 4 A gy trnly ©? blameless, if they should see cause to think any thing minished ? Not the right worshipful Commissioners, io whom the property of the estate is as their own; there- fore, ag thou say’st, we must walk warily in the matter, To lock up the house and leave it, were but the work ot simple ones. What say’st thou to spend the night there. and then nothing can be touched without the knowledge ef us beth?” “Why, concerning that”? answered the keeper, “1 should be at my hut to make matters somewhat conform- able for the old knight and Mistress Alice, for my old dame Joan is something 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 per- adventure he may have met something at the hut which will scarce tend to cool it.” “Jt is a pity,” said Tomkins, “ that being a gentleman of such grave and goodly presence, he should be such 2 malignant 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 hath a 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, ribands flutter- ing, lads frisking and laughing, lasses leaping till you let garter fastened the light blue € might see where the scar nose, | think some feeling. resemhung either natural 36100 WAVERLEY NOVELS. ciality, or old use and wont, would get the better, friend | \ even of thy gravity, and thou wouldst fling thy suckoldy ie 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.” 4 The Independent turned fiercely round on the keeper, and replied, “ How now, Mt Green Jerkin? what lan- guage is this to one whose hand is at the plough? f[ ee ee ak Te : ies advise thee to put curb on thy tongue, lest thy ribs pay the forfeit.” “Nay, do not take the high tone with me, brother,” answered Joceline; “remember thou hast not the old knight of sixty-five to deal with, but a fellow as bitter ar ee ree ee 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 would thou hadst ye a PO one 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 : “and I trust he has seen the error of his ways, and made \ himself (as, if a man of action, he easily might) fit for bet- ! ter company than wood-hunters, deer-stealers, Maid Mari- ons, swash-bucklers, deboshed revellers, bloody brawlers, maskers, and mummers, lewd men and light women, fools and fiddlers, and carnal self-pleasers of every descrip- tion.” “ Well,’ replied the keeper, “ you are out of breath in time ; for here we stand before the famous Maypole af Woodstock.” They paused in an open space of meadow-land, | eauti- fully skirted 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 scathedWOODSTOCK. 101 and waaricd io the branches, but fhe immense trunk still showed to what gigantic size the monarch of the forest can attain in the groves of merry Eneland. “ Phat is called the King’s Oak,” said Joceline; “ the oldest men of Wood words, foppery and folly—Here!”—(dealing another thump upon the volume—and oh! revered of the Rox- burghe, it was the first folio—beloved of the Bannatyne, it was Hemmings and Condel—it was the editio princeps) —*QOn thee,” he continued—“on thee, William Shak- spearc, I charge whate’er of such lawless idleness and ; . : ees immodest folly hath defiled the land since thy day ! “ By the mass, a heavy accusation,” said Joceline, the bold recklessness of whose temper, could not be longee eee ge ae a e 116 WAVERLEY NOVELS. pverawed; “ Odds pitlikins, is our master’s old favourite, Will of Stratford, to answer for every buss that has been snatched since James’s time ?—a perilous reckoning truly —hbut I wonder who is sponsible for what lads and lasses did before his day ?” “ Scoff not,” said the soldier, “lest I, being called there- to by the voice within me, do deal with thee as a scorner. Verily, I say, that since the devil fell from Heaven, he never lacked agents on earth; yet nowhere hath he met with a wizard having such infinite power over men’s souls as this pestilent fellow Shakspeare. Sceks a wife a foul example for adultery, here she shall find it— Would a man know how to train his fellow to be a murderer, here shall he find tutoring—Would a lady marry a heathen negro, she shall have chronicled example for it—Would any one scorn at his Maker, he shall be furnished with a jest in this book—Would he defy his brother in the flesh, he shall be accommodated with a challenze—Would you be drunk, Shakspeare will cheer you with a cup—Would you plunge in sensual pleasures, he will soothe you to indulgence, as with the lascivious sounds of a lute. This, I say, this book is the wellhead and source of all those evils which have overrun the land like a torrent, making men scoffers, doubters, deniers, murderers, makebates, and lovers of the wine-pot, haunting unclean places, and sit- ting long at the evening-wine. Away with him, away with him, men of England! to Tophet with his wicked book, and to the Vale of Hinnom with his:accursed bones. Verily but that our march was hasty when we passed Stratford, in the year 1643, with Sir William Waller but that our march was hasty ’””—— “ Because Prince Rupert was after you with his cava .iers,’ muttered the incorrigible Joceline.WOODSTOCK. 117 [ 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 rid- ing, closing our ranks each one upon the other as becomes men of war, I had torn on that day the bones of that pre- ceptor of vice and debauchery from the grave, and given them to the next dunchill. I would have made his mem- ory a scoff and a hissing!” “That is the bitterest thing he has said yet,” observed the keeper. “ Poor Will would have liked the hissing worse than all the rest.” “ Will the gentleman say any more?” inquired Phoebe in a whisper. “ Lack-a-day, he talks brave words, if one knew but what they meant. Bat it is a mercy our good: knight did not see him ruffle the book at that rate —Mercy on us, there would certainly have been blood- shed.—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 1s 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 any thing. I would be sworn to cut his purse, if he had one, from his side, without his feeling it.” “Tia! 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 ts in the pantry ?” « Small housekeeping enough,” said Phoebe ; “a cold eapon andl some eomfits. and the great standing venisoner Ae eae ee el i cae e 118 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 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 ‘= as thick as the walls of Fair Rosamond’s ‘Tower.” «Which two pairs of jaws would be long in gnawing throuch, 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. ; “ 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 I cannot sound him before the night’s out:—Hie thee away, Pheebe.” But Phoebe was a rural 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 off.” Of she darted while she spoke, while Joliffe menaced ‘ature vengeance with his finger, as he muttered, “ Go thy way, Phoebe Mayflower, the lightest-footed and lightWOODSTOCK. 119 tst-hearted wench that ever tripped the sod in Wood ptock-park !—After her, Bevisgand bring her safe to our master at the hut.” The large greyhound arose like a human. servitor whe had received an order and followed Phcebe 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 himself to the light pace of her whom he convoyed, whom Joceline had not extolled for her activity without due reason. While Phoebe and her guardian thread the forest glades, we return to the Lodge. The Independent now seemed to start as if froma reverie. “Is the young woman gone?” said he. “Ay, marry is she,” said the keeper; “and if your worship hath farther commands, you must rest contented with male attendance.” “ Commands—umph—I think the damsel might have tarried for another exhortation,” said the soldier—* truly, I profess my mind was much inclined toward her for her edification.” “Oh, sir,” replied Joliffe, “ske will be at church next Sunday, and if your military reverence is pleased again to hold forth amongst us, she will have use of the doc- trine with the rest. But young maidens of these parts hear no private homilies—And what is now your pleas- ure? Will you look at the other rooms, and at the few plate articles which have been left?” “ 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. “And wood for a fire, and a light, and some small pit-eres ee BY ; ‘ s ‘ xX bs Q DIA OE ees tic Sa Lee 120 WAVERLEY NOVELS. tance of creature-comforts for refreshment of the outward man ?” continued the soldger. “ Without doubt,” replied the keeper, displaying a prudent anxiety to gratify this important personage. In a few minutes a great standing candlestick 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 this meal sate down in social manner the soldier, occupy- ing a great elbow-chair, and the keeper, at his invitation, using the more lowly accommodation of a stool, at the opposite side of the table. Thus agreeably employed, our history leaves them for the present.WOODSTOCK. CHAPTER IV. Yon path of greensward Winds round by sparry grot and gay pavilion ; There is no flint to gall thy tender foot, There’s ready shelter from each breeze, or shower — 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 footsteps, Oft where she leads thy head must bear the storm, And thy shrunk form endure heat, cold, and hunger; But she will guide thee up to noble heights, Which he who gains seems native of the sky, While earthly things lie stretch’d beneath his feet, Diminish’d, shrunk, and valueless ANONYMOUS. Tue reader cannot have forgotten that after his scuffle with the commonwealth soldier, Sir Henry Lee, with his daughter Alice, had departed to take refuge in the hut of the stout keeper Joceline Joliffe. They walked slow, as before, for the old knight was at once oppressed by perceiving these last vestiges of royalty fall into the hands of republicans, and by the recollection of his recent defeat. At times he paused, and, with his arms folded on his bosom, recalled all the circumstances attending his expulsion from a house so long his home. It seemed te him that, like the champions of romance of whom he liad sometimes read, he himself was retiring from the post which it was his duty to guard, defeated by a Pay- nim knight, for whom the adventure had been reservedee ee eee De nee eI eI ae ee ts ps ttiriene Snir! WAVERLEY NOVELS. by fate. Alice had her own painful subjects of recollee- tion, nor had the tenor of her last conversation with her father been so pleasant as to make her anxious to renew it until his temper should be more composed ; for with an excellent disposition, and much love to his daughter, 1oe and misfortunes, which of late came thicker and c g thicker, had given to the good knight’s passions a way- ward irritability unknown to his better days. His daugh- ter, and one or two attached servants, who still followed his decayed fortunes, soothed his frailty as much as pos- sible, and pitied him even while they suffered under its effects. It was a long time ere he spoke, and then he referred to an incident-already noticed. “ It is strange,” he said, “that Bevis should have followed Joceline and that fel- low rather than me.” “Assure yourself, sir,” replied Alice, “ that his sagacity su\y in this man a stranger, whom he thought himself obliged to watch cireumspectly, and therefore he re- mained with Joceline.” “ Not so, Alice,” answered Sir Henry; “he leaves me because my fortunes have fled from me. There is a feel- ing in nature, affecting even the instinet, as it is called, of dumb animals, which teaches them to fly from misfor- tune. The very deer there will butt a sick or wounded buck from the herd; hurt a dog, and the whole kennel vill fall on him and worry him; fishes devour their pwn kind when they are wounded with a spear; cut a crow’s wing, or break its leg, the others will buffet it to death.” “Phat may be true of the more irrational kinds of tnimals among each other,” said Alice, “for their whole life is well-nigh a warfare; but the dog leaves his ownWOODSTOCK. 12% race to attach himself to ours; forsakes, for his master, the company, food, and pleasure of his own kind; and surely the fidelity of such a devoted and voluntary sery- ant as Bevis hath been in particular, ought not to be lightly suspected.” “{ am not angry with the dog, Alice; I am only sorry, replied her father. “I have read, in faithful chronicles, that when Richard II. and Henry of Boling- broke were at Berkeley Castle, a dog of the same kind deserted the King, whom he had always attended upon and attached himself to Henry, whom he then saw fo1 the first time. Richard foretold, from the desertion of his favourite, his approaching deposition.* ‘The dog was afterwards 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 bodes no good.” There was a distant rustling among the withered leaves, a bouncing or galloping sound on the path, and the favourite dog instantly joined his master. “ Come into court, old knave,” said Alice, cheerfully, “ and defend thy character, which is well-nigh endangered by this absence.” But the dog only paid her courtesy by gamboling around them, and instantly plunged 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 Phcebe Mayflower ap- proaching, her light pace so little impeded by the purden which she bore, that she joined her master and young mistress just as they arrived at the keeper’s hut, which * The story occurs, I think, in Froissart’s Chronicles.eRe ee na: see ee ea L24 WAVERLEY NOVELS. was the boundary of their journey. Bevis, who had shot a-head 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 door of the keeper’s hut. In better times, a substantial stone -habitation, fit for the yeoman-keeper of a royal walk, had adorned this place. A fair spring gushed out near the spot, and ence traversed yards and courts, attached to well-built and convenient kennels and mews. But in some of the skir- mishes which were common during the civil wars, this little silvan dwelling had been attacked and defended stormed and burnt. A neighbouring squire, of the Par- liament 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 buildmg materials as the fire left unconsumed, and repaired his own manor-. house with them. The yeoman-keeper, therefore, out friend Joceline, had constructed, for his own accommoda tion, and that of the old woman he ealled his dame, a wattled hut, such as his own labour, with that of a neigh bour or two, had erected in the course of a few days. The walls were plastered with clay, whitewashed, and covered with vines and other creeping plants; the roof was neatly thatched, and the whole, though merely a hut, ‘ad, by the neat-handed Joliffe, beem so arranged as rot io disgrace the condition of the dweller. The knight advanced to the entrance; but the inge- nuity of the architect, for want of a better lock to the door, which itself was but of wattles curiously twisted, liad contrived a mode of securing the latch on the insideWOODSTOCK. t25 with a pin, which prevented it from rising; and in this manner it was at present fastened. . Conceiving that this was some precaution of Joliffe’s old housekeeper, 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 which the frail barrier was unable to resist; it gave way accordingly, and the knight thus forcibly entered the kitchen, or outward apartment, of his servant. In the midst of the floor, and with a pos- ture which’ indicated embarrassment, stood a youthful stranger, in a riding-suit. “This may be my last act of authority here,” said the knicht, 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 dropped the riding-mantle in which his face was mufiled, 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 re- plied, with considerable assumption of stately ceremony : * Fair kinsman, it pleases me that you are come to Woodstock upon the very first night that, for many years which have past, is likely to promise you a worthy or a welcome reception.” “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 race, as if desirous tc know whether his meaning waseee ee ae ee ene ee eee g 126 WAVERLEY NOVELS. kind towa-ds his nephew, which her knowledge of Ins eharacter in:lined 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 ever to offer him a seat in this poor hut.” “I will attend you most willingly to the Lodge,” said the young gentleman. “TI bad, indeed, judged you were already there for the evening, and feared to intrude upon you. But if you would permit me, my dearest uncle, to escort my kinswoman 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 to intimate to you in all courtesy, that at Woodstock Lodge you will find those for whom you are fitting society, and who, doubtless, will afford you a willing welcome ; which I, sir, in this my present re- treat, do not presume to offer to a person of your con- sequence.” “ For Heaven’s sake,” said the young man, turning to Alice, “tell me how J am to understand language so mysterious.” Alice, to prevent his increasing the restrained anger of her father, compelled herself to answer, though it was with difficulty. “We are expelled from the Lodge hy soldiers.” “ Expelled—by soldiers!” exclaimed Everard, in sur- prise-—“ there is nc legai warrant for this.”WOODSTOCK. 127 “None at all,’ answered the knight, in the same tone pf cutting irony which he had all along used, “and yet as lawful a warrant, as for aught that has been wrought in England this twelvemonth and more. You are, I think, or were, an Inns-of-Court-man—marry, sir, your enjoy- ment of your profession is like that lease which a prodi- gal wishes to have of a wealthy widow. You have al- ready 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. You have deserved it two ways you wore buff and bandalier, as well as wielded pen and ink—I 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.” “O,an you talk of conscience,” said the old knight, “JT must have mine eye upon you, as Hamlet says. Never yet did Puritan cheat so grossly as when he was appealing to his conscience ; and as for thy father ”—— He was about to proceed in a tone of the same invee- tive, when the young man interrupted him, by saying, m 4 firm tone, “ Sir Henry Lee, you have ever been thought noble—Say of me what you will, but speak not of my father 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 man, 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 zountry.” “Be that is you will to think it,’ replied Everard ;a te eae ee Ne ere 128 WAVERLEY NOVELS. “but let me not leave you to the shelter of this wretched hovel. The night is drawing to storm—let me but con- duct you to the Lodge, and expel those intruders, who ean, as yet at least, have no warrant for what they do. J will not linger a moment behind them, save just to de- liver my father’s message.—Grant me but this much, for the love you once bore me} “ Yes, Mark,” answered his uncle firmly, but sorrow- fully. “thou speakest truth—I did love thee once. The bright-haired boy whom I taught to ride, to shoot, to hunt —whose hours of happiness were spent with me, wher- ever those of graver labours were employed—lI did love that boy—ay, and I am weak enough to love even the memory of what he was.—But he is gone, Mark—he is gone; and in his room I only behold an avowed and determined rebel to his religion and to his king—a rebel more detestable on account of his success, the more in- famous through the plundered wealth with which he hopes to gild his villany—But I am poor, thou think’st, and should hold my peace, lest men say, ‘ Speak, strrah, when you should.—Know, however, that, indigent and plun- dered as I am, I feel myself dishonoured in holding even but this much talk with the tool of usurping rebels—Go to the Lodge, if thou wilt—yonder lies the way—but think not that, to regain my dwelling there, or all the wealth I ever possessed in my wealthiest days, 1 would willingly accompany thee three steps on the greensward. If 1 must be thy companion, it shall be only when thy red-coats have tied my hands behind me, and bound my ‘eos beneath my horse’s belly. ‘Thou mayst be my fel- Jow traveller then, I grant thee, if thou wilt, but not sooner.” Alice, who suffered cruelly during this dialogue, andWOODSTOCK. was ivell aware that farther argument would only kindle the knight's resentment still more highly, ventured at last, in her anxiety, to make a sign to her cousin to break. off the interview, and to retire, since her father com- manded his absence in a manner so peremptory. Uns uappily, she was observed by Sir Henry, who, concluding that what he saw was evidence of a private understand- ing betwixt the cousins, his wrath acquired new fuel, and it required the utmost exertion of self-command, and re- collection of all that was due to his own dignity, to enable him to veil his real fury under the same ironical manner which he had adopted at the beginning of this angry interview. 7 “Tf thou art afraid,” he said, “to trace our forest glades by night, respected stranger, to whom I am perhaps bound to do honour as my successor in the charge of these walks, 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 beg- gars in a ditch, with a hedge for a church-roof, and a tinker 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 Knipperdoling, or Jack of Ley- den?” “ 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, “ J was never more serious Raving !|—I was never more composed-—! could never VOL. XL. qeer ee ee eed em 136 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 5rook that falsehood should approach me—I would no more bear by my side a dishonoured daughter than a dishonoured 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 smce 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 acquiesced. 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 con- temptuous as you will, such is the case ; and it is to pro- tect both you and her that I am here.” “ You refuse then my free gift,” said Sir Henry Lee ; “or perhaps you think it loaded with too hard condi- tions ?” “ Shame, shame on you, Sir Henry ;” said Everard, waxing warm in his 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 honour ?—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 every blessing which Heaven could bestow on me, I would not accept it —my conscience would not permit me to do so—when ] knew it must withdraw her from her duty to you.” “ Your conscience is over scrupulous, young man i— earry it to.some dissenting rabbi, and he who takes allWCODSTOCK. Lot hat comes ¢o net, will teach thee it is sinning against our mercies to refuse any good thing that is freely offered lo 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 Lee is tyrannically op- pressing the creature, who of all others is most depend- ent 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.” 39 “Do not fear for me, Mr. Everard,” exclaimed Alice, aroused from her timidity by a dread of the consequences not unlikely to ensue, where civil war set relations, as well as fellow-citizens, in opposition to each other.— Oh, begone, I conjure you, begone! Nothing stands betwixt me and my father’s kindness, but these unhappy family for Heaven’s divisions—but your ill-timed presence here 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, E warrant, like Goneril and Regan! But I tell thee, no man shall leave my house —and, humble as it is, thes is now my house—while he has aught to say to me that is to be spoken, as this young man now speaks, with a bent brow and a lofty tone.— Speak out, sir, and say your worst Le “ Fear not my temper, Mrs. Alice,” said Everard, with equal firmness and placidity of manner; “and you, Sit Henry, do not think that if I speak firmly, I mean there- fore to speak in anger, or officiously. You have taxedeA Ate el Fe neat ee ae a , 5 PS RY BS i By & PAW og [32 WAVERLEY NOVELS. me with much, and, were I guided by the wild spirit of romantic chivalry, much which, even from so near a rels ative, [ ought not, as being by birth, and in the world’s estimation, a gentleman, to pass over without reply. Is it your pleasure to give me patient hearing ? ” “Tf you stand on your defence,” answered the stout old knight, ‘God forbid that you should not challenge a patient hearing—ay, though your pleading were two parts disloyalty and one blasphemy—Only, be briet— this has already lasted but too long.” “YT 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 tram- pled on, and whose consciences have been oppressed— Frown not, sir—such is not your view of the contest, 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—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 honour. Not my own natural disposition, but the better doctrine which my creed has taught, enables me to bear your harsh revilings without answering in a similar tone of wrath and reproach. You may carry insult to extiemity against me at your pleasure—not on account of our relationship hlone, but because I am bound in charity to endure it. This, Sir Henry, is much from one of our house. But, with forbearance far more than this requires, I can refuse at vour hands the gift, which, most of all things underWOODSTOCK. 133 heaven, 1 shouid desire to obtain, because duty calls upon her to sustain and comfort you, and because it were sin to permit you,in your blindness, to spurn your comforter from your side.—Farewell, sir—not in anger, but in pity— We may meat in a better time, when your heart and your principles shall master the unhappy prejudices by which they are now overclouded.—F arewell—farewell, Alice !” The last words were repeated twice, and in a tone of feeling and passionate grief, which differed utterly from the steady and almost severe tone in which he had ad- dressed Sir Henry Lee. He 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 walk- ed sternly and resolvedly forth into the moonlight, 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 terror that her father might have been hurried, by his natural heat of temper, from violence of language into violence of action, sunk down upon a settle twisted out of willow boughs, like most of Joceline’s few movables, and endeavoured to conceal the tears which accompanied the thanks she rendered in broken accents to Heaven, that, notwithstanding the near alliance and relationship. of the parties, some fatal deed had not closed an interview so perilous and so angry. Phebe Mayflower blubbered heartily for company, ‘hough she understood but little of what had passed ; just, indeed, enough to enable her afterwards to report to some half-dozen particular friends, that her old master, Sir Henry, had been perilous angry, and almost fought with young Master Everard, because he had well-nighDer ee Lae Se eee he N * x SY } oar: ea ee « x Ss “ N N . F 2 3 . x BY * Ny N AN a , at et ee ee 134 WAVERLEY NOVELS. earried away her young mistress——“And what could he have done better?” said Phoebe, “seeing the old man had nothing left either for Mrs. Alice or himself; and as for Mr. Mark Everard and our young lady, oh! they had spoken such loving things to each other as are not to be found in the history of Argalus and Parthenia, who, as the story-book tells, were the truest pair of lovers in all Arcadia, and Oxfordshire to boot.” Old Goody Jellycot had popped her scarlet hood into the kitchen more than once while the scene was proceed- ing; but, as the worthy dame was parcel blind and more than parcel deaf, knowledge was excluded by two prin- cipal entrances; and though she comprehended, by a sort of general instinct, that the gentlefolk were at high words, yet why they chose Joceline’s hut for the scene of their dis- pute was as great a mystery as the subject of the quarrel. But what was the state of the old cavalier’s mood, thus contradicted, as his most darling principles had been, by the last words of his departing nephew? ‘The truth is, that he was less thoroughly moved than his daughter ex- pected; and in all probability his nephew’s bold defence of his religious and political opinions rather pacified than ageravated his displeasure. Although sufficiently im- patient of contradiction, still evasion and subterfuge were more alien to the blunt old Ranger’s nature than manly vindication and direct opposition; and he was wont to say, that he ever loved the buck best who stood boldest at bay. He graced his nephew’s departure, however, with a quotation from Shakspeare, whom, as many others do, he was wont to quote from a sort of habit and respeet, xs a favourite of his unfortunate master, without having either much real taste for his works, or great skill in ap. plying the passages which he retained on his memory.WOODSTOCK. 138 “ Mark,’ he said, “mark this, Alice—the devil can quote Scripture for his purpose. Why, this young fanatic euusin of thine, with no more beard than I have seen on a clown playing Maid Marion on May-day, when the vil- lage barber had shaved him in too great a hurry, shall match any bearded Presbyterian or Independent of them all, in laying down his doctrines and his uses, and be- thumping us with his texts and his homilies. I would worthy and learned Doctor Rochecliffe had been here, with his battery ready mounted from the Vuigate, and the Septuagint, and what not—he would have battered the presbyterian spirit out of him with a wanion. However, I am glad the young man is no sneaker ; for, were a man of the devil’s opinion in religion, and of Old Noll’s in polities, 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, and not like to be stirred again soon, I trust.” Encouraged by these words, Alice rose, and, bewildered as she was, endeavoured to superintend the arrangements for their meal and their repose in their new habitation, But her tears fell so fast, they marred her counterfeited diligence ; and it was well for her that Phoebe, though too ignorant and too simple to comprehend the extent of her distress, could afford her material assistance, in lack of mere sympathy. With great readiness and address, the damsel set about every thing that was requisite for preparing the supper and the beds ; now screaming into Dame Jellycot’s ear, now whispering into her mistress’s and artfully managing, as if she was merely the agent, under Alice’s orders. When the cold viands were set forth, Sir Henry Lee kindly pressed his daughter to take refreshment, as if to136 WAVERLEY NOVELS. make up, indirectly, for his previous harshness towards her; while he himself, like an experienced campaigner, showed, that neither the mortifications nor brawls of the day, nor the thoughts of what was to come to-morrow, could diminish his appetite for supper, which was his oe ee re tavourite meal. He ate up two thirds of the capon, and, devoting the first bumper to the happy restoration of Charles, second of the name, he finished a quart of wine ; for he belonged to a school accustomed to feed the flame of their loyalty with copious brimmers. He even sang a verse of “The King shall enjoy his own again,” in which Phoebe, half-sobbing, and Dame Jellycot, scream- ing against time and tune, were contented to lend thei aid, to cover Mistress Alice’s silence. At length the jovial knight betook himself to his rest ae gee ene eae g ¢ res on the keeper’s straw pallet, in‘ recess adjoining to the kitchen, and, unaffected by his change of dwelling, slept fast and deep. Alice had less quiet rest in old Goody Jellycot’s wicker couch, in the inner apartment ; while Seen ON reer the dame and Phebe slept on a mattress, stuffed with dry leaves, in the same chamber, soundly as those whose daily toil gains their daily bread, and whom morning calls / up only to renew the toils of yesterday. en ee Nae adilWOODSTOCK. CHAPTER V. 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-armour on the shepherd boy, Encumbering and not arming him. ees As Markham Everard pursued his way towards 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 farther to let in glimpses of the moon, and anon opening yet wider into little meadows, or savannahs, 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 any thing saving the pain- ful 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 royal- ists, who made their politiral opinions a pretext for dissWAVERLEY NOVELS. 138 turbing the country with marauding yarties and rob- beries. Deer-stealers also, who are ever a desperate banditti, had of late infested Woodstock Chase. In short, the dangers of the place and period were such, that Mark- ham Everard wore his loaded pistols at his belt, and car- ried his drawn sword under his arm, that he might be prepared for whatever peril should cross his path. He heard the bells of Woodstock Church ring curlew, just as he was crossing one of the littlhe meadows we have described, and they ceased as he entered an over- shadowed 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 ad- vancing towards him. This could hardly be a friend ; for the party to which he belonged rejected, generally speaking, all music, unless psalmody. “If a man is merry, let him sing psalms,” was a text which they were pleased to interpret as literally and to as little purpose as they did some others; yet it was too continued a sound to be a signal amongst night-walkers, and too light and cheerful to argue any purpose of concealment on the part = of the traveller, who presently exchanged his whistling for singing, and trolled forth the following stanza toa jolly tane, with which the old ecavaliers were wont. to vvake the night-owl :— Hey for cavaliers! Ho for cavaliers! Pray for cavaliers! Rub a dub—rub a dub Have at old Beelzebub- - Oliver smokes for fear. 4 - IT should know that voice,” said Everard, uncocking ij ‘ ; ‘ ; ae the pistor which he had drawn from his belt, but continu- ng to hold it in his hand. Then came another fragment:WOODSTOCK. Hash them—slash them— All to pieces dash them. “So ho!” cried Markham, “who goes there, and for whom ?” “For Church and King,” answered a voice, which pres- ently added, “No, d—n me—I mean against Church and King, and for the people that are uppermost—I forget which they are.” “Roger Wildrake, as I guess?” said Everard. “The same—Gentleman; of Squattlesea-mere, in the moist county of Lincoln.” “Wildrake !” said Markham—* Wildgoose you should be called. You have been moistenine your own throat to some purpose, and using it to gabble tunes very suit- able to the times, to be sure! ” “Faith, the tune’s a pretty tune enough, Mark, only out of fashion a little—the more’s the pity.” “What could I expect,” said Everard, “but to meet some ranting, drunken cavalier, as desperate and danger- ous as night and sack usually make them? What if I had rewarded your melody by a ball in the gullet ?” “Why, there would have been a piper paid—that’s all,” said Wildrake. “ But wherefore come you this way now? I was about to seek you at the hut.” “J have been obliged to leave it—I will tell you the 9 cause hereafter,” replied Markham. “ What! the old play-hunting cavalier was cross, or Chloe was unkind?” “Jest not, Wildrake—it is all over with me,” said Everard. “ The devil it is,” exclaimed Wildrake, “and you take it thus quietly !—Zounds! let us back together—I’ll plead your cause for you—I know how to tickle up an oldWAVERLEY NOVELS. knight and a pretty maiden—Let me alone for putting you rectus in curia, you canting rogue.—D—n me, Sir a Henry Lee, says I, your nephew is a piece of a Puritan a —it won’t deny—but Pll uphold him a gentleman and a a4 pretty fellow, for all that.—Madam, says I, you may think @ th: your cousin looks like a psalm-singing weaver, in that —@ bare felt, and with that rascally brown cloak; that band, @ AC . which looks like a baby’s clout, and those loose boots, y' which have a whole ealf-skin in each of them,—but let es him wear on the one side of his head a castor, with a : it plume befitting his quality ; give him a good Toledo by . his side, with a broidered belt and an inlaid hilt, instead t of the ton of iron contained in that basket-hilted black ue Andrew Ferrara; put a few smart words in his mouth , —and, blood and wounds ! madam, says | ”—— ‘ “ Prithee, truce with this nonsense, Wildrake,” said Everard, “ and tell me if you are sober enough to hear a few words of sober reason ?” « Pshaw!.man, I did but crack a brace of quarts with yonder puritanic, roundheaded soldiers, up yonder at the town; and rat me but I passed myself for the best man of the party ; twanged my nose, and turned up my eyes, as I took my can—Pah! the very wine tasted of hypo- crisy. I think the rogue corporal smoked something at lust—as for the common fellows, never stir, but they asked me to say grace over another quart iS “This is just what I wished to speak with you about, i Wildral se” said Markham—* You hold me, I am sure, for your friend ? ” “True as steel—Chums. at College and at Lincoln's Inn—we have been Nisus and Euryalus, Theseus and | Pirithous, Orestes and Pylades; and, to sum up the whole with a puritanic touch, David and Jonathan, al}WOODSTOCK. in one breath. Not even politics, the wedge that rends families and friendships asunder, as iron rives oak, have been able to split us.” “True,” answered Markham, “and when you followed the King to Nottingham and I enrolled under Essex, we swore, at our parting, that which ever side was victorious, he of us who adhered to it, should protect his less fortu- nate comrade.” “Surely, man, surely ; and have you not protected me accordingly ? Did you not save me from hanging? and am I not indebted to you for the bread I eat?” “JT have but done that which, had the times been otherwise, 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 company of soldiers, or such like, where thou art sure to be warmed into betraying thyself? Why come hollowing and whoop- ing out cavalier ditties, like a drunken trooper of Prince Rupert, or one of Wilmot’s swaggering body-guards ?” “ Because I may have been bothone 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 obligation of mutual protection, our league of offensive and defensive, as I may call it, was to be earried into effect without reference to the politics or re- ligion of the party protected, or the least obligation on : Cire toe him to conform to those of his friend F “True,” said Everard; “ but with this most necessary qualification, that the party should submit to such out- ward conformity to the times as should make it more easy and safe for his friend to be of service to him.gre We. wa thr roi Wel [42 WAVERLEY NOVELS. Now, you are perpetually breaking forth, to the hazard ef your own safety and my credit.” “T tell you, Mark, and I would tell your namesake the apostle, that you are hard on me. You have practised sobriety and hypocrisy from your hanging sleeves till and your Geneva cassock—from the cradle to this day, 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 rater—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 ficht ?” asked Everard, in a tone so serious that it imposed on his companion, who replied in his genuine character— “ Worse !—d—n me, worse an hundred times than re- ported—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 red-coat who asked the question?” said Everard. “ Me- thinks you would find a speedy passport to the next corps de garde.” “ Nay, nay,” answered Wildrake, “TI thought you asked me in your own person.—Lack-a-day ! a great mercy— a glorifying mercy—a crowning mercy—a vouchsafing— an uplifting—I profess the malignants are scattered from Dan to Beersheba—smitten, hip and thigh, even until : : . es 1» the going down of the sun!WOODSTOCK. 143 “Hear you aught of Colonel Thornhaugh’s wounds ?” “ He is dead,” answered Wildrake, “that’s one comfort —the roundheaded rascal !—Nay, hold! it was but a trip of the tongue—I meant, the sweet godly youth.” “And hear you »ught of the young man, King of Scote Jand, as they call hm?” 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 remember, 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 Ever- urd. “But you should not lay on your commands with se much »stentatious superiority, Master Markham EverardWAVERLEY NOVELS. Remember 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, ‘f not for thine own, bend thy freakish folly to listen to reason. Think that I have incurred both risk and shame 9 . on thy account “ Nay, thou art a right good fellow, Mark,” replied the cavalier ; “and for thy sake I will do much—but remcm- ber to cough, and cry hem! when thou seest me like to break bounds.—And now, tell me whither we are bound for the night.” “To Woodstock Lodge, to look after my uncle’s prop- erty,” answered Markham Everard: “I am _ informed that soldiers have taken possession—Yet how could that 1 a ea ent Pr nee meee be if thou foundest the party drinking in Woodstock “'Phere was a kind of commissary or steward, ur some such rogue, had gone down to the Lodge,” replied Wild- rake; “I had a peep at him.” “Indeed !” replied Everard. “Ay, verily,” said Wildrake, “ to speak your own lan- guage. Why, as I passed through the park in quest of you, scarce half an hour since, I saw a light in the Lodge \ —Step this way, you will see it yourself.” “In the northwest angle?” returned Everard.— It is from a window in what they call Victor Lee’s apart- ment.” “ Well,” resumed Wildrake, “I had been long one of Lundsford’s lads, and well used to patrolling duty—So, rat me, says J, if I leave a light in my rear, without knowing what it means. 3esides, Mark, thou hadst said so much to me of thy pretty cousin, I thought I might as well have a peep, if I could.” “ Thoughtless, incorrigible man! to what dangers doWOODSTOCK. 145 you expose yourself and your friends, in mere wanton- ness! But go on.” “By this fair moonshine, I believe thou art jealous, Mark Everard!” replied his gay companion; “there is no occasion ; for, in any case, I, who was to see the lady, was steeled by honour against the charms of my friend’s Chloe—Then the lady was not to see me, so could make no comparisons to thy 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. What didst thou see to introduce with such preface? ” “ Nay, no great matter,” replied Wildrake ; “ only get- ting upon a sort of buttress, (for I can climb like any cat that ever mewed in any gutter,) and holding on by the vines and creepers which grew around, I obtained a sta- tion where I could see into the inside of that same par- lour thou spokest of just now.” “And what saw’st thou there?” once more demanded Everard. “ Nay, no great matter, as I said before,” replied the savalier ; “for in these times it is no new thing to see shurls carousing in royal or noble chambers. I saw two rascallions engaged in emptying a solemn stoup of strong waters, and dispatching a huge venison pasty, which greasy mess, for their convenience, they had placed on a lady’s work-table—One of them was trying an air on a lute.” “The profane villains!” exclaimed Everard, “ it was Alice’s.” “ Well said, comrade—I am glad your phlegm can be moved. I did but throw in these incidents of the lute and the table, to try if it was possible to get a spark of human spirit out of you, be-sanctified as you are.” VOL. XLI. 10146 WAVERLEY NOVELS. “ What like were the men?” said young Everard. “The one a slouch-hatted, long-cloaked, sour-faced fanatic, like the rest of you, whom I took to be the steward or commissary I heard spoken of in the town ; the other vas a short sturdy fellow, with a wood-knife at his girdie, a black-haired and a long quarterstaff Jying beside him knave, with white teeth and a merry countenance—one of the under-rangers or bow-bearers of these walks, J fancy.” “They must have been Desborough’s favourite, trusty Tomkins,” said Everard, “and Joceline Joliffe, the keeper. Tomkins is Desborough’s right hand—an Independent, and hath pourings forth, as he calls them. Some think that his gifts have the better of his grace. I have heard of his abusing opportunities.” “They were improving them when I saw them,” re- plied Wildrake, “ and made the bottle smoke for it—when, as the devil would have it, a stone, which had been dis lodged from the crumbling buttress, gave way under my weight. A clumsy fellow like thee would have been so long thinking what was to be done, that he must needs have followed it before he could make up his mind; but I, Mark, I hopped like a squirrel to an ivy twig, and stood fast—was well-nigh shot, though, for the noise alarmed them both. They looked to the oriel, and saw me on the outside; the fanatic fellow took out a pistol— as they have always such texts- in readiness hanging be- side the little clasped Bible, thou know’st—the keeper seized his hunting-pole—I treated them both to a roar and a grin—thou must know I can grimace like a baboon —I learned the trick from a French player, who could twist his jaws into a pair of nut-crackers—and there off withal I dropped myself sweetly on the grass, and ranne See SRE SES others ae Sees WOODSTOCK. 147 so trippingly, keeping the dark side of the wall as long as I could, that I am well-nigh persuaded they thought I was their kinsman, the devil, come among them uncalled. They were abominably startled.” “Thou art most fearfully rash, Wildrake,” said hig companion ; “we are now bound for the house—what if they should remember thee ?” “Why, it is no treason, is it? No one has paid for peeping since Tom of Coventry’s days; and if he came in for a reckoning, belike it was for a better treat than mine. But trust 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 thy- self and me. It is ill jesting with the rock you may split on.— But here is the gate—we will disturb these honest gentlemen’s recreations.” 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, cuckolds, come dig; Round about cuckolds, come dance to my jig! ” “ By Heaven! this passes Midsummer frenzy,” said Everard, turning angrily to him. “Not a bit, not a bit,’ replied Wildrake; “it is but a slight expectoration, just Jike what one makes before be- ginning a long speech. I will be grave for an hour148 WAVERLEY NOVELS. together, now I have got that point of war out of my head.” As he spoke, steps were heard in the hall, and the wicket of the great door was par tly opened, but secured with a chain in case of accidents. The visage of ‘Tom- kins, and that of Joceline beneath it, appeared at the chink, illuminated by the lamp w hich the latter held in his hand, and Tomkins demanded the meaning of this alarm. “J demand instant admittance!” said Everard. “ JO- liffe, you know me w elke? “J do, sir,” replied Joceline, “and could admit you with all ee heart; but, alas! sir, you see I am not key- he gentleman whose warrant I must ~ 4d ¢« mm <« oe pete @ ad =~ so ~ | kee] = aes by_Tl 1e Lord help me, seeing times are such as they be!” “And when that gentleman, who I think may be Mas- ? ter Desborough’s valet ’ «“ His honour’s unworthy secretary, an it please you,” interposed Tomkins; while Wildrake whispered in Ever- ard’s ear, “I will be no longer secretary. Mark, thou wert quite right—the clerk must be the more centlemanly calling.” “And if you are Master Desborough’s secretary, I presume you know me and my condition well enough,” said Everard, addressing the Independent, “ not to hesi- tate to admit me and my attendant to a night’s quarters in the Lodge?” “ Surely not, surely not,” said the Independent—“ that is, if your worship thinks you would be better accom- élite 3 iere than up at the house of entertainment in on the town, which men unprofitably call Saint George’s Inn. There is but confined accommodation here, your honoux —and we have been frayed out of our lives already eyWOODSTOCK. 149 by the visitation of Satan quenched.” albeit his fiery dart is now “This may be ali 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 presently received, and suitably too, I will report you to your master for insolence in your office.” The secretary of Desborough did not dare offer farther opposition ; for it is well known that Desburough himself only held his consequence as a kinsman of Cromwell; and the Lord General, who was well-nigh paramount al- ready, was known to be strongly favourable both to the elder and younger Everard. It is true, they were Pres- byterians and he an Independent; and that though shar- ing those feelings of correct morality and more devoted religious feeling, by which, with few exceptions, the Par- liamentarian party were distinguished, the Everards were not disposed to carry these attributes to the extreme of enthusiasm, practised 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 favourites, but extended his counte- 1ance 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 aciton,Su st OR SF —_— eel in Cmts Duet, Coe ln ad baad 150 WAVERLEY NOVELS. and the humanity with which he was always ready te qualify the consequences of victory. Such men were not to be neglected, when many signs combined to show that the parties in the state, who had successfully accomplished the deposition and death of the King, were speedily to quarrel among themselves about the division of the spoils. The two Everards were therefore much courted by Crom- well, and their influence with him was supposed to be so great, that trusty Master Secretary Tomkins cared not to expose himself to risk, by contending with Colonel Ever- ard for such a trifle as a night’s lodging. more lights were ob- Joceline was active on his side tained—more wocd thrown on the fire—and the two newly arrived strangers were introduced into Victor Lee’s parlour, as it was called, from the picture over the chim- ney-piece, which we have already described. It was several minutes ere Colonel Everard could recover his general stoicism of deportment, so strongly was he im- pressed by finding himself in the apartment, under whose roof he had passed so many of the happiest hours of his life. There was the cabinet, which he had seen opened with such feelings of delight when Sir Henry Lee deigned to give him instructions in fishing, and to exhibit hooks and lines, together with all the materials for making the artificial fly, then littlke known. There hung the ancient family picture, which, from some odd mysterious expres- sions of his uncle relating to it, had become to his boy- hood, nay, his early youth, a subject of curiosity and of fear. He remembered how, when left alone in the aparte ment, the searching eye of the old warrior seemed always yent upon his, in whatever part of the room he placed himself, and how his childish imagination was perturbed nt a phenomenon, for which he could not account.WOODSTOCK. 151 With these came a thousand dearer and warmer recol- lections of his early attachment to his pretty cousin Alice, when he assisted her at her lessons, brought water for her flowers, or accompanied. her while she sung; and he re- membered that while her father looked at them with a good-humoured and ¢areless smile, he had once heard him mutter, “ And if it should turn out so—why, it might be best for both,’ and the theories of happiness he had reared on these words. All these visions had been dis- pelled by the trumpet of war, which called Sir Henry Lee and himself to opposite sides; and the transactions of this very day had shown,.that even Everard’s success as a soldier and a statesman seemed absolutely to prohibit the chance of their being revived. ‘ He was waked out of this unpleasing reverie by the approach of Joceline, who, being possibly a seasoned toper, had made the additional arrangements with more expedition and accuracy, than could have been expected from a person engaged as he had been since night-tall. He now wished to know the Colonel’s directions for the night. “ Would he eat any thing ?” Wer “ Did his honour choose to accept Sir Henry Lee’s bed, which was ready prepared?” ce a5.” “That of Mistress Alice Lee should be prepared for the Secretary.” “Qn pain of thine ears—No,” replied Everard. “ Where then was the worthy Secretary to be quar- tered ?” “In the dog-kennel, if you list,” replied Colonel Ever- ard; “but,” added he, stepping to the sleeping apartmentpo 33M 3g 152 WAVERLEY NOVELS. of Alice, which opened from the parlour, locking it, and taking out the key, “no one shall profane this cham ber.” “Had his honour any other commands for the night?’ “None, save to clear the apartment of yonder man. My clerk will remain with me—I. have orders which must be written out.—Yet stay—Thou gavest my letter this morning to Mistress Alice ? ” oe Edidl “Tell me, good Joceline, what she said when she re- ceived it?” “ She seemed much concerned, sir; and indeed I think that she wept a little—but indeed she seemed very much distressed.” “ And what message did she send to me ?” “ None, may it please your honour—She began to say, ‘Tell my cousin Everard that.I will communicate my uncle’s kind purpose to my: father, if I can get fitting op- portunity—but that I 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 speak- ing with my father, do thou come for my answer after service. —So I went to church myself, to while away the \ime ; but when I returned to the Chase, I found this man had summoned my master to surrender, and, right or wrong, I must put him in possession of the Lodge. I] would fain have given your honour a hint that the old knight and my young mistress were like to take you on the form, but I could not mend the matter.” “Thou hast done well, good fellow, and I will remem ber thee.—And now, my masters,” he said, advancing to the brace of clerks or secretaries, who had in the mean- while sate quietly down beside the stone bottle, and madeSS a TEE aE ees EA ee WOODSTOCK. 153 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 battle yet,” said Wildrake, in reply. “Wem! hem! hem!” coughed the Colonel of the Par- liament service ; and if his lips did not curse his compan- ion’s imprudence, I will no’; answer for what arose in his heart,—“ Well!” he said, observing that Wildrake had filled his own glass and T’omkins’s, “take that parting lass and begone.” “Would you not be pleased to hear first,” said Wild- oO oo oc rake, “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 wor- ship’s humble slave and varlet scribbler? Would you but hear this, sir, and just sip a glass of this very recom- mendable strong waters ? ” “ T will drink none, sir,” said Colonel Everard sternly ; “and I have to tell you, that you have drunken a glass too much already.—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. “ Excuse me, sir,” replied Markham Everard sternly ; “ you are not now sufficiently yourself to guide the devo- tion of others.” “ Woe be to them that reject!” said the Secretary of he 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 lies,” pointing to the knight’s apartment.154 WAVERLEY NOVELS. “ What, thou hast secured the lady’s for thyself? 1] wi er saw thee put the key in thy pocket.” Ww “JT would not—indeed I could not sleep in that apartz Ww ment—lI can sleep nowhere—but I will wateh in this arm- th chair.—I have made him place wood for repairing the fire—Good now, go to bed thyself, and sleep oif thy r liquor.” “ Liquor !—I laugh thee to scorn, Mark—thou art a milksop, and the son of a milksop, and know’st not what t] a good fellow can do in the way of crushing an honest cup.” “'The whole vices of his faction are in this poor fellow individually,” said the Colonel to himself, eyeing his protégé askance, as the other retreated into the bedroom, — At me Oo with no very steady pace—“ He is reckless, intemperate, dissolute ;—and if I cannot get him safely shipped for France, he will certainly be both his own ruin and mine. —Yet, withal, he is kind, brave, and generous, and would have kept the faith with me which he now expects 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 myself against farther interruption on his part.” So saying, he locked the door of communication be- twixt the sleeping-room, to which the cavalier had re- treated, and the parlour ;—and then, aftur pacing the floor thoughtfully, returned to his seat, trimmed the lamp, and drew out a number of letters.—‘ I will read these over pnee more,” he said, “that, if possible, the thought of vublic affairs may expel this keen sense of personal sor- row. Gracious Providence, where is this to end! We if have sacrificed the peace of our families, the warmest wishes of our young hearts, to right the country in which eRWOODSTOCK. we were born, and to free her from oppression ; ye. it ap- pears, that every step we have made towards 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 em- barrassed letters, in which the writers, placing before him the glory of God, and the freedom and liberties of Eng- land, as their supreme ends, could not, by all the ambag- itory expressions they made use of, prevent the shrewd eye of Markham Everard from seeing, that self-interest and views of ambition were the principal moving springs at the bottom of their plots.NCVELS. WAVERLEY 4345 4 ee ~ r CHAPTER VI. 19} . Sleep steals on us even like his brother Death— t] We know not when it comes—We know it must come— We may affect to scorn and to contemn it, Yor tis fhe 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 executicn, Feels this oblivion, against which he thought His woes had arm’d his senses, steal upon hin, ( And through the fenceless citadel—the body— Surprise that haughty garrison—the mind. HERBERT. CoLoneL Everarp experienced the truth contained in the verses of the quaint old bard whom we have quoted above. Amid private orief and anxiety for a 3 country long a prey to civil war, and not likely to fall soon under any fixed or well-established form of govern- ment. Everard and his father had, like many others J ; heir eyes to General Cromwell, as the person turned t the army, whose valour had made him the darling of whose strong sagacity had hitherto predominated over the high talents by which he h ment, as well as over his enemies was alone in the situation to settle the nation, as the ad been assailed in Parlia- in the field, and who phrase then went; or, ‘n other words, to dictate the mode The father and son were both reputed ‘eneral’s favour. But Markham , which induced A of government. to stand high in the > Everard was conscious of some particularsWOODsTOOR. 157 him to doubt whether Cromwell actually, and at heart bore either to his father or to himself that good-will which was generally believed. ~He knew him for a profound poli- tician, who could veil for any length of time his real senti- ments of men and things, until they could be displayed with- out prejudice to his interest. And he moreover knew that the General was not likely to forget the opposition which the Presbyterian party had offered to what Oliver called the Great Matter—the trial, namely, and execution of the King. In this opposition, his father and he had anxiously concurred, nor had the arguments, nor even the half expressed threats of Cromwell, induced them to flinch from that course, far less to permit their names to be introduced into the commission nominated to sit in judg- ment on that memorable occasion. This hesitation had occasioned some temporary cold- ness between the General and the Everards, father and son. But as the latter remained in the army, and bore arms under Cromwell both in Scotland, and finally at Worcester, his services very frequently called forth the approbation of his commander. After the fight of Wor- cester, in particular, he was among the number of those officers on whom Oliver, rather considering the actual and practical extent of his own power, than the name under which he exercised it, was with difficulty withheld from imposing the dignity of Knights-Bannerets at his own will and pleasure. It therefore seemed that all recollec- tion of former disagreement was obliterated, and that the Everards had regained their former stronghold in the freneral’s affections. There were, indeed, several who doubted this, and who endeavoured to bring over this dis- tinguished young officer to some other of the parties which divided the infant Commonwealth. But to these proposals158 WAVERLEY NOVELS. he turned a deaf ear. Enough of blood, he said, had been spilled—it was time that the nation should have re- pose under a firmly-establisl o protect property, and of lenity enough to ed government, of strength sufficient t encourage the return of tranguillity. This, he thought, could only be accomplished by means of Cromwell, and yart of England was of the same opinion. It the greater | bmitting to the domination of a is true, that, in thus su 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 of existing cir- cumstances; and in many a case, where wars have been waged for points of metaphysical right, they have been at last gladly terminated, upon the mere hope of obtaining general tranquillity, as, after many a long siege, a gar- rison is often glad to submit on mere security for life and limb. Colonel Everard, therefore, felt that the support which he afforded Cromwell was only under the idea, that, amid a choice of evils, the least was likely to ensue from aman of the General’s wisdom and valour being placed at the head of the state; and he was sensible, that Oliver him- self was likely to consider his attachment as lukewarm and imperfect, and measure his gratitude for it upon the same limited scale. In the meanwhil ke trial of the General’s friendship. f Woodstock, and the warrant to the Com- e. however, circumstances compelled him to ma The sequestration 0 missioners to dispose of it as national the interest of the elder Everard had oroperty, had been ong granted, but and months deferred its execution. The hour for weeks hing when the blow could be no longet war now approacWOODSTOCK. 159 parried, especially as Sir Henry Lee, on his side, resisted every proposal of submitting himself to the existing gov- ernment, and was therefore, now that his hour of grace was passed, enrolled in the list of stubborn and irreclaim- able malicnants, with whom the Council of State was de- termined no longer to keep terms. The only mode of protecting the old knight and_ his daughter, was to inter- est, if possible, the General himself in the matter; and revolving all the circumstances connected with their inter- course, Colonel Everard felt that a request, which would so immediately interfere with the interests of Desborough, the brother-in-law of Cromwell, and one of the present Commissioners, was putting to a very severe trial the friendship of the latter. Yet no alternative remained. With this view, and agreeably to a request from Crom well, who at parting had been very urgent to have his written opinion upon public affairs, Colonel Everard passed the earlier part of the night in arranging his ideas upon the state of the Commonwealth, in a plan which he thought likely to be. acceptable to Cromwell, as it ex- horted him, under the aid of Providence, to become the saviour of the state, by convoking a free Parliament, and by their aid placing himself at the head of some form of liberal and established government, which might supers sede the state of anarchy, in which the nation was other- wise likely to be merged. Taking a general view of the totally broken condition of the Royalists, and of the vari- ous factions which now convulsed the state, he showed how this might be done without bloodshed o1 violence. From this topic he descended to the propriety of keeping up the becoming state of the Executive Government, in whose hands soever it should be lodged, and thus showed Cromwell, as the future Stadtholder, or Consul, or Lieu-One eee eee Pa RE a eae aie a EEO Mer ee ar yee J v7 . Reet cata ae ee 160 WAVERLEY NOVELS. tenant-General of Great Britain and Ireland, a prospect of demesne and residences becoming his dignity. Then he naturally passed to the disparking and destroying of the royal residences of England, made a woful picture of the demolition which impended over Woodstock, and in- terceded for the preservation of that beautiful seat, as a matter of personal favour, in which he found himself 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 publie erounds of action, and yet he now felt himself making such a composition. But he comforted himself, or at least silenced this unpleasing recollection, with the con- sritain, studied under the , required that Cromwell sideration, that the weal of | ly aspect of the times, absolutely should be at the head of the government; and that the ‘nterest of Sir Henry Lee, or rather his safety and his existence, no less emphatically demanded the preserva- tion 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 addressed his packet to the Lord-General, and then sealed it with his seal of arms. ‘This done, he lay back m his 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 pf one who awakes in a place unknown to him; but theHa GE AI NONE SOE RIOT WOODSTucKk. 161 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 his deliberations of the succeeding night. all reminded him of the events of yesterday, and “There is no help for it,” he said; “it must be Crom- well or anarchy. And probably the sense that his title, as head of the Executive Government, is derived merely from popular consent, may check the too natural prone- ness 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 as 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 will not hesitate to recommend coun- sels more violent and precipitate.” He determined to intrust the important packet to the charge of Wildrake, whose rashness was never so dis- tinguished, as when" by any chance he was left idle and unemployed; besides, even if his faith had not been otherwise unimpeachable, the obligations which he owed to his friend Everard must have rendered it such. These conclusions passed through Colonel Everard’s mind, as, collecting the remains of wood in the chimney, he gathered them into a hearty blaze, to remove the un- comfortable 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 WoL. XLI. 11ee eR eee See rear 4 ES Ie ae eI Le rie Des APIA A 162 WAVERLEY NOVELS. nearest objects, which were the untrimmed hedges and neglected walks of a certain wilderness, as it is called in alicient treatises on gardening, which, kept of yore well ordered, and in all the pride of the topiary art, presented a succession of yew trees cut into fantastic forms, of close alleys, and of open walks, filling about two or three acres of sround on that side of the Lodge, and forming a beun- dary between its immediate precincts and the open Park. Its 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 favourite 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 garrisoned. He remem- bered how he used to train his cousin, though several years younger than himself, to bear a part in those 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 led 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 thousand visions, formed in so bright a prospect, had vanished along with it, but now returned like shadows, to remina him of all he had lost—and for what ?—“ For the sake of England,” his proud consciousness replied—* Of Eng- land, in danger of becoming the prey at once of bigotry i D 5 . Ss dvWOODSTOCK. 163 and tyranny.” And he strengthened himself with the recollection, “If-I have sacrificed my private happiness, it is that my country may enjoy liberty of conscience, and personal freedom; which, under a weak prince and usurping statesman, she was but too likely to have lost.” 3ut the busy fiend in his breast would not be repulsed by the bold answer. “ Has thy resistance,” it demanded, “availed thy country, Markham Everard? Lies not England, after so much bloodshed and so much misery, as low beneath the sword of a fortunate soldier, as for- merly under the sceptre of an encroaching prince? Are Parliament, or what remains of them, fitted to contend with a leader, master of his soldiers’ hearts, as bold and subtle as he is impenetrable in his designs? This Gen- eral who holds the army, and by that the fate of the nation in his hand, will he lay down his power because philosophy would pronounce it his duty to become a sub- geet.” He dared not answer that his knowledge of Cromwell authorized him to expect any such act of self-denial. Yet still he considered that in times of such infinite diffi- culty, that must be the best government, however little de- sirable in itself, which should most speedily restore peace to the land, and stop the wounds which the contending parties were daily inflicting on each other. He imag- ined that Cromwell was the only authority under which a steady government could be formed, and therefore had attached himself to his fortune, though not without con- siderable and recurring doubts, how far serving the views of this impenetrable and mysterious General was con- pistent with the principles under which he had assumed rms. While these things passed in his mind, Everard lookedee a renee a ea ented er eee eine eae ae 164 WAVERLEY NOVELS. upon the packet which lay on the table addressed to the Lord-General, and which he had made-up before sleep. He hesitated several times, when he remembered its purport, and in what degree he must stand committed with that personage, and bound to support his plans of agerandizement, when once that communication was in Oliver Cromwell’s possession. “ Yet it must be so,” he said at last, with a deep sigh. “Among the contending parties, he is the strongest—the wisest and most moderate—and ambitious though he be, perhaps not the most dangerous. Some one must be trusted with power to preserve and enforce general order, and who can possess or wield such power like him that is head of the victorious armies of England? Come what will in 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 sanction of opinion. If they de- sign 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 accom- modation with them, on grounds by which peace may be preserved; and it is to this which we must look and trust for a settlement of the kingdom, alas! and for the chance of protecting my obstinate kinsman from the consequences of his honest though absurd pertinacity.” Silencing some internal feelings of doubt and reluctance by such reasoning as this, Markham Everard continued in his resolution to unite himself with Cromwell in the struggle which was evidently approaching betwixt the civil and military authorities ; not as the course which, ‘f at perfect liberty, he would have preferred adopting, hut as the best choice between two dangerous extremitiesin re NTE PRT AS RTE EE ig WOODSTOCK. 162 to which the times had reduced him. He could not hely trembling, however, when he recollected that his father though hitherto the admirer of Cromwell, as the imple ment by whom so many marvels had been wrought in Iengland, might not be disposed to unite with his interest against that of the Long Parliament, 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 strangle, as he might; but consoled himself with the ready areument, that it was impossible his father could see matters in another light than that in waich they occurred to himself.OT ae DO eae aed Oe a a ee Oh eee ee Pee, 4 Pee ST eae cee ae Dye, Sel) tia bie FS WAVERLEY NOVELS CHAPTER VII. DETERMINED at length to dispatch his packet to the General without delay, Colonel Everard approached the door of the apartment, in which, as was evident from the heavy breathing within, the prisoner Wildrake enjoyed a deep slumber, under the influence of liquor at once and of fatigue. In turning the key, the bolt, which was rather rusty, made a resistance so noisy, as partly to attract the sleeper’s attention, though not to awake him. Everard stood by his bedside, as he heard him mutter, “Js it morning-already, jailer?—Why, you dog, an you hai but a cast of humanity in you, you would qualify your vile news with a cup of sack ;—hanging is sorry work, my masters—and sorrow’s dry.” “Up, Wildrake—up, thou ill-omened dreamer,” said his friend, shaking him by the collar. “ Hands off!” answered the sleeper.—*I can climb a ladder without help, I trow.”—He then sate up in the bed, and opening his eyes, stared around him, and exclaimed, “Zounds! Mark, is it only thou? I thought it was all over with me—fetters were struck from my legs—rope drawn round my gullet—irons knocked off my hands— hempen cravat tucked on—all ready 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 think, sold thyself”WOODSTOCK. “For a hogshead of sack,” interrupted Wildrake ; “the bargain was made in a cellar in tthe Vintry.” o thee,’ ham; “T scarce believe thou hast thy senses “Tam as mad as thou art, to trust any thing t suid Markh yet.’ “What should ail me?” said Wildral se—“T trust I have not tasted liquor in my sleep, saving that I dreamed of drinking small-beer with Old Noll, of his own brew- ing. But do not look so glum, Src am the same Riccar Wildrake that I ever was; as wild as a mallard, but as true as a game-cock. I am thine own chum, man —hbound to thee by thy kind deeds—devinctus bene ficio —there is Latin for it; and where is the thing thou wilt charge me with, that I will not, or dare not execute, were it to pick the devil’s teeth with my rapier, after he had breakfasted upon roundheads ? ” “ You will drive me mad,” said Everard.—< When ] am about to intrust all I have most valuable on earth to your maragement, your conduct and language are those of a mere Bedlamite. Last night I made allowance for thy drunken fury; but who can endure thy morning madness ?—it is unsafe for thyself and me, Wildrake—it is unkind—I might say ungrateful.” “Nay, do not say that, my friend,” said the cavalier, with some show of feeling; “and do not judge of me with a severity that cannot apply to such as I am. We who have lost our all in these sad jars, who are com- pelled to shift for our living, not from day to day, but from meal to meal—we whose only hiding-place is the jail, whose prospect of final repose is the gallows,—what canst thou expezt from us, but to bear such a lot with a light heart, since we should break down under it with a beavy one?”ee eee 168 WAVERLEY NOVELS. hich found a He took his This was spoken in a tone of feeling Ww string in Everard’s bosom. responding ssed it kindly. friend’s hand, and pre “Nay, if I seemed harsh te thee, st was for thine own sake more than mine. hast at the bottom of thy levity, as deep a princip and feeling as ever governed a human heart. art rash—and I protest self in this matter, 10 nees to myself would f putting thee into Wildrake, I profess IT know thou le of honour But thou art thoughtless—thou to thee, that wert thou to betray thy which I trust thee, the evil conseque he thought 0 not afiliet me more than t such danger.” “ Nay, if you cavalier, making might conceal a tendency to f us both—babes and sucklings, by I can be cautious drink when take it on that tone, Mark,” said the an effort to laugh, evidently that he a different emotion, “ thou wilt make children 0 the hilt of this bilbo.—Come, trust me ; hat when time requires it—no man ever saw me your Vin an alert was expected—and not one poor work, my ny, Will I taste until I hb iis matter for thee. “Up, Wilde I am thy secretary—¢ 7 Pee feiand:\shakint thy dispatches to Cromwell, taking good heed not © Mande-offl? : surprised or choused out of my lump of loyalty, Pitas without help." his finger on the packet, | and I am to deliver it ue most loyal hands to which it is most humbly ad- Mark, think of it a moment longet 1y perverseness |?—-Bid me pint of wine ave managed tk lerk—I had forgot—and and anenir~ " dressed—Adzooks, hou wilt not carry th so far as -— Surely. t ( ( to strike in with this bloody-minded rebe } give him three inches of my dudgeon-dagger, and J will 0 do it much more willingly than present him with thy packet.” d « Go to,” replied Everard, “ this is beyond our bargain. not, let me lose D0 time ff you will help me it is well; ifWOODSTOCK. 169 in debating 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 mayst 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 ex- ample and bad education ” “ 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 ex- ample become at one time a malignant, 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 be a great implement in the settlement of these distracted kingdoms. This recount of thee will not only lead him to pass over some of thy eccentricities, should they break out in spite cf thee, but will also give thee an interest with him as being more especially attached to his own person.” “Doubtless,” said Wildrake, “as every fisher loves best the trouts that are of his own tickling.”: ce } ‘ « ) } ¥ wi hi E A t la al i170 WAVERLEY NOVELS. “Tt is likely, I think, he will send thee hither with letters to me,” said the Colonel, “enabling me to put a stop to the proceedings of these sequestrators, and to give poor old Sir Henry Lee permission to linger out his days among the oaks he loves to look upon. I have made thia my request to General Cromwell, and I think my father’s friendship and my own may stretch so far on his regard without risk of cracking, especially standing matters as they now do—thou dost understand ?” “Entirely well,” said the cavalier ; “stretch, quotha ! —I would rather streteh 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 cross in thy purse?” “Too true, Mark,’ said Wildrake; “the last noble melted last night among yonder blackguard troopers of yours.” “Well, Roger,” replied the Colonel, “that is easily mended.” So saying, he slipped his purse into his friend’s hand. “But art thou not an - inconsiderate weather-brained fellow, to set forth as thou wert about to do, without any thing 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 I met o’ the heath—it is many a good fellow’s shift in these bad times.” “Go to,” said Everard; “be cautious—use none of your loose acquaintance—rule your tongue—beware ofWOODSTOCK. 17] she wine-pot—for there is little danger if thou couldst only but keep thyself sober forbear oaths or vaunting.” Be moderate in speech, and In short. metamorphose myself into such a prig as thou art, Mark.—Well,” said Wildrake, “so far as out side will go, I think I can make a Hope-on-high-Bomby* as well as thou canst. Ah! those were merry days when we saw Mills present Bomby at the Fortune play- house, 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 di- gestion.— 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 but cautious how thou bearest thyself.” The Colonel remained in deep meditation.—“ TI think,” he said, “I have not pledged myself too far to the Gen- eral. 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 mes- senger—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 aware that there are among them, as well as elsewhere, men who can hide two faces under one hood.” * A puritanic character in one of Beaumont and Fletcher’s plays.WAVERLEY NOVELS. CHAPTER VIII. 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.—CRABBS. LrAvinG 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 morn- ; ing draught of eggs and muscadine, to enable him to face the harvest wind. = Although he had suffered himself to be sunk in the Sack extravagant license which was practised by the cavaliers, 5 as if to oppose their conduct in every point to the pre- his £ ciseness of their enemies, yet Wildrake, well-born and a well-educated, and endowed with good natural parts, and laddc a heart which even debauchery, and the wild life of a ea | roaring cavalier, had not been able entirely to corrupt, ae moved on his present embassy with a strange mixture a of feelings, such as perhaps he had never in his life be- dr fore experienced. Ke His feelings as a loyalist led him to detest Cromwell, op whom in other circumstances he would scarce have wished to see, except in a field of battle, where he could have had the pleasure to exchange pistol-shots with him.WOODSTOOK. 173 But with this hatred there was mixed a certain degree of fear. Always victorious wherever he fought, the re- markable person whom Wildrake was now approaching had acquired that influence over the minds of his ene- mies, which constant success is so apt to inspire—they dreaded while they hated him—and joined to these feel- ings, was a restless meddling curiosity, which made a particular feature in Wildrake’s character, who, having Jong 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. “} should like to see the old rascal after all,” he said, “were it but to say that I had seen him.” He reached Windsor in the afternoon, and felt on his arrival the strongest inclination to take up his residence at some of his old haunts, when he had occasionally fre- quented 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 ex- cellent gift at detecting every fallacy in that matter; and that his measures were less and his charges larger—cir- cumstances which he was induced to attend to, by mine host talking a good deal about his conscience.WAVERLEY NOVELS. 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-cate, and announcing himself as the bearer of dis- patches to his Excellency. To the Castle the disguised cavalier repaired at the hour appointed.. Admittance was freely permitted to him by the red-coated soldier, who, with -austere locks, 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 unhonoured 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 subduing all sentiments of this nature, and compelled himself to proceed 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 of England was wont to float. It was gone, with all its rich emblazonry, its gorgeous quarter- ings, and splendid embroidery; and in its room waved that-of the Commonwealth, the cross of Saint George, in ts colours of blue and red, not yet intersected by the iiagonal cross of Scotland, which was soon after assumed, as if in evidence of England’s conquest over het ancient enemy. This change of ensigns increased the train ofWOODSTOCK. 175 his gluomy reflections, in which, 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 suroke of the butt of his musket on the pavement, with an emphasis which made Wildr#ke start. “ Whither away, and who are your” “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 cavaliers, that exhausted their valour in vain defence of their sovereign’s person and crown. He looked with grave solemnity at Wildrake, as if he was making in his own mind an inventory of his features and dress; and having fully perused them, he required “ to know his business.” “ My business,” said Wildrake, as firmly as he could— for the close investigation of this man had given him some unpleasant nervous sensations—“my business is with ycur General.” “ With his F.xcellency the Lord-General, thou wouldst gay?” replied the corporal. “Thy speech, my friend, savours too little of the reverence due to his Excellency.” “ D—n his Excellency!” was at the lips of the cava- fer; but prudence kept guard, and permitted not theWAVERLEY NOVELS. offensive words to escape the barrier. He only bowed, and was silent. “Follow me,” said the starched figure whom he ad- dressed; and Wildrake followed him accordingly into the guard-house, which exhibited an interior characteristic of the times, and very different from what such @ailitary 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 began 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 acquiescence. The audience seemed to listen to the speaker with immovable features, only an- swering 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 embroi- dered 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 command were twenty at the very least; and until they were regularly brought to an end, the corporal did not permit Wildrake either to sit down or move forward 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 forgotten words xf discipline, until at length the words, “Order your musket,” ended the drill for the time. “Thy name, friend?” said the officer to the recruit, when the lesson was over.WOODSTOCK. 177 “Ephraim,” answered the fellow, with an affected twang through the nese. “And what besides Ephraim ? ” “Ephraim Cobb, from the godly city of Glocester, where I have dwelt for seven years, serving tO a praiseworthy cordwainer.” “Tt is a goodly craft,” auswered the officer ; “but cast- ing 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 cor- poral, who stood two paces off, with the face of one who seemed desirous of speaking, said, “ How now, corporal, what tidings ?” apprentice “Here is one with a packet, an please your Excel- lency,” said the corporal—* Surely my spirit doth not rejoice in him, seeing I esteem him as 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 commissioned; and he paused to consider in what man- ner 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 ynd depth of thought. His eyes were gray and piercing ; his nose too large in proportion to his other features, and pf a reddish hue. His manner of speaking, when he had the purpose te make himself distinctly understood, was energetic and forcible, though neither graceful nor eloquent. No man could on such occasion put his meaning inte fewer and VOL. XLI. 12os tke wantin cine be cela 178 WAVERLEY NOVELS. more decisive words. But 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, sur- rounding 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, perhaps, the most unintelligible speaker that ever per- plexed an-audience. It has been long since said by the historian, that a collection of the Protecte1’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, concise, and _ intelligible, than what he really intended should be understood. It was also remarked of Cromwell, that though born of a good 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 practise, the courtesies usually exercised among the higher classes in their intercourse with each other. His demeanour 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 humour, which displayed itself by fits, was broad, and of a low, and sometimes practical character. Something there was in his disposition congenial to that of his country- men; a contempt of folly, a hatred of affectation, and a dislike of ceremony, which, joined to the strongWUODSTOCK. 179 intrinsic qualities of sense and courage, made him in many respects not an unfit representative of the demom racy of England. His religion must always be a subject of much doubt, and probably of doubt which he himself could hardly have cleared up. Unquestionably there was a time in his life when he was sincerely enthusiastic, and when his natural temper, slightly subject to hypochondria, was strongly agitated by the same fanaticism which influenced S0 many persons of the time. On the other hand, there were periods during his political career, when we cer- tainly do him no injustice in charging him with a hypo- critical affectation. We shall probably judge him, and others of the same age, most truly, if we suppose that their religious professions were partly influential in their own breast, partly assumed in compliance with their own interest. And so ingenious is the human heart in deceiv- ing 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 health, of good or bad fortune, of high or low spirits, affecting the individual at the period. Such was the celebrated person, who, turning round on Wildrake, and scanning his countenance closely, seemed so little satisfied with what he beheld, that he instinctively hitched forward his belt, so as to bring the handle of his tuck-sword within his reach. But yet, folding his arms in his cloak, as if upon second thoughts laying aside suspicion, or thinking precaution beneath him, ae asked the cavalier what he was, and whence he came?er em <4) 18) WAVERLEY NOVELS. “A poor gentleman, sir,—that is, my lord,”-—answered Wildrake; “Jast from Woodstock.” “And what may your tidings be, sir gentleman?” said 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 difficulty, some of his usual wild expletives 5 “ for- merly gentlemen 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, me- thinks: And, once again, what are thy tidings with me?” “This packet,” said Wildrake, “commended to your hands by Colonel Markham Everard.” 33 “Alas, I must have mistaken thee,” answered Crom- well, 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 thyself, 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 mis- Rion. The soldiers now thought themselves obliged to treatWOODSTOCK. 181 him with more consideration, and offered him a pipe of Trinidado, and a black jack filled with October. But the look of Cromwell, and the dangerous situation in which he might be placed by the least chance of detection, in- duced Wildrake to decline these hospitable offers, and stretching back in his chaig, and affecting slumber, he escaped notice or conversation, until a sort of aide-de- camp, or military officer in attendance, came to summon him to Cromwell’s presence. 3y this person he was euided toa 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 parlour, in which was much rich furniture, some bearing the royal cipher displayed, but all confused and disarranged, to gether with several paintings 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, cov ered with damask, and deeply embroidered, the splen- dour 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 foo much distinguished for his own fortunes and ambi- tion. Wildrake stood before him, nor did he ask him to pit down. “ Pearson,” said Cromwell, addressing himself to the pfficer in attendance, “wait in the gallery, but be within pall.” Pearson bowed, and was retiring. “ Who are in the gallery besides ?” “ Worthy Mr. Gordon, the chaplain, was holding fort182 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 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 onward in his discourse ? ” “ Michtily borne through,” said Pearson ; “and he was touching the rightful claims which the army, and espe- cially 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 ser- vice is over, but to be preserved, and held precious, and prized for their honourable and faithful labours, 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 cash- iered, eat of the fat, and drink of the strong.” “ Ah, good man!” said Cromwell, “and did he touch upon this so feelingly! I could say something—but not now. Begone, Pearson, to the gallery. Let not our friends lay aside their swords, but watch as well as pray.” Pearson retired; and the General, holding the letter of Everard in his hand, looked again for a long while fixedly at Wildrake, as if considering in what strain he should address him. When he did speak, it was, at first, in one of those am- | biguous discourses which we have already described, and bh - by whieh it was very difficult for any one to understand his meaning, if, indeed; he knew it himself. We shall be as concise in our statement, as our desire to give the very words of a man so extraordinary will permit. “This letter,’ he said, “ you have brought us from your master or patron, Markham Everard ; truly an excellentWOODSTOCK. 183 and honourable gentleman as ever bore a sword upon his thigh, and one who hath ever distinguished himself in the great work of delivering these three poor and unhappy nations. Answer me not: I know 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 whom 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 honour for me even to bear a halberd in this great and victorious army of England, am nevertheless exalted to the rank of holding the guidance and the leading-staff thereof—Nay, do not answer, my friend—I know what thou wouldst say. Now, when communing thus together, our discourse taketh, in respect to what I have said, a threefold argument or division : First, as it concerneth thy master; secondly, as it con- cerneth us and our office ; thirdly and lastly, as it touch- eth thyself.—Now, as concerning this good and worthy gentleman, Colonel Markham Everard, truly be hath played the man from the beginning of these unhappy buffetings, not turning to the right or to the left, but hold- ing ever in his eye the mark at which he aimed. Ay, truly, a faithful, honourable gentleman, and one who may well call me friend; and truly I am pleased to think that he doth so. Nevertheless, in this vale of tears, we must be governed less by our private respects and partialities, than by those higher principles and points of duty, where- npon the good Colonel Markham Everard hath ever framed his purposes, as, truly, 1 have endeavoured to form mine, that we may all act as becometh good Engs lishmen and worthy patriots. Then, as for Woodstock,184 not ? ” Now, Council, and also the may graciously think the matter, in relation with regard thereto. WAVERLEY NOVELS. xoger Wildrake, w ] A hat his brain was bewildered, like that of a country clown it is a great thing which the good Colonel asks, that it should be taken from the spoil of the godly and left in keeping of the men of Moab, and especially of the ma lignant, Henry Lee, whose hand hath been ever against us when he might find room to raise it; I say, he hath asked a great thing, both in respect of himself and me. For y we of this poor but godly army of England, are holden, by those of the Parliament, as men who should render in spoil for them, but be no sharer of it ourselves; even as the buck, which the bounds pull to earth, furnisheth ne part of their own food, but they are lashed off from the carcass with whips, like those which require punishment for their forwardness, not reward for their services. Yet I speak not this so much in respect of this grant of Wood stock, in regard that, perhaps, their Lordships of the Committeemen of this Parliament, they have given me a portion in that my kinsman Desborough hath ie an interest allowed him therein; which interest, as he | hath well deserved it for his true and faithful service to , these unhappy and devoted countries, so it would ill be- come me to diminish the same to his prejudice, unless it were upon great and public respects. ‘Thus 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 uncondition- ally, grant or refuse, but only tell my simple thoughts / Thou understandest me, I doubt th 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,WOODSTOCK. when he chances to get himself involved among a crowd of ea ‘riages, 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 Parliament that it should be confis- cated, and the produce brought into the coffers of the state—his own deep veneration for the authority of Par- liament, and his no less deep sense of the injustice done to the army—how it was his wish and will that all mat- ters should be settled in an amicable and friendly manner, without self-seeking, debate, or strife, betwixt those who had been the hands acting, and such as had been the heads governing, in that great national cause—how he was willing, truly willing, to contribute to this work, by laying down, not his commission 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 as a father, seeing that they had followed him with the duty and affection of children. And here he arrived at another dead pause, leaving Wildrake as uncertain as before, whether it was or was not his purpose to grant Colonel Everard the powers he Oo oO had asked for the protection of Woodstock against the Parliamentary Commissioners. Internally he began to entertain hopes that the justice 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 peri186 WAVERLEY NOVELS. phrastic language in such profusion, seemed to watch with severe accuracy the effect which his oratory pro- duced on the listener. “ Egad,” thought the cavalier to himself, becoming a little familiar with the situation in which he was placed, nnd rather impatient of a conversation which led to no visible conclusion or termination, “ If Noll were tke devil himself, as he is the devil’s darling, I will not be thus nose-led by him. I'll e’en brusque it a little, if he goes on at this rate, and try if I can bring him to a more intel- ligible mode of speaking.” Entertaining this bold purpose, but half afraid to exe- cute it, Wildrake lay by for an opportunity of making the attempt, while Cromwell was apparently unable to ex- press his own meaning. He was already beginning a third panegyric upon Colonel Everard, with sundry varied expressions of his own wish to oblige him, when Wild- rake 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 already spoken on two topics of your discourse, your own worthiness, and that of my master, Colonel Everard. But, to enable me to do mine errand, it would be neces. sary to bestow a few words on the third head.” “The third?” said Cromwell. “ Ay,” said Wildrake, “ which, in your honour’s sub- division 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 fo spring. ‘* 7/2! portion, jail-bird!*’ he exclaimed, “theWOODSTOCK. 187 gallows—thou shalt hang as high as Haman, if thon betray counsel!—But,” he added, softening his voice, “keep it like a true man, and my favour will be the making of thee. Come hither—thou art bold, I 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 armour in behalf of Heaven’s cause; othgrwise truly, for mine own part, these men might have remained upon the throne even unto this day. Neither do I blame any for aiding them, until these successive great judgments 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 beware that he do not look back; for, rely upon my simple word, 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 malig- nancy is altogether drubbed out of thee?” “Your honourable lordship,” said the cavalier, shrug- ging up his shoulders, “has done that for most of us, so far as cudgelling 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, truly, 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.188 WAVERLEY NOVELS. The parliament-men best know their own interest aad their own pleasure; but, to my poor thinking, it is full time-to close these jars, and to allow men of 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 pause, as one who gave his confidence not without hesitation, pro- ceeded 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 field of battle. r “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 executive government of the kingdom. JI cannot tell why they nourish suspicion against me, unless it is because I will not deliver 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 who have protected the state at the expense of their blood, will not have, perchance, the means of feed- ag themselves by their Jabour ; which, methinks, were hard measure, since it is taking from Esau his t irthright, even without giving him a poor mess-of pottage.”’ “Esau is likely to help himself, I think,” replied Wildrake. “Truly, thou say’st wisely,” replied the General ; “jtWOODSTOCK. 189 is 1] starving an armed man, if there is food to be had for taking—nevertheless, far be it from me to encourage rebellion, or want of due subordination .o these our rulers. J would only petition, in a due and becoming, a sweet and harn.onious 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 towards the Council of State, as well as the Parliament, if, simply to gratify your worthy master, [ were to act contrary to their purposes, or deny currency to the commission under their authority, which is as yet the highest in the State— and long may it be so for me!—to carry on the seques- tration which they intend. And would it not also be said, that I was lending myself to the malignant interest, affording this den of the blood-thirsty and. lascivious tyrants of yore, to be in this our day a place of refuge to that old and inveterate Amalekite, Sir Henry Lee, to keep possession of the place in which he hath so long glorified himself? Truly it would be a perilous matter.” “ Am I then to report,” said Wildrake, “an it please you, that you cannot stead Colonel Everard in this matter?” “Unconditionally, ay—but, taken conditionally, the answered Cromwell. “I answer may be otherwise,’ see thou art not able to fathom my purpose, and therefore I will partly unfold it to thee——But take notice, that, should thy tongue betray my counsel, save in so far as earrying it to thy master, 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 noldness and carelessness of character was for the present190 WAVERLEY NOVELS. time borne down and quelled, like that of falcons in the presence of the cacle. “Hear me, then,” said Cromwell, “and let no syllable escape thee. Knowest thou not the young Lee, whom they call Albert, a malignant 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 bé grateful for the victory !” “YT know there is such a young gentleman as Albert Lee,” said Wildrake. “ And knowest thou not—I speak not by way of pry- ing 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—Knowest 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 ean 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 pursuit compelled to separate himself from his followers, I know by sure intelligence that this Albert Lee was one of the last who remained with him, if not indeed the very last.” “Tt was devilish like him,” said the cavalier, without eufliciently 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 !” “Ja, swearest thou?” said the General. “Is this thy reformation ? ” “I never swear, so please you,” replied Wildrake, re- tollecting himself, “except there is some mention ofWOODSTOCK. 191 malignants and cavaliers in my hearing; and then the old habit returns, and I swear like one of Goring’s troopers.” “Qut upon thee,” said the General; “what can it avail thee to practise 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 rendered it more interesting than ever to Wildrake, who therefore determined not ta 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 communications 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 Honour’s Excellency,’ said Wildrake, “may swear to that.” “J swear not at all,” replied the General drily.—* But what think’st thou, good fellow ?—I will ask thee a blunt192 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 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—than in this same old palace, with all the corners and, conceal- ments, whereof young Albert hath been acquainted ever since his earliest infancy ?” “Truly,” said Wildrake, making an effort to answer the question with seeming indifference, while the possi- bility of such an event, and its consequences, flashed fearfully upon his mind,—“Truly I should be of your Honour’s opinion, but that I think the company, who, by the commission of Parliament, have occupied Woodstock, are likely to fright them thence, as a cat scares doves from a pigeon-house. The neighbourhood, with reverence, of Generals Desborough and Harrison, will suit ill with fugitives from Worcester field.” “T thought as much, and so, indeed, would I have Ht; 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 inter- est, thou might’st, I should think, work out something favourable to his present object.” “ My brain is too poor to reach the depth of your hon- durable purpose,” said Wildrake. “Listen, then, and let it be to profit,” answered Crom- well. “ Assuredly the conquest at Worcester was a great und crowning mercy; yet might we seem to be but small in our thankfulness for the same, did we not do what in us lies towards the ultimate improvement and final con- clusion 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 instru- mentality to be remembered, nay, would rather pray andWOODSTOCK. 193 entreat, that our name and fortunes were forgotten, than that the great work were in itself incomplete. Neverthe- less, truly placed as we now are, it concerns us more nearly than others,—that 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. Neveriheless, it is much to-be desired that this young man, this King of Seots, as he called himself—this Charles Stewart—should not escape forth from the na- tion, where his arrival has wrought so much disturbance and bloodshed.” “I have no doubt,” said the cavalier, looking down, “that your lordship’s wisdom hath directed all things as they may best lead towards such a conse Aen and I pray your pains may be paid as they deserv e. “J thank thee, friend,” said Cromwell, with much hu- mility ;-* doul ytless we shall meet our reward, being in the hands of a good paymaster, who never passeth Satur- day night. But understand 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 eyen to you in your deeree—for such as I do not con- verse with ordinary men, that our presence may be for- gotten 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.” VOL. XLI. 13< 194 WAVERLEY NOVELS. “Your honour,” said Wildrake, « speaks like one accus- tomed to command.” “True; men’s minds are 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 1s. But I would desire to east this golden ball into your master’s lap. He hath served against this Charles Stewart and his father. But he is a kinsman near to the old knight, Lee, and stands well affected towards his daughter. Zhou also wilt keep a watch, my friend—that ruffling look of thine will procure thee the confidence of every malignant, and the prey cannot approach this cover, as though to shelter, like a coney in the rocks, but thou wilt be sensible of his presence.” “I 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 I may have some handsome opportunity of deserving, that I may show my gratitude by the event. But still, with rever- ence, 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 fugi- tive as your honour hinted at, will take special care not to approach it till they are removed.” “Tt is for that I have been dealing with thee thus Jong,” said the General.—“TI told thee that I was some- thing unwilling, upon slight occasion, to dispossess the sequestrators by my own proper warrant, alttough hay- ing, perhaps, sufficient authority in the state beth to do s0, and to despise the murmurs of those who blame me. {In brief, I would be loth to tamper with my privileges, and make experiments between their strength, and theWOODSTOCK. 195 powers of the commission granted by others, without pressing need, or at least great prospect of advantage. So, if thy Colonel will undertake, for his love of the Re- public, to find the means of preventing its worst and near- est danger, which must needs occur from the escape of this young man, and will do his endeavour 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 seques- trators, 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 Desborough 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 com- missioners, even without the aid of your most warlike and devout troopers.” “That is what I am least anxious about,” replied the General; “I should like to see the best of them sit after I had nodded to them to be gone—always excepting the worshipful House, in whose name our commissions run ; but who, as some think, will be done with politics ere it be time to renew them. Therefore, what chiefly concerns me to know, is, whether thy master will embrace a tralfic which hath such a fair promise of: profit with it. IT am well convinced that, with a scout like thee, who hast been in the cavaliers’ quarters, and canst, I should guess, re- sume thy drinking, ruffianly, health-quafling 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 every196 WAVERLEY NOVELS. hair of your head.” While he spoke, a flush passed ovex his brow, he rose from his chair, and paced the apartment in agitation. “Woe to you, if you suffer the young ad- venturer to escape me !—you had better be in the decpest 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 like keeping a watch over a 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 orders—Yet, stay—thou hast something to ask.” “J would know,” said Wildrake, to whom the visible anxiety of the General gave some confidence, “ what is the figure of tliis 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 against the wall; but it proved not to be that of Charles the Second, but of his unhappy father, The first motion of Cromwell indicated a purpose of hastily replacing the picture, and it seemed as if an effort was necessary to repress his disinclination to look upon it. sut 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 Wildrake that his dangerous companion had not turned an eye on him, for Avs blood also kindled when he saw the portrait of his master in the hat-ds of the chief author of hisWOODSTOCK. 197 death. Being a fierce and desperate man, he commanded his passion with great difficulty; and if, on its first vio- lence, he had been provided with a suitable weapon, it is possible Cromwell would never have ascended higher in his bold ascent towards supreme power. But this natural and sudden flash of indignation, which rushed through the veins of an ordinary man like Wild- rake, was presently subdued, when confronted with the strong yet stifled emotion displayed by so powerful a character as Cromwell. As the cavalier looked on his dark and bold countenance, agitated by inward and inde- scribable 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 dis- play of those which are less, so men of great, capacious, and overruling minds, bear aside and subdue, in their climax of passion, the more feeble wills and passions of others; as when a river joins a brook, the fiercer torrent shoulders aside the smaller: stream. Wildrake stood a silent, inactive, and almost a terrified spectator, while Cromwell, assuming a firm sternness of eye and manner, as one who compels himself to look on what some strong internal feeling renders painful and discustful to him, proceeded, in brief and interrupted ex- pressions, but yet with a firm voice, to comment on the portrait of the late King. His words seemed less ad- dressed to Wildrake, than to be the spontaneous unbur- dening of his own bosom, swelling under recollection of the past and anticipation of the future. “That Flemish painter,” he said— that Antonio Van- dyke—what a power-he has! Steel may mutilate, war- riors may waste and destroy—still the King stands unin jured by time; and our grandchildren, while they read198 WAVERLEY NOVELS. his history, may look on his image, and compare the melancholy features with the woful tale—It was a stern necessity—it was an awful deed! The calm pride of - that eye might have ruled worlds of crouching French- men, or supple Italians, or formal Spaniards; but its glances only roused the native courage of the stern Eng- lishman.—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 cavalier, springs to the empty saddle, and uses bit and spur till the fiery steed knows its master. Who blames him, who, mounted aloft, rides triumphantly amongst the people, for having succeeded, where the unskilful and feeble fell and died? Verily he hath his reward: Then, what is that piece of painted canvas to me more than others? No; let him show to others the reproaches of that cold, calm face, that proud yet complaining eye: Those who have acted on higher respects have no cause to start at painted shadows. Not wealth nor power brought me from my obscurity. The oppressed consciences, the injured liberties of England were the banner that I followed.” He 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 arm extended, his foot advanced, and his voice raised, like a general in the act vf commanding the advance of his array, 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 forWOODSTOCK. 199 A private cause, Ol as a means of enlarging my for- tunes. Neither was there a trooper i ‘aol mnent we 1 i was there a trooper in the regiment who came there with less of personal evil will to yonder un- ~ Lappy ” At this moment the door of the apartment opened, and a gentlewoman entered, who, from her resemblance to the General, although her features were soft and feminine, might be immediately recognised as his daughter. She walked up to Cromwell, gently but firmly passed her arm through his, and said to him in a persuasive tone “Father, this is 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 apartment, without again turning his head towards the portrait which had so much affected him, or looking to- waids Wildrake, who remained fixed in astonishment.200 WAVERLEY NOVELS. CHAPTER IX. Dector.—Go to, go to—You have known what you should not. MACBETH. WILDRAKE was left in the cabinet, as we have said, asionished and alone. It was often noised about, that Cromwell, the deep and sagacious statesman, the calm and intrepid 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 melancholy, which sometimes displayed itself both in words and actions, and had been first observed in that sudden and striking change, when, abandoning entirely the dissolute 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 delu- sions, or, as he himself conceived them, prophetic inspira- tions of approaching grandeur, and of strange, deep, and mysterious agencies, in which he was in future to be en- gaged, in the same manner as his younger years had been marked by fits of exuberant and excessive frolic and debaucheries. Something of this kind seemed teWOODSTOCK. 201 explain the ebullition of passion which he had now mani- fested. 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, tkat it is dangerous to be a witness of the infirmities of men high in power; and he was left so long by himself, as in- duced him to entertain some secret doubts, whether the General might not be tempted to take means of confining or removing a witness, who had seen him lowered, as it seemed, by the suggestions of his own conscience, beneath that lofty flight, which, in general, he affected to sustain above the rest of the sublunary world. In this, however, he wronged Cromwell, who was free either from an extreme degree of jealous suspicion, o1 from any thing which approached towards blood-thirsti- ness. Pearson appeared, after a lapse of about an hour, and, intimating to Wildrake that he was to follow, con- ducted him into a distant apartment, in which he found the General seated on a low couch. His daughter was in the apartment, but remained at some distance, appar- ently busied with some female needlework, 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 cayaliers look on me as their enemy, and conduct themselves towards me as if they desired to make me such. I profess they are labouring to their own pre- judice; for I regard and have ever regarded them, as honest and honourable fools, who were silly enough to gun their necks into nooses and their heads against stone- walls, that a man called Stewart, and no other, should be : 7’ , ya te Alins aAA king over them. Fools! are there no words maae of202 WAVERLEY NOVELS. letters that would sound as well as Charles Stewart, with that magic title beside them? Why, the word King is like a lighted lamp, that throws the same bright gilding 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 abandon 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 wanders by hedge-row or lane these are days when a beggar’s cloak may cover a king’s ransom. There are some broad Portugal pieces for thee—some thing strange to thy pouch, I ween.—Once more, think on what thou hast heard, and,” he added, in a lower and more impressive tone of voice, “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 anxiously expect- ing 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 cloakWOODSTOCK. 2038 and rapier, “you ask so many questions at once. A man has but one tongue to answer with, and mine is well-nigh glued to the roof of my mouth.” “ Will drink unloosen it?” said the Colonel; « though I dare say thou hast tried that spell at every ale-house on the road. Call for what thou wouldst have, man, only be quick.” * Colonel Everard,” answered Wildrake, “I have not tasted so much as 4 cup of cold water this day.” “'Then thou art out of humour for that reason,” said the Colonel; “salve thy sore with brandy, if thou wilt, but leave being so fantastic and unlike to thyself, as thou showest in this silent mood.” “ Colonel Everard,” replied the cavalier, very gravely, “Tam an altered man.” “J think thou dost alter,’ said Everard, “every day in the year, and every hour of the day. Come, good now, tell me, hast thou seen the General, and got his warrant for clearing out the sequestrators from Woodstock ?” “T have seen the devil,” said Wildrake, “and have, as got a warrant from him.” thou say’st, “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 granted—if thou what knewest—what it is not my purpose to tell thee manner of hopes are founded on thy accepting it, I have that opinion cf thee, Mark Everard, that thou wouldst as soon take a red-hot horseshoe from the anvil with thy bare hand, as receive into it this slip of paper.” “Come, come,” said Everard, “this comes of some of your exalted ideas of loyalty, which, excellent within vertain bounds, drive us mad when encouraged up teWAVERLEY NOVELS. some heights. Do not think, since I must needs speak 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 acquiescing and aiding in such measures as are likely to settle the future? The royal eause is ruined, hadst thou and every cavalier in England sworn the contrary ; ruined, 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 freedom of opinion, is now reduced to a handful of statesmen, who have lost the respect of the people, from the length of time during which they have held the supreme management of affairs. They 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 an army subsisting on pay and free quarters throughout England 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 privi- leves that may be vouchsafed to us, only through the wisdom and forbearance of Cromwell. Now, you have my secret. You are aware that I am not doing the best I would, but the best I can. JI 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 thinkest 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.”WOODSTOCK. 20F “Ah, plague on you,” said Wildrake, “tnat is the very eant of it—that’s what you all say. All of you fought against the King in pure love and loyalty, and not other- wise. However, I 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 coun- try 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 the stronger party, come and make common cause with us.” Without much attending to what his friend said, Colo- nel Everard carefully studied the warrant of Cromwell. “Tt is bolder and more peremptory than I expected,” he said. “The General must feel himself strong, when he © opposes his own authority so directly to that of the Coun- cil of State and the Parliament.” “You will not hesitate to act upon it?” said Wild- rake. “That I certainly will not,” answered Everard ; “but I must wait till I have the assistance of the Mayor, who, I think, will gladly see these fellows-ejected from the Lodge. [ must not go altogether upon military authority, if pos- sible.” Then, stepping to the door of the apartment, he dispatched 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,” said Wildrake. “The word captain, or colonel, makes the fat citizen trot in these days, when one sword is worth fifty corporation charters. But there are dragoons206 WAVERLEY NOVELS. yonder, as well as the grim-faced knave whom I frigh- ened the other evening when I showed my face in at the window ‘Think’st thou the knaves will show no rough play?” “The General’s warrant will weigh 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 baiting.” “JT care not about it,’ said Wildrake: “I tell thee, your General gave me a breakfast, which, I think, wilt serve me one while, if I am ever able to digest it. By the mass, it lay so heavy on my conscience, that I carried it to church to see if-I 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 kneel, is it not seemly to show the same respects in a church which we offer in a palace? It is a dainty matter, is it not, to see your Anabaptists, end Brownists, and the rest of you, gather to a ser- mon with as little ceremony as hogs to a 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 prospect 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, that certainly a great alteration had taken place in the manners and outward behaviour at least of his companion. _ His demeanourWOODSTOCK. 207 frequently evinced a sort of struggle betwixt old habits of indulgence, and some newly formed resolutions of ab- stinence ; and it was almost ludicrous. to see how often the hand of the neophyte directed itself naturally to a large black leathern jack, which contained 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 recommenda- tion 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 Cath- olic religion, had formed a solemn resolution within his own mind, that, if he came off safe and with honour from this dangerous interview, he would show his sense of Heaven’s favour, by renouncing some of the sins which most easily beset him, and especially that of intemper- ance, to which, like many of his wild compeers, he was too much addicted. This resolution, or vow, was partly prudential as well as religious; for it occurred to him as very possible, that some matters of a difficult and delicate nature might be thrown into his hands at the present emergency, during the conduct of which it would be fitting for him to act by some better oracle than that of the Bottle, celebrated by Rabelais. In full compliance with this prudent deter- mination, he touched neither the ale nor the brandy which were placed before him, and declined peremptorily the sack with which his friend would have garnished the SSE aires incie scams205 WAVERLEY NOVELS. board. Nevertheless, just as the boy removed the trenchers and napkins, together with the large black-jack which we have already mentioned, and was one or two steps on his way to the door, the sinewy arm of the cavalier, which seemed to elongate itself on purpose, (as it extended far beyond the folds of the threadbare jacket,) arrested the progress of the retiring Gany- mede, and seizing ou the black-jack, conveyed it to the lips, which were gently breathing forth the aspiration, “ D—n-—I mean, Heaven forgive me—we are poor crea- tures of clay—one modest sip must be permitted to our frailty.” So murmuring, he glued the huge, flagon to his lips, and as the head was slowly and gradually inclined back- wards, in proportion as the right hand elevated the bot- tom of the pitcher, Everard had great doubts whether the drinker and the cup were likely to part until the whole contents of the latter had been transferred to the person of the former. Roger Wildrake stinted, however, when, by a moderate computation, he had swallowed at one draught about a quart and a half. He then replaced it on the salver, fetched a long breath to refresh his lungs, bade the boy get him gone with the rest of the liquors, in a tone which inferred some dread of his constancy, and then, turning to his friend Everard, he expatiated in praise of moderation, observing, that the mouthful which he had just taken had been of more ser- vice to him than if he had remained quaffing healths at table for four hours together. His friend made no reply, but could not help being pri- vately of opinion that Wildrake’s temperance had done as much execution on the tankard in his single draught, as some more moderate topers might have effected if theyWOODSTOCK. had sat sipping for an evening. But the subject was changed by the entrance of the landlord, who came to announce to his honour Colonel Everard, that the wor- shipful Mayor of Woodstock, with the Rev. Master Hold. enough, were come to wait upon him.WAVERLEY NOVELS. : CHAPTER X. -——Here we haye 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 Puay. In the goodly form of the honest Mayor, there was 4 bustling mixture of importance and embarrassment, like the deportment 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 aed ill-hails before he could be brought to uttend to what that ge ak ‘man said in reply. “Good, worthy Colonel, you are indeed a desirable sight to Woodstock at all times, being, as I may say, almost our townsman, 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, like ’”>—— “ Tanquam Deus ex machina, as the Ethnic poet hath it,’ said Master Holdenough, “although I do not often quote from such books.—Indeed, Master Markham Ever- ard,—or worthy Colonel, as I ought rather to say—youWOODSTOCK. 211 are simply the most welcome man who has come to Woodstock since the days of old King Harry.” “YT 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 océa- sion to pleasure you or your worthy pastor.” “No question you can do so, good sir,” interposed Mas- ter 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. Jam aware, worthy Colonel, that you and your worthy father have ever borne your- selves 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 prelatical tenets.” “ My good and reverend friend,” said Everard, “I re- spect the piety and learning of many of your teachers ; but 1 am also for liberty of conscience to all men. I neither side with sectaries, nor do I desire to see them the object 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 intro- duced into the church and kingdom of England, so that worthy Master Edwards, in his Gangrena, declareth, that our native country is about to become the very sink and cess-pool of all schisms, heresies, blasphemies, and con fusions, as the army of Hannibal was said to be the refuse of all nations— Colluvies omnium gentium.—Believe me, wortnoy Colonel, that thy of the Honourable House viewWAVERLEY NOVELS. all this over lightly, and with the winking connivance of old Eli. These instructors, the schismatics, shoulder the ortaodox ministers out of their pulpits, 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, interrupting the zealous preacher, “there is ground of sorrow for all these unhappy discords ; and I hold with you, that the fiery spirits of the present time have raised men’s minds at once above sober-minded and sincere re- ligion, and above decorum and common sense. But there is no help save patience. Enthusiasm is a stream that may foam off in its own time, whereas it is sure to bear down every barrier which is directly opposed to it.— But what are these schismatical proceedings to our present purpose ? ” SOW hy; partly this, sir,” said Holdenough, “ although perhaps you may make less of it than I should have thought before we met.—I was myself—I, Nehemiah Holdenough, [he added consequentially,] was forcibly ex- pelled from my own pulpit, even as a man should have been thrust out of his own house, by an alien, and an in- truder—a wolf, who was not at the trouble even to put on sheep’s clothing, but came in his native wolfish attire of buff and bandalier, and held forth in my stead to the people, who are to me as a 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 might, though,” turning to the Mayor, “I think still you might have striven a little more.” “Good now, good Master Holdenough, do not let us go back on that question,” said the Mayor. “Guy of War. wick, or Bevis of Hampton, might do something with thisWOODSTOCR. 913 generation ; 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; oD and then if you were to have another rising of cavaliers ?” “There are worse folks may rise than cavaliers,” said Ifoldenough. “ How, sir?” replied Colone. Everard. “ Let me re- mind you, Master Holdenough, that is no safe language in the present state of the nation.” “Tsay,” said the Presbyterian, “ there are worse folk may rise than cavaliers; and I will proye what I say. The devil is worse than the worst cavalier that ever drank a health, or swore an oath—and the devil has arisen at Woodstock Lodge ! ” “ Ay, truly hath he,” said the Mayor, “bodily and vis- ibly, in figure and form—An awful time we live in!” “ Gentlemen, I really know not how I am to under- stand you,” said Everard. “ Why, it was even about the devil we came to speak with 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 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 told you that I have neither the means nor the skill sufficient to temper these religious heats. But if you design to say that there has been an actual apparition of the devil, I presume to think that214 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 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 commis. sion which I hold, that I would take the field against the foul fiend without a moment’s delay,” said Holdenough ; “but the place in which he hath of late appeared, being Woodstock, is filled with those dangerous and impious persons, of whom TI have been but now complaining ; and though, confident in my own resources, I dare venture in disputation with their Great Master himself ; yet with- out your protection, most worthy Colonel, I see not that I may with prudence trust myself with the tossing and goring ox Desborough, or the bloody and devouring bear Harrison, or the cold and poisonous snake Bletson—all of whom are now at the Lodge, doing license and taking spoil as they think meet; and, as all men say, the deyil has come to make a fourth with them.” “In good truth, worthy and noble sir,” said the Mayor, “it is even as Master Holdenough says—our privileges are declared void, our cattle seized in the very pastures. They talk of cutting down and disparking the fair Chase, which has been so long the pleasure of so many kings, and making Woodstock of as little note as any paltry vil- lage. I assure you we heard of your arrival with joy, and wondered at your keeping yourself so close in your lodgings. We know no one save your father or you, that are like to stand the poor burgesses’ friend in this extrem- ity, since almost all 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 himself with pleasure anticipated ; “it was my very pur: pose to have interfered in this matter; and I did but keepWOODSTOCK. 218 myself alone unti! I should be furnished with some au- thority from the Lord General.” “Powers from the Lord General!” said the Mayor, thrusting the clergyman with his elbow—* Dost thou hear that -—What cock will fight that cock? We shall carry it now over their necks, and Woodstock shall be brave Woodstock still!” “Keep thine elbow from my side, friend,” said Hold- enough, annoyed by the action which the Mayor had suited to his words; “and may the Lord send that Crom- well prove not as sharp to the people of England as thy bones against my person ! Yet I approve that we should use his authority to stop the course of these men’s pro- ceedings.” “ Let us set out, then,” said Colonel Everard ; “and I trust we shall find the gentlemen reasonable and obedi- ent.” The functionaries, laic and clerical, assented with much joy; and the Colonel required and received Wildrake’s assistance in putting on his cloak and rapier, as if he had = been the dependent whose part he acted. he eavalier contrived, however, while doing him these menial offices, to give his friend a shrewd pinch, in order to maintain the footing of secret equality betwixt them. The Colonel was saluted, is 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 corpora- tion, as well as of individuals, from ruin and confisca- tion. As they ‘ntered the Park, the Colonel asked his com- panions, “ What is this you say of apparitions being seen amongst them es216 WAVERLEY NOVELS. “Why, Colonel,” said the clergyman, “you know your- oJ 9 self 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, al- though idle people spoke of the house as they do of all old mansions, and gave the apartments ghosts and spec- tres 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 favour of appari- tions, 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 apparitions in the forest, or about the old castle. Sometimes it is a pack of hounds, that sweep along, and the whoops and hollows 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, “1 have lived at Woodstock many seasons, and have traWOODSTOCK. 217 versed the Chase ac 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 haye not seen any thing, 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 compe- tent knowledge of theology, and an acquaintance of the humane letters, ay, and a regular clerical education and elerical calling.” bP] “T 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. Desborough is a blockhead, to be sure; and Harrison 1s fanatic enough to believe any thing. But there is Blet- son, on the other hand, who believes nothing.—What do you know of this matter, good Master Mayor?” “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, 1 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 at that dead hour of the night TIO OTRO RL A A Le ee oe eeceed 218 WAVERLEY NOVELS. as hard as ever it rung when it called the court to dix ner.” “Well, but the cause of this alarm?” said the Colonel. “You shall hear, worthy Culonel, you shall hear,” an- swered 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 mie, 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 lumbago, and that I should send the people to Alderman Dutton.—Alderman Devil, Mrs. Mayor, said I ;—I beg your reverence’s pardon for using such a phrase—Do you think I am going to lie a-bed when the town is on fire, and the cavaliers up, and the devil to pay ?—I beg pardon again, parson.—But here we are before the gate of the Palace ; will it not please you to enter ?” “J would first hear the end of your story,” said the Colonel; “ that is, Master Mayor, if it happens to have an end.” “ Every thing hath an end,” said the Mayor, “ and that 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 J] always make a point of being dressed suitably to my dignity, night and day, summer or winter, Colonel Everard ; and I took the Con- stable 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 out to be the devil. And so I thought I was provided for the worst, and so away we came; and, by and by, the sol- diers who came to the town with Master Tomkins, wheWOODSTOCK. 2419 had been called to arms, came marching down to Wood- stock as fast as their feet would carry them ; so I gave our people the sign to let them pass us, and outmarch us, as it were, and this for a twofold reason.” “YT will be satisfied,” interrupted the Colonel, “ with one good reason. You desired the red-coats should haye the jirst of the fray?” “ ‘True, sir, very true ;—and also that they should have the dast of it, in respect that fighting is their especial business. However, we came on at a slow pace, as men who are determined to do their duty without fear or favour, when suddenly we saw something white haste away up the avenue towards the town, when six of our constables and assistants fled at once, as conceiving it to be an apparition called the White Woman of Wood- stock.” “Look you there, Colonel,” said Master Holdenough, “T told you there were demons of more kinds than one, which haunt the ancient scenes of royal debauchery and cruelty.” “T hope you stood your own ground, Master Mayor?” said the Colonel. “ J—-yes—most assuredly—that is, I did not, strietly speaking, keep my ground; but the town-clerk and I re: treated—retreated, Colonel, and without confusion or dis- honour, and took post behind worthy Master Holdenouch, who, with the spirit of a lion, threw himself in the way of the supposed spectre, and attacked it with such a siserary of Latin as might have seared the devil himself, and thereby plainly discovered that it was no devil at all, nor white woman, neither woman of any colour, but wor- ley shipful Master Bletson, a member of the House of Com- mons, and one of the commissioners sent hither upon thisce eI 7 sana ase Anpar m nee z ae 220 WAVERLEY NOVELS. unhappy sequestration of the Wood, Chase, and Lodge of Woodstock.” “And this was all you saw of the demon?” said the Colonel. “Truly, yes,” answered the Mayor; “and I had no wish to see more. However, we conveyed Master Blet- son, as in duty bound, back to the Lodge, and he was ever maundering by the way how that he met a party of scarlet devils incarnate marching down to the Lodge; but, to my poor thinking, it must have been the Indepen- dent dragoons who had just passed us.” “ And more incarnate devils I would never wish to see,” said Wildrake, who could remain silent no longer. His voice, 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 sup- pose a man of his portly dignity to have been capable. Everard imposed silence on his intrusive attendant; and, desirous to hear the conclusion of this strange story, re- quested the Mayor to tell him how the matter ended, and whether they stopped the supposed spectre. “Truly, worthy sir,” said the Mayor, “ Master Hold- enough was quite venturous upon confronting, as it were, the devil, and compelling him to appear under the real torm of Master Joshua Bletson, member of Parliament for the borough of Littlefaith.” “Tn sooth, Master Mayor,” said the divine, “I were strangely ignorant of my own commission and its immu- nities, if I were to value opposing myself to Satan, or any Independent in his likeness, all of whom, in the name of Fim I serve, I do defy, spit at, and trample under my fect; and because Master Mayor is something tedious, I will briefly inform your honour that we saw little of theWOODSTOCK. 294 Enemy that night save what Master Bietson said in the first feeling of his terrors, and save what we might collect from the disordered appearance of the Honourable Colonel Desborough and Major-General Harrison.” “And what plight were they in, I pray you?” de. manded the Colonel. “Why, worthy sir, every one might see with half an eye that they had been engaged in a fight wherein they had not been honoured with perfect victory; seeing that General Harrison was stalking up and down the parlour, with his drawn sword in his hand, talking to himself, his doublet unbuttoned, his points untrussed, his garters loose, and like to throw him down as he now and then trode on them, and gaping and grinning like a mad player. And yonder sate Desborough with a dry pottle of sack before him, which he had just emptied, and which, though the element in which he trusted, had not restored him sense enough to speak, or courage enough to look over his shoulder. He had a Bible in his hand, forsooth, as if it would of itself make battle against the Evil One; but J peered over his shoulder, and, alas! the good gentleman held the bottom of the page uppermost. It was as if one of your musketeers, noble and valued sir, were to present the butt of his piece at the 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 heart, in point of skill, and in point of courage-—Oh! Colonel, then was the time to see the true character of an authorized pastor of souls over those unhappy men, who leap into the fold without due and legal authority, and will, forsooth, preach, teach, aud exhort, and blasphemously term the doctrine yf the Church saltless porridge and dry chips!” “T have no doubt you were ready tc meet the dangerDale teb 222 WAVERLEY NOVELS. reverend sir; but I would fain know of what nature it was, and from whence it was to be apprehended?” “Was it for me to make such inquiry ?” said the cler- gyman, triumphantly. “Is it for a brave soldier to num- ber his enemies, or inquire from what quarter they are te come? No, sir, I was there with match lighted, bullet in 1 my mouth, and my harquebuss shouldered, to encounte1 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 temp- tation of St. Anthony—pshaw! let them double all the myriads which the brain of a crazy Dutch painter hath invented, and you will find a poor Presbyterian divine— I will answer for one at least,—who, not in his own strength, but his Master’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 vengeance to the utter- most parts of Assyria!” “Stull,” said the Colonel, “I pray to know whether en you saw any thing upon which to exercise your pious learning ? ” “ Saw?” answered the divine; “no, truly, L saw noth- ing, nor did I look for any thing» Thieves will not attack well-armed travellers, nor will devils or evil spirits come against one who bears in his bosom the word of trath, in the very language in which it was first dictated. No, sir, i they shun a divine who can understand the holy text, as a erow 1s said to keep wide of a gun loaded with hail-shot.” They had walked a little way back upon their road, te give time for this conversation; and the Colonel, per- reliving it was about to lead to no satisfactory explanation xf the real cause of alarm on the preceding night, turnedWOODSTOCK. 223 round, und observing it was time they should go to the Lodge, began to move in that direction with his three compat ions. Tt had now become 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 distin- guished as it rose against the clear blue sky, there gleamel a light like that of a candle within the building. The Mayor stopt 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 I,” said Colonel Everard ; “and what does that matter ? a light in a garret-room of such an old mansion as Woodstock is no subject for wonder, I trow.” “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 in- deed Rosamond’s Tower; and as the drawbridge ty 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 beeswax, nor mutton-suet either. I dealt in these commodities, Colonel, before I went into my present line; and I can asstire you I could distinguish the sort of light they give, gne from another, at a greater distance than yonder, turret —J »ok you, that is no earthly flame.—See you not s)me-Cee 224° WAVERLEY NOVEZ7S. thing blue and reddish upon the edges ?—that bodes fu. | well where it comes from.—Colonel, 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 together for to- night; and then, when we come back the next morning, we will have a pull with the party that chances to keep a-field.” “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 wonder not that, knowing who is approaching, he betakes himself to the very citadel, the inner and the last defences of this ancient 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 4 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 flattered by the magistrate’s familiarity of address, norWOODSTOCK. 295 eaptivated by his munificence—* I wonder who vhe devil made you and me fellows? and, besides, do you think I would go back to Woodstock with your worshipful cod’s- head, when, by good management, 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 lightly and wantonly, friend,” said the divine ; “ we are to resist the devil that he may flee from us, and not to 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.” “Tam heholden to the reverend gentleman for his ad- vice,” answered Wildrake, upon whose tongue it was dif_i- cult to impose any curb whatever, even when his own safety rendered it most desirable. ‘“ But, gadzookers, let him have had what experience he will in fighting with the devil, he never saw one so black as I had a tussle with—not a hundred years ago.” “ How, friend,” said the clergyman, who understood every thing literally when apparitions were mentioned, “have you had so late a visitation of Satan? Believe me, then, that I wonder why thou darest to entertain 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 One?” 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 mar raves,” he said, “of a dream which he had the other night, when he and I slept together VOL. XLI 16226 WAVERLEY. NOVELS. in Victor Lee’s chamber, belonging to the Ranger’s apart- ments at the Lodve.” “Thanks for help at a pinch, good patron,” said Wild- take, whispering into Everard’s ear, who in vain endeav- oured to shake him off,—“ a fib never failed a fanatic.” “ You, also, spoke something too lightly of these mat- ters, considering the work which we have in hand, worthy Colonel,” said the Presbyterian divine. “ Believe me, the youvg man thy servant, was more likely to see vis- ions 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 after- wards 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 ad- dressing his patron, who began to interfere, he said, “Tush, sir, you have had the discourse for an hour, and why should not I hold forth in my turn? By this dark- ness, if you keep me silent any longer, I will turn Inde- pendent preacher, and stand up in your despite for the freedom of private judgment.—And so, reverend sir, I was dreaming of a carnal divertisement called a bull- baiting; and methought they were venturing dogs at head, as merrily as e’er I saw them at Tutbury bull-run- ning; and methought I heard some one say, there was the devil come to have a sight of the bull-rmg. Well, I thought that, gadswoons, I would have a peep at his In- iernal Majesty. So I looked, and there was a butcher in greasy woollen, with his steel by his side; but he was none of the devil. And there was a drunken cavalier, with his mouth full of oaths, and his stomach full of emp-WOODSTOCK. 997 tiness, and a gold-laced waistcoat in a very dilapidated condition, and a ragged hat, with a piece of a feather in it; and he was none of the devil neither. And here was a miller, his hands dusty with meal, and every atoro of it stolen; and there was a vintner, his green apron stained with wine, and every drop of it sophisticated ; out neither was the old gentleman I looked for to be de- ected among these artisans of iniquity. At length, sir, [ saw a grave person with cropped hair, a pair of longish and projecting ears, a band as broad as a slobbering bib under his chin, a brown coat surmounted by a Geneva cloak, and I had old Nicholas at once in his genuine paraphernalia, by io “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 have less patience than becomes my profession, if I could not bear an idle jest, and forgive him who makes it. Or if, on the other hand, the Enemy has really presented himself to the young man in such a guise as he 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 spirit- ual 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 warning of what we should shun?” I mean reverend “ Now, by the mass, honest dominie s3ir—I crave you a thousand pardons,” said Wildrake, yenetrated by the quietness and patience of the presby- er’s rebuke. “ By St. George, if quiet patience will dobatt 228 WAVERLEY NOVELS. it, thou art fit to play a game at foils with the devil him- self, and I would be contented to hold stakes.” As he concluded an apology, which was certainly not uncalled 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 sentinel who mounted guard there. Colonel Everard replied, A friend ; and the sentinel repeating his command, “ Stand, friend,” proceeded to call the cor- poral of the guard. The corporal came forth, and at the same time turned out his guard. Colonel Everard gave his name and designation, as well as those of his compan- ions, on which the corporal said, “he 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 honours’ mind.” “How, sir!” said the Colonel, “do you, knowing who I am, presume to keep me on the outside of your post?” : “ Not if your honour pleases to enter,” said the corpo- , ral, “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 be- tween his mustaches something about the Enemy, and the roaring Lion, who goeth about seeking whom he may de- vour. Presently afterwards 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 pas- 0 _ seep eemsesans ~ - ‘eWOODSTOCK. 2 sages, 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 parlour, 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 Woodstock.WAVERLEY NOVELS, CHAPTER XI. The 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. Tur strong light in the parlour which we have de- scribed, served to enable Everard easily to recognise his acquaintances, Desborough, Harrison, and Bletson, whe had assembled round an oak table of large dimensions, placed near the blazing chimney, 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 grand occasions, but at present only used as a screen; which purpose it served so effectually, that, ere he had coasted around it, Everard heard the following fragment of what Des- borough was saying, in his strong coarse voice :—‘* Sent him to share with us, ’se warrant ye—It was always his Excellency my brother-in-law’s way—if he made a treat for five friends, he would invite more thaa the table eould hold—I have known him ask three men to eat two eges.” “Hush, hush,” said Bletson; and the servants, making their appearan 2c from behind the tall cupboard announcedWOODSTOCK. 231 Colonel Everard. It may not be uninteresting to the reader to have a description of the party into which he now entered. Desborough was a stout, bull-necked man, of middle- size, with heavy vulgar features, grizzled bushy eyebrows, and wall eyes. The flourish of his powerful relative’s fcrtunes had burst forth in the finery of his dress, which vas much more ornamented than was usual among the roundheads. There was embroidery on his cloak, and lace upon his band; his hat displayed a feather with a golden clasp, and all his habiliments were those of a vavalier, or follower of the court, rather than the plain dress of a parliamentarian officer. But, Heaven knows, there was little of courtlike grace or dignity in the person +> oO or demeanour of the individual, who became his fine suit as the hog on the sign-post does his gilded armour. It was not that he was positively deformed, or misshaped, for, taken in detail, the figure was well enough. But his limbs seemed to act upon different and contradictory principles. They were not, as the play says, in a con- catenation accordingly ;—the right hand moved as if it = oO wv were upon bad terms with the left, and the legs showed an inclination to foot it in different and opposite direc- tions. In short, to use an extravagant comparison, the members of Colonel Desborough seemed rather to re- semble the disputatious representatives of a federative congress, than the well-ordered union of the orders of the state, in a firm and well-compacted monarchy, where each holds his own place, and all ovey the dictates of a rommon head. General Harrison, the second of the Commissioners, was a tall, thin, middle-aged man, who had risen into his high situation in the army, and his intimacy with Crom-932 WAVERLEY NOVELS. well, by his dauntless courage in the field, and the popu- larity he had acquired by his exalted enthusiasm amongst the military saints, sectaries, and Independents, who com- posed the strength of the existing army. Harrison was of mean extraction, and bred up to his father’s employ- inent of a butcher. Nevertheless, his appearance, thougb coarse, was not vulgar, like that of Desborough, who had so much the advantage of him in birth and education He had a masculine height and strength of figure, was well made, and in his manner announced a rough military character, which might be feared, but could not easily become the object of contempt or ridicule. THis aquiline nose and dark black eyes set off to some advantage a sountenance otherwise irregular, and the wild enthusiasm shat sometimes sparkled in them as he dilated on his ypinions to others, and often seemed to slumber under his long dark eyelashes as he mused upon them himself, gave something strikingly wild, and even noble to his aspect. He was one of the chief leaders of those who were called Fifth-Monarchy men, who, going even beyond the general fanaticism of the age, presumptuously inter- preted the Book of the Revelations after their own fan- cies, 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 events, were the chosen instruments for the establishment of the New Reign, or Fifth Monarchy, as it was called, and were fated also to win its honours, whether celestial or terrestrial. When this spirit of enthusiasm, which operated like a partial insanity, was not immediately affecting Harrison’s mind, he was a shrewd worldly man, and a good soldier ;WOODSTOCK. 233 ane who missed no opportunity of mending his fortune, and who, in expecting the exaltation of the Fifth Mon- archy, was, in the meanwhile, a r the establishment of Whether it was eady instrument for the Lord General’s supremacy. owing to his early occupation, and habits of indifference to pain or bloodshed acquired in the shambles, to natural disposition and want of feeling, cr, finally, to the awakened character of his enthusiasm, which made him look upon those who oj posed him, as opposing the Divine will , and therefore meriting no favour or mercy, is not asy to say; but all agreed, that after a victory, or the successful storm of a town, Harri- son was one of the most cruel and pitiless men in Crom- well’s army; always urging some misapplied text to authorize the continued execution of the fugitives, and sometimes even putting to death those who had surren- dered themselves prisoners. It was said, that at times the recollection of some of those cruelties troubled his conscience, and disturbed the dreams of beatification in which his imagination indulged. When Everard entered the apartment, this true repre- sentative of the fanatical soldiers of the day, who filled those ranks and regiments which Cromwell had politi- cally kept on foot, while he procured the reduction of those in which the Presbyterian interest predominated, was seated a little apart from the others, his legs crossed, and stretched out at length towards the fire, his head resting on his elbow, and turned upwards, as if studying, with the most profound gravity, the half-seen carving of the Gothic roof. Bletson remains to be mentioned, who, in person and figure, was diametrically different from the other two There was neither foppery nor slovenliness in his exterior,234 WAVERLEY NOVELS. nor had he any marks of military service or rank about his person. A small walking rapier seemed merely worr ! ° as a badge of his rank as-a gentleman, without his hand having the least purpose of becoming acquainted with the hilt, or his eye with the blade. His countenance was thin and 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 con- tempt on his features, seemed to assure the individual ad- 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 con- troversies whatsoever, Bletson avoided the ultimate ratio of blows and knocks. Yet this peaceful gentleman had found himself obliged to serve personally in the Parliamentary army at the commencement 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 account high in the estimation of his party, his behaviour at Edgehill 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 rar. Bletson’s theoretical politics had long inclined him to espouse the opinions of Harrington and others, whe adopted the visionary idea of establishing a pure demo: eratical republic in so extensive a country as BritainWOODSTOCK. 2O5 This «vas a rash theory, where there is such an infinite difference betwixt ranks. habits, education, and morals —where there is such an immense disproportion betwixt the wealth of individuals—and where a large portion of > inferior classes of the large r wns and manufacturing districts—men unfitted to bea the inhabitants consists of th that share in the direction of a state, which must be ex- ercised by the members 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 govern- ment could be adopted with the smallest chance of sta- bility ; 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 dis- solving 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 efraid to resign? Such being the state of parties, the Council of State, in distributing the good things in their gift, endeavoured to soothe and gratify the army, as a beggar flings crusts to a growling mastiff. In this view, Desborough had been created a Commissioner in the Woodstock matter to grat- ify Cromwell, Harrison to soothe the fierce Fifth-Mon- archy men, and Bletson as a sincere republican, and one of their own leaven.236 WAVERLEY NOVE xs. But if they supposed Bletson had the least intention of becoming a martyr to his republicanism, or submitting to any 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 mis- carriage of his experiment no more converts the political speculator, than the explosion of a retort undeceives an alzhymist. But Bletson was quite prepared to submit to Cromwell, or any one else who might be possessed of the actnal authority. He was a ready subject in practice to the powers existing, and made little difference betwixt various kinds of government, holding in theory all to be’ nearly equal in imperfection, so soon as they diverged from the model of Harrington’s Oceana. Cromwell had already been tampering with him, like wax between his finger 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 rewards to Bletson, as their faithful adherent, while he himself was secure of his alle- giance, how soon soever the expected change of govern- ment 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 conceivable perfection of a model of government; and as in the one case he declared against all power which did not emanate from the people themselves, so, in his moral speculations, he was unwilling to refer any of the phenomena of nature to a final cause. When pusl.ed, ndeed, very hard, Bletson was compelled to mutter some inarticulate and unintelligible doctrines concerning an Animus Mundi, or Creative Power in the works of Na- ture, by which she originally called into existence, andWOODSTOCK. 2Aa7Z still continues ty preserve, her works. To this power, he said, sume of the purest metaphysicians rendered a cer- tain degree of homage ; nor was he himself inclined abso. lutely to censure those, who, by the institution of holidays, a ft choral dances, songs, and harmless feasts and libations, might be disposed to celebrate the great goddess Nature ; at least dancing, singing, feasting, and sporting, being comfortable things to both young and old, they might as well sport, dance, and feast, in honour of such appointed holidays, as under any other pretext. But then this mod- erate show of religion was to be practised under such exceptions as are admitted by the Highgate oath; and no one was to be compelled to dance, drink, sing, or feast, whose taste did not happen to incline them to such diver- tisements ; 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 Deity in the affairs of mankind he entirely disowned, having proved to his own satisfaction that the idea origi- nated entirely in priesteraft: In short, with the shadowy metaphysical exception aforesaid, Mr. Joshua Bletson of Darlington, member for Littlecreed, came as near the pre- dicament of an atheist, as it is perhaps possible for a man todo. But we say this with the 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; but on earth there are many, who, in worse plight than even the natural chil- dren of perdition, tremble without believing, and fear even while they blaspheme. It follows, of course, that nothing could be treated with more scern by Mr. Bletson, than the debates about Pre-238 WAVERLEY NOVELS. | lacy and Vresbytery, about Presbytery and Indepen- i) dency, about Quakers and Anabaptists, Mugeletonians and }rownists, and all the various sects with which 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 themselves about the fashion of their halters and pack-saddles, instead of em- bracing a favourable cpportunity of throwing them aside.” Other witty and pithy remarks he used-to make when time and place suited; for instance, at the club called the Rota, frequented by St. John, and established by Har- rington, for the free discussion of political and religious subjects. But when Bletson was out of this academy, or strong- hold of philosophy, he was very cautious how he carried his contempt of the general prejudice in favour of religion and Christianity further than an implied objection or a sneer. If he had an opportunity of talking in private with an ingenuous and. intelligent 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 latus clarus of reason, assuring hun that such as he, laying aside the bulia 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 doc- ; trines in whole, or in part, of the sage who had seen his i natural genius, and who had urged him to exert it in ex- amining, detecting, and declaring for himself; and thus flattery gave proselytes to infidelity, which could not have been gained by all the powerful eloguence or artful soph- istry of the infidel.WOODSTOCK. 236 These aitempts to extend 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 disposition. He was conscious his doctrines were suspected, and his proceedings watched, by the two principal sects of Prelatists and Presbyteri- ans, who, however inimical to each other, were still more hostile to one who was an Opponent, not only to a church establishment of any kind, but to every denomination of Christianity. He found it more easy to shroud himself among the Independents, whose demands were for a gen- eral liberty of conscience, or an unlimited toleration, and whose faith, differing in all respects and particulars, was by some pushed into such wild errors, as to get totally beyond the bounds of every species of Christianity, and approach very near to infidelity itself, as extremes of each kind are said to approach each other. Bletson mixed a good deal among those sectaries; and such was his confi- dence in his own logic and address, that he is supposed to have entertained hopes of bringing to his opinions in time the enthusiastic Vane, as well as- the no less enthu- siastic Harrison, provided he could but get them to resign their visions of a Fifth Monarchy, and induce them to be contented with a reign of Philosophers in England for the natural period of their lives, instead of the reign of the Saints during the Millennium. Such was the singular group into which Everard was now introduced ; showing, in their various opinions, upon how many devious coasts human nature may make ship- wreck, when she has once let go her hold on the anchor which religion has given her to lean upon; the acute self- zonceit and worldly learning of Bletson—the rash and ignorant conclusions of the fierce and under-bred Harri240 WAVERLEY NOVELS. son, leading them into the opposite extremes of enthusiasm and infidelity, while Desborough, constitutionally stupid, thought nothing about religion at all: and while the others were active in making sail on different but equally erroneous courses, he might be said to perish like a ves- sel, which springs a leak and founders in the roadstead. It was wonderful to behold what a strange variety of mis- takes and errors, on the part of the King and his Minis- ters, on the part of the Parliament and their leaders, on the part of the allied kingdoms of Scotland and England towards each other, had combined to rear up men of such dangerous opinions and interested characters among the arbiters of the destiny of Britain. Those 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 per- ceive that nothing but the want of concession on either side, and the deadly height to which the animosity of the KXing’s and Parliament’s parties had arisen, could have so totally overthrown the well-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.W OODSTOCE. CHAPTER XII. hree form a College—an you give us four, Let him bring his share with him. BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. Mr. BLetson arose and paid his respects to Colonel Everard, with the ease and courtesy of a gentleman of the time ; though on every account orieved at his intru- sion, as a religious man who held his free-thinking prin- ciples in detestation, and would effectually prevent his conversion of Harrison, and even of Desborough, if any thing could be moulded out of such a clod, to the worship of the Animus Mundi. Moreover, Bletson knew Ever- ard to be a man of steady probity, and by no means disposed to close with a scheme on which he had success- fully sounded the other two, and which was calculated to assure the Commissioners of some little private indemni- fication for the trouble they were to give themselves in the public business. The philosopher was yet less pleased, when he saw the magistrate and the pastor who had met him in his flight of the preceding evening, when he had been seen, parma non bene relicta, with cloak and doublet left behind him. The presence of Colonel Everard was as unpleasing to Desborough 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, VoL. XLi. 16242 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 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 paris instead of three; and this reflec- tion added to the natural awkwardness with which he grumbled forth a sert of welcome, addressed to Ever- ard, 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 com- panions to sit down nearer the foot of the board. Wild- rake so far misunderstood his signals, as to sit down above the Mayor; but rallying his recollection at a look from his patron, he rose and took his place lower, whistling, 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 emerged, seized on the black-jack of ale, withdrew it within the vapoury sanctuary, and, after a potential draught, re- placed it upon the table, its owner beginning to renew the cloud which his intermitted exercise of the tube had almost allowed to subside. Nobody made any observation on his conduct, out of respect, probably, to Colonel Everard, who bit his lip, but continued silent; aware that censure might extract some escapade more unequivocally characteristic of a cavalier, from his refractory companion. As. silenceWOODSTOCK. 243 seemed awkward, and the others made no advances te break it, beyond the ordinary salutation, Colonel Everard at length said, “I presume, gentlsmen, that you are some- what surprised at my arrival here, and thus intruding nyself into your meeting ? ” “Why the dickens should we be surprised, Colonel?” said Desborough ; “ we know his Excellency, my brother- in-law Noll’s—I mean my Lord Cromwell’s way, of over- quartering his men in the towns he marches through. Thou hast obtained a share in our commission ?” “And in that,” said Bletson, smiling and bowing, “ the Lord General has given us the most acceptable colleague that could have been added to our 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 pres- ently advise you.”—He took out his warrant accordingly, and was about to communicate the contents; but observ- ing that there were three or four half-empty flasks upon the table, that Desborough 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 mansion, by laying in a store of what is called Dutch courage, and therefore prudently resolved to postpone his more important busi- ness with them till the cooler hour of morning. He, therefore, instead of presenting the General’s warrant superseding their commission, contented himself with re- plying,—* My business has, of course, some reference to your proceedings here. But here is—excuse my curt ssity—a reverend genileman,” pointing to Holdenough, ‘who has told me that you are so strangely embarrassedeee Bad WAVERLEY NOVELS. 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 prin- ciples, “JI 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 an- swered the question with a better title; but at present I am only his honour’s poor clerk, or secretary, whichever is the current phrase.” “’Pore George, my lively blade, thou art a frank fellow of thy tattle,’ said Desborough. “There is my secretary ‘Tomkins, cies men sillily enough call Fibbet, and the honourable Lieutenant-General Harrison’s secre- tary Bibbet, who are now at supper below stairs, that durst not for their ears speak a phrase above their breath in the presence of their betters, unless to answer a ques- tion.” “ Yes, Colonel Everard,” said the philosopher, with his quiet smile, glad, apparently, to divert the conversation from the topic of last night’s alarm, and recollections which humbled his self-love and _ self-satisfaction—* yes; and when Master Fibbet and Master Bibbet do mila their affirmations are as much in a common mould of mutual attestation, as their names would aecord in the verses of a poet. If Master Fibbet happens to tell a fiction, Master Bibbet swears it as truth. If Master Bibbet chances te have gotten drunk in the fear of the Lord, Master Fibbet swears he is sober. I have called my own secretary Gibbet, dough his name chances to be onl y Gibeon, a worthyWOODSTOCK. 245 Israelite at your service, but as pure a youth as ever picked a lamb-bone at Paschal. But 1 call him Gibbet, merely to make up the holy trefoil with another rhyme. This squire of thine, Colonel Everard, looks as if hs might be worthy to be coupled with the rest of the fra- ternity.” “Not J, truly,” said the cavalier; “I'll be coupled with no Jew that was ever whelped, and no Jewess neither.” “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 Des- borough, “’fore George, they will have thee before the General Assembly, Bletson, if thou venturest to say So.” Wildrake laughed without ceremony at the gross igno- rance of Desborough, and was joined by a snigeling response from behind the cupboard, which, when inquired into, proved to be produced by the serving-men. These worthies, timorous as their betters, when they were sup- posed to have left the room, had only withdrawn to their present place of concealment. “low now, ye rogues,” said Bletson, angrily; “do you not know your duty better?” “We beg your worthy honour’s pardon,” said one of the men, “but we dared not to go down stairs without a hight.” “A light, ye cowardly poltroons ?” said the philosopher ; * what to show which of you looks palest when a rat squeaks ?—but take a candlestick and begone, you cow- ardly villains' the devils you are so much afraid of must pe but paltry kites, if they hawk at such bats as you are.” The servants, without replying, took up one of the246 WAVERLEY NOVELS. vandlesticks, and prepared to retreat, Trusty Tomkins at the head of the troop, when suddenly, as they arrived at the door of the parlour, which had been left half open, it was shut violently. The three terrified domestics tum- bled 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 any thing frightful had been seen; but he re- mained stationary, to see what his companions would do, and to get at the bottom, if possible, of the cause of their alarm upon an occasion so trifling. The philosopher seemed to think that he was the person chiefly concerned to show manhood on the occasion. He walked to the door accordingly, murmuring at the cowardice of the servants; but at such a snail’s pace, that it seemed he would most willingly have been anti- eipated by any one whom his reproaches had roused to exertion. “Cowardly blockheads!” he said at last seizing hold of the handle of the door, but without. turn- * ing it effectually round—* dare you not open a door?” (still fumbling with the lock) “dare you not go down a staircase without a light? Here, bring me the candle, you cowardly villains !—By Heaven, something sighs on the outside ! ” As he spoke, he let go the handle of the parlour door, and stepped back a pace or two into the apartment with cheeks as pale as the band he wore. “ Deus adjutor meus!” said the Presbyterian clergy- man, rising from his seat. “ Give place, sir,” addressing Bletson; “it would seem I know more of this matter than thou. and I bless Heaven I am armed for the con flict.”WOODSTOCK. 247 Bold as-a grenadier about to mount a breach, yet with the same belief in the existence of a great danger to be encountered, as well as the same reliance in the goodness of his cause, the worthy man stepped before the phil psophical 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 any thing,” said Bletson, “excepting those terrified oafs, who take fright at every puff of wind that whistles through the passages of this old dungeon ?” “ Mark you, Master Tomkins,” said one of the waiting- “ See how boldly the men in a whisper to the steward, minister pressed forward before all of them. Ah! Master Tomkins, our parson is the real commissioned officer of the church—your lay-Rgechens, A are no better than a parcel of club-men and volunteers Follow me, those who list,” aa Master Holdenough, © « “or go before me those who choose, I will walk through the habitable places of this house before I leave it, and satisfy myself whether Satan hath really mingled himself amone these dreary dens of ancient wickedness, or whether, like the wicked of whom holy David speaketh, we are ata and flee when no one pursueth.” Harrison, who had heard. these words, sprung from his ceat, 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 ! ” 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 i the body, thinking himself safer perhaps im tae company248 WAVERLEY NOVELS. of his paster; 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 Everard, 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. “ You see, my good Colonel,” he said, affecting & cour- age which his shaking voice belied, “here are only you and I and honest Desborough left behind in garrison, while all the others are absent on a sally. We must not hazard the whole troops in one sortie—that were unmili- tary—Ha, ha, ha!” “In the name of Heay en, what means all this?” said Everard. “I heard a foolish tale about apparitions as I came this way,*and now I find you all half mad with fear, and cannot get a word of sense among so many of you. Fie, Colonel Des pbbell ssa, Master Bletson— try to compose youre lves, and let me know in Heaven’s name, the cause of all this dist turbance. One would be apt to think your brains were turned.” “And so mine well may,” said Desborough, “ay, and Overturned too, since my bed last night was turned up- side down, and I was placed for ten minutes heels upper: most, and head downmost, like a bullock going to be shod.” “What means this nonsense, Master Bletson ?—Des- borough must have had the ni¢htmare.” “No, faith, Colonel: the goblins, or whatever else they were, had been favour ae to honest Desborough, for: they reposed the whole o his body which—Hark, did you not hear something ?—is the central point of gray ity, namel ’ his person on that part of y, his head.”WOODSTOCK. 249 “ Did you see any thing to alarm you?” said the Col- onel. “ Nothing,” said Bletsgn; “but we heard hellish noises, us all our people did; and I, believing little of ghosts and apparitions, concluded the cavaliers were taking us at ad- vantage; so, remembering Rainsborough’s fate, I e’en jumped the window, 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 down my commission at the time of the self-denying ordinance. It would have been quite inconsistent with my duty as a Parlament-man to be brawling amidst a set of ruffians, without any military authority. No—when the Parlia- ment commanded me to sheathe my sword, Colonel, J 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. Ods dickens! you might have stopped when you saw my bed canted heels uppermost, and me half stifled in the bedclothes— you might, I say, have stopped and lent a hand to put it to rights, instead of jumping out of the window, like a aew-shorn sheep, so soon as you had run across my room.” “ Nay, worshipful Master Desborough,” said Bletson, winking on Everard, to show that he was playing on his thiek-skulled colleague, “ how could I tell your particular mode of reposing ’—.there are many tastes—I have known men who slept by ¢c choice on a slope cr angle of forty-five.”WAVERLEY NOVELS. “Yes, but did ever a man sleep standing on his head, except by miracle?” said Desborough. “ 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—*T leave these out of the question, seeing that the evidence on such subjects seems as little qualified to carry.conviction as a horsehair to land a leviathan.” A loud clap of thunder, or a noise as formidable, rang through the Lodge as the scoffer had ended, which struck him pale and motionless, and made Desborough throw himself on his knees, and repeat exclamations and pray- ers in much admired contusion. “There must be contrivance here.” exclaimed Ever- ard; and snatching one of the candles from a sconce, he rushed out of the apartment, little heeding the entreaties of the philosopher, 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 assaulted by ruffians. As for Desborough, he only gaped like a clown in a panto- mime ; 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 conducted 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 ktninhabited part of the mansion, and availed himself ofWOODSTOCK. 25) the candle to traverse two or three intricate passages which he was afraid he might not remember with suff. clent accuracy. This movement conveyed him to 2 sort of e7l-de-beuf, an octagon vestibule, or small hall. from which various rooms opened. Amongst these doors, Kverard selected that which led to a very long, narrow, and dilapidated gallery, built in the time of Henry VIIL, and which, running along the whole southwest 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 open the door into the gallery. At this point he found himself strongly opposed either by a bolt drawn, or, as le rather conceived, by somebody from within resisting his attempt. He was induced to believe the latter, be- cause the resistance slackened and was renewed, like that of human strength, instead of presenting the permanent opposition of an inanimate obstacle. Though Everard was a strong and active young man, he exhausted his strength in the vain attempt to open the door; and having paused to take breath, was about to renew his efforts vith 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 the strength of the opposing obstacle was situated, he fuund it give way to a very slight impulse, some impedi- ment full broken to the ground, and the door flew wide yen. The gust of wind occasioned by the sudden open-WAVERLEY NOVELS. ing of the door, blew out the candle, and Everard was left in darkness, save where the moonshine, which the long side-row of latticed windows dimmed, could imper- fectly force its way into the gallery, which lay in ghostly leneth before him. The melancholy and doubtful twilight was increased by a quan ity of creeping plants on the outside, which, since ail Lad been neglected in these ancient halls, now com: pletely overgrown, had in some instances greatly dimin- fmt € shed, and in others almost quite choked up, the space of the lattices, extending between the heavy stone shaft-work which divided the windows, both lengthways and across. On the other side there were no windows at all, and the gallery had been once hung round with paintings, chiefly portraits, by which that side of 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 ap- peared so well adapted for mischief, supposing there were enemies near him, that Everard could not help pausing at the entrance, and recommending himself to God, ere, drawing his sword, he advanced into the apartment, tread- ing as lightly as possible, and keeping in the shadow ag much as he could. Markham Everard was by no means superstitious, but he had the usual credulity 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 very situa- tion, where, if such things were ever permitted, they might be expected to take place, while his own stealthy and ill-assured pace, his drawn weapon, and extended arms, being the very attitude and action of doubt andWOODSTOCK. Pas suspicion, tended to increase in his mind the gloomy feel- ings of which they are the usual indications, and with which they are constantly associated. Under such un- pleasant impressions, and conscious of the neighbourhood 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 pro- nounce his name. “Here I am,” he replied, while his heart beat thick and short. “ Who calls on Markham Everard ?” Another sigh was the only answer. “Speak,” said the Colonel, “whoever or whatsoever you are, and tell with what intent and purpose you are lurking in these apartments ?” “With a better intent than yours,” returned the soft voice. 9 “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 avenge it?” “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 engaged? where is your father? why are you here ?—wherefore do you run se deadly a venture ?—Speak, I conjure you, Alice Lee!” “She whom you call on is at the distance of miles from this spot. What if her Genius speaks when she is absent ?—-what if the soul of an ancestress of hers and yours were now addressing you ?—what if ”»—— “ Nay.” answered Everard, “but what if the dearest254 WAVERLEY NOVELS. of human beings has caught a touch of her father’s en- thusiasm?—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 yourown person. Iam 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 practised upon. ‘Trust me—trust your cousin Markham with your hand, and believe that he will die or place you in honourable safety.” As he spoke, he exercised his eyes as keenly as pos- sible 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 was 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 endeavoured 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 * them both the most engaged her, he would be renderin essential favour. 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 4 stupid Desborough, and the crazy Harrison, there was little doubt that at leneth their artifices must necessarily ming shame and danger on those engaged in it. It must also be remembered, that Everard’s affectionWOODSTOCK. 2H to his cousin, alchough of the most respectful and devoted character. partook less of the distant veneration which a lover of those days enteitained for the lady whom he worshipped with humble diffidence, than of the fond and familiar feelings which a brother entertains towards 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 endeavouring 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 conflagration, at the chance of hurting her by the violence of his grasp. All this passed through his mind in the course of a single minute; and he resolved at all events to detain her on the spot, and compel, if possible, an ex- planation from her. With this purpose, Everard again conjured his cousin, in the name of Heaven, to give up this idle and dan- gerous mummery; and lending an accurate ear to her answer, endeavoured from the sound to calculate as nearly as possible the distance between them. > “J am not she for whom you take me,” said the voice ; “and dearer recards 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 endeavouring 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 fleor. Ai th- saine time he felt the point of a sword at his256 WAVERLEY NOVELS. throat, and his hands so completely mastered, that not the slightest defence remained to him. “A ery 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 ficld 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 throbbed, as if it would burst from its confinement in the bosom—he e xperienced the agony which fear imposes on the brave man, acute in proportion to that which pain inflicts when it subdues the vobust and healthy. “Cousin rough on the trenches, and dying stubbornly in their Hoots. Ah! those merry days are 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 t was fitted for the element of the time, and never did o1WOODSTOCK: 819 ean desire merrier days than I had during that same bar- barous, bloody, and unnatural rebellion.” “Thou wert ever a wild sea-bird, Roger, even accord- ig to your name ; liking the gale better than the calm, tl o your rough, wild struggle against the wind, than daily ~ e boisterous ocean better than the smooth lake, and 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 whenever she whistles! Everard, [ like to feel the wind rustle 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 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 re- velling 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 persuasion.” “More the pity, Mark, more the pity,” said Wildrake ; “but, as you say, it is needless talking of it. Let us e’en go and see how your Presbyterian pastor, Mr. Hold- enough, has fared. and whether ke has proved more able - to foil the foul Fiend than have you his disciple and auditor.” They left the apartment accordingly, and were over- whelmed with the various incoherent accounts of sentinels and others, all of whom had seen or heard something ex- traordinary in the course of the night. It is needless to describe particularly the various rumours which each con- e 241. : ig vr ca nara tributed to the common stock, with the greater alacrityB20 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 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 the squeaking of a pig. They heard also as if it had been nails driven and saws used, and the clash- ing of fetters, and the rustling of silk gowns, and the notes of music, and in short all sorts of sounds, which have noth- ing to do with each other. Others swore they had ‘smelt savours of various kinds, chiefly bituminous, indicating a Satanic derivation ; others did not indeed swear, but pro- tested, to visions of men in armour, horses without heads, asses with horns, and cows with six legs, not to mention black figures, whose cloven hoofs gave plain information what realm they belonged to. But these strongly-attested cases of nocturnal disturb- knces among the sentinels had been so general as to pre- vent alarm and succour 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 complete execution on 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 Harrison in half his battles, and now was sentinel in that very vesti- bule upon which Everard had reeommended them to - mount a guard. He had presented his carabine at some- thing 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 bedding of Desborough, upon whom a tub ot ditch- water had been emptied during his sleep, were the onlyWOODSTOCK. 39] pieces of real evidence to attest the disturbances of tne night. The reports from Harrison’s apartment were, as de- livered by the grave Master Tomkins, that truly the General had passed the night undisturbed, though there was still upon him a deep sleep, and a folding of the hands to slumber; from waich Everard argued that the machinators had esteemed Harrison’s part of the reckon- ing sufficiently paid off on the preceding evening. oD lie then proceeded to the apartment doubly garrisoned by the worshipful Desborough, and the philosophical Bletson. They were both up and dressing themselves; the former open-mouthed in his feeling of fear and suffer- ing. Indeed, no sooner had Everard entered, than the ducked and dismayed Colonel made a dismal complaint of the way he had spent the night, and murmured not a little against his worshipful kinsman for imposing a task upon him which inferred so much annoyance. “Could not his Excellency, my kinsman Noll,” he said, “have given his poor relative and brother-in-law a sop somewhere 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 of 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 for ever; hopes of earthly gain shall never make me run the risk of being < 7 away bodily by the devil, besides being set upon ~_— 2arries e my head one whole night, and soused with ditch-water q T : > ” the next—No, no; I am too wise for that. 9 VOL, “S1.1- 21one WAVERLEY NOVELS. Master Bletson had a different part to act. He com- plained 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 appari- tions, Mastér 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 an old fre- quenter of the forest of Woodstock, here” “Chaser?” said Desborough; “some huntsman, be- like, by his name. Does he walk, like Hearne at Wind- sor?” “ 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 “T for one desire his room rather than his company; one of description of the old poet was unintelligible your conjurers, I warrant him. - But what says he to the matter ?” “Only a slight spell, which I will take the freedom to repeat to Colonel Everard,” said Bletson; “ but which would be as bad as Greek to thee, Desborough Old GeofWOODSTOCK. rey lays the whole blame of our nocturnal disturbance on superfluity cf humours, ‘ Which causen folke to dred in their dreams Of arrowes, and of fire with red gleams, Right as the humour of Melancholy Causeth many a man in sleey 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 sticking out from beneath the pillow of the bed lately occupied by the honourable member. “Ts that Chaucer?” he said, making to the volume; “J would like to look at the passage” “Chaucer?” said Bletson, hastening to interfere; “no -—that is Lucretius, my darling Lucretius. I cannot let you see it; I have some. private marks.” But by this time Everard had the book in his hand. “ Lucretius ?” 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, in- stead 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.” “ Why, what book is it?” said Bletson, his pale cheek colouring with the shame of detection. “ Oh! the Bible!” throwing it down contemptuously ; “some book of my fellow Gibeon’s; these Jews have been always supersti- tious—ever since Juvenal’s time, thou knowest— ‘Qualiacunque yoles Judzi somnia vendunt.’ He left me the old book for a spell, I warrant you; for tis a well-meaning fool.” *“ He would scarce have left the New Testament as well as the Old’ said Everard. “Come, my dear Blet-oot WAVERLEY NOVELS. son, do not be ashamed of the wisest thing you ever did in your life, supposing 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 overeame his constitutional cowardice. His little thin fingers quiv- ered for eagerness, his neck and cheeks were as red as scarlet, and his articulation.was as thick and \ehement as—in short, as if he had been no philosopher. “Master Everard,’ he said, “you are a man of the sword, sir; and, sir, you seem to suppose yourself entitled to say whatever 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 no man of honour will endure, sir—and therefore, I expect an apology for your present language, Colonel Everard, and: this unmannerly 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 valour, engendered by irritated self-love. “ Look you, Master Bletson,” he said, “I have been a ioldier, that is true, but I was never. 2 bloody-minded one ; and, as a Christian, I am unwilling to enlarge the kingdom of darkness by sending a néw 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 rencontre, would be your fate in the thrust of a sword, or the pulling of a trigger—I therefore prefer to apologize ; and I call Desborough, if he has recovered his wits, to bear evidence that I do apo- logize for having suspected you, who are completely the slave of your own vanity, of any tendency, howevei slight, towards grace or good sense. And I fartkeWOODSTOCK. aes apolosize for the time that I |] lave wasted in endeayour- ing to wasl 1 an Ethiopian white, or in recommending rational inquiry 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 tremble for the consequences—answered with great eagerness and serviltty of manner.—“ Nay, dearest Colonel, say no more of it—an apology is all that is of honour—it neither leaves dis- honour with him who asks it, nor infers degradation on necessary amone men him who makes it.” “ Not such an apology the Colonel. “No, no—not in the least,” as I have made, I trust,” said answered Bletson—* one apology serves me just as well as another, and Des- borough 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, ‘t may be told correctly.” 4 “ Nay, nay, we will not mention it at all,” said Blet- son, “ 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 to others. But to be thought capable of resorting to spells, and sleeping with books under my pillow to secure my- self against ghosts,—on my word, it was enough to pro- voke one to quarrel, for the moment, with his very best triend.—And now, Colonel, what is to be lone, and how . Spl ylace F pa ‘Ss our duty to be executed at this accursed place? If }WAVERLEY NOVELS. should get such a wetting as Desborough’s, why T 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 Des- borough, commands you to desist from acting on your present authority, and intimates his pleasure accordingly, that you withdraw from this place.” Desborough took the paper and examined the signa- ture.—“It 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 Crom- well 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 drenched as if they they have the crick in their neck had been plunged in a horsepond—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 have wived his sister. She was poor enough when I took her, for as high as Noll holds his head now.” “Tt is not my purpose,” said Bletson, “ to stir debate in this honourable 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 maich-WOODSTOCK. 32} less qualities of courage and constancy, have raised sa high in these deplorable days.—If T were to term him a direct and immediate emanation of the Animus Mundt itselt—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 | entertain of him. Always protesting, that I am by no means to be held as admitting, but merely as grauting for the sake of argument, the possible 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 rela- tion—to you, Colonel Everard, who hold the dearér 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 wit- ness 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 oppor- tunities 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 con- ferred cn 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 con fidence that I—and you, Master Desborough—and you, worthy (seneral Harrison—superior, as I am, to all self:8323 WAVERLEY NOVELS. ish considerations—to which I am 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 as well as respectable associates, one and all of them you, Colonel Everard, supposing you to have been of the number, induced me to accept of this opportunity, where- by I might, gratuitously, with your assistance, render so much advantage to our dear mother tlhe Commonwealth of England.—Such was my hope—my trust—my con- fidence. And now comes my Lord General’s warrant to dissolve the authority by which we are entitled to act. Gentlemen, I ask this honourable meeting, (with all re- spect to his Excellency,) whether his commission be par- amount to that from which he himself directly holds Azs commission? No one will say so. I ask whether he has climbed into the seat from which the late Man de- scended, or hath a great seal, or means to proceed by prerogative in such a case? I cannot see reason to be- lieve it, and therefore I must resist such doctrine. J am in your judgment, my brave and honourable 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 ad- dition, 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 superstitious rumors, as well as to avoid any practice on pur persons by the malignants, who, I am convinced, are pusy in this neighborhood, we should remoye cur sittings after sunset to the George Inn, in the neighbouring vorough.” “ Good Master Bletson,” replied Colonel Everard, “ itWOODSTOCK. 329 is Got 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 pre- cept of the General, will be expressed by the march of a troop of horse from Oxford to see it executed. I be- lieve there are orders out for that effect ; and you know by late experience, that the soldier will obey his Genera] equally against King and Parliament.” “That obedience is conditional,” said Harrison, start- ing fiercely up. “ Know’st thou not, Markham Everard, that I 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 IT 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 three, 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 Crom- well think Iam so much of a tame tiger as to permit him to rend from me at 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 as- sault—ay, even against Cromwell himself, until the latter eoming—Selah! Selah! ”——WAVERLEY NOVELS. “And I,” said Desborough, “ will levy troops and pro tect your out-quarters, not choosing at present to close myself up in garrison ” “ And J,” said Bletson, “ will do my part, and hie me to town and lay the matter before Parliament, arising in my place 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 endeavoured to moderate his feelings, and threw something 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 I not the champion chosen and commissioned to encounter and to conquer the Great Dragon, and the Beast which cometh out of the sea? Am I not to com- mand the left wing, and two regiments 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 J will keep this place of Woodstock against all mortal men, and against all devils, whether in field or chamber, in the forest or in the meadow, 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, subsequently to the communication through Wildrake. The information they contained was calcu- Jated to allay the disappointment of the Commissioners. This document assigned as the zeason-of superseding theWOODSTOCK. 351 Woodstock Commissicn, that he should probably propose to the Parliament to require the assistance of General Harrison, Colonel Desborough, and Master Bletson, the honourable member for 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 pricked up their ears ; and their drooping, and gloomy, and vindictive looks began to give place to courteous smiles, and to a cheerful- ness, which laughed in their eyes, and turned their mus- taches upwards. Colonel Desborough acquitted his right honourable and excellent cousin and kinsman of all species of unkind- ness; 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 Har- rison, he exclaimed, without disguise or hesitation, that che 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 pro- posed earthly advantage, as if it had not been, according to his vain persuasion, to be shortly exchanged for his share in the general reign of the Millennium. His de- light, in short, resembled the joy of an eagle, who preys upon a lamb in the evening with not the less relish, be- cause she descries in the distant landscape an hundred thousand men about to join 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 precautionary measure, in which all agreed, that they should take up thei abode for some time in the town ofCae WAVERLEY NOVELS. Woodstock, to wait 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 sied. Each commissioner, therefore, wrote to Oliver indivi- dually, stating, in his own way, the depth and height, length and breadth, of his attachment to him. fach ex- pressed himself resolved to obey the General’s injune- tions to the uttermost; but with the same scrupulous devotion to the Parliament, each found himself at a 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 willing- ness instantly to devote themselves, according to his Ex cellency’s pleasure. This was the general style of their letters, varied by the characteristic flourishes of the writers. Desborough for example, 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 poli tical obligation incumbent on every member of the com munity, on every person, to sacrifice his time and talents to the service of his country; while Harrison talked of the littlkeness 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 profit able commission.WOODSTOCK Everard also wrote a letter in t} 16 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 tequest. He acquainted his Excellency with his purpose of continuing at Woodstock, partly to assure himself of the motions of tke three commissioners, and to watch whether they did not again enter upon the execution of the trust, which they had for renounced,—and partly to see th circumstances, which had taken p which would doubtless transpire, were not followed by any explosion to the disturbance of the public peace. He knew (as he expressed himself) that his was so much the friend of order, tl disturbances or insurrections we the present at some extraordinary lace in the Lodge, and Excellency 1at_ he would rather re prevented than pun- ished; and he conjured the General to repose confidence in his exertions for the public 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 for- warded to Windsor by a trooper, detached on that errand,WAVERLEY NOVELS. CHAPTER XVIL We do that in our zeal, Our calmer moments are afraid to answer. ANONYMOUS. W ute the Commissioners were preparing to remove themselves 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 -o whom greatness is not entirely familiar, Everard held some colloquy with the Presbyterian clergyman, Master Holdenough, who had issued from ihe 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 oursbread 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 ‘WOODSTOOK. 3oD. pure and vivid, the thanks I owe to Heaven for a most wonderful preservation.” 6c 90 . : 9 Master Hold nough, said Everard, “you are, | know, both a good man and a bold one, and I saw last night courageously go ny soldiers, and tried ones, s you 20n your sacred duty, when eemed considerably alarmed.” venturous,” was Master Hold- enough’s reply, the boldness of whose aspect 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 “T have seen that which I s] “Too courageous—too seemed partly involuntary, iall never survive! ” “ You. surprise me, reverend sir,” said Everard — “may I request you will speak more plainly? I. have heard some stories of this wild night, nay, have witnessed strange things myself; but, methinks, I would be much interested in knowing the nature of your disturbance.” ‘« Sir,” said the clergyman, “you are a discreet gentle- man; and though I would not willingly the tics, schismatics, Brownists, Mugeletoni and so forth, I it. these here- ans, Anabaptists, nad 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 faltering ; though, I thank Heaven, I am in mind resolute and composed as a 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, { only depart like the tired sentinel when his otlieer re336 WAVERLEY NOVELS. leases him from his_post; and glad shall L be to close these wearied eyes against the sight, and shut these har. assed ears against the croaking, as of frogs, of Antino- mians, and Pelagians, and Socinians, and Arminians, and Arians, and Nullifidians, which have come up into our England, like those filthy reptiles into the house of Pha- raoh.” 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 endeavouring 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 refreshment 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 cler- gyman proceeded as follows, with that little characteristi- eal touch of vanity in his narrative, which naturally arose out of the part he had played in the world, and the influ- ence 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 friendshipWOODSTOCK. 337 to a fellow-student, perhaps because we were esteemed (though it is vain to mention it) the most | 1opeful scholars rt our college; and so equally advanced, that it was diffi- eait, perhaps, to say which was the greater proficient in nis 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 jn grace; for he was attached to the profane learning of the classics, 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 favoured Prelacy both in essentials and ceremonial ; and although we parted with tears and em- braces, it was to follow very different courses. He ob- tained a living, and became a great controversial writer in behalf of the Bishops and of the Court. [ also, as i3 well known to you, to the best of my poor abilities, sharp- ened my pen in the cause of the poor oppressed people. whose tender consciences rejected the rites and ceremo- nies more befitting a papistical than a reformed Church, and which, according to the blinded policy of the Court, were entorced by pains and penalties. ‘Then came the Civil War, and I—called thereunto by my conscience, and nothing fearing or suspecting what miserable conse- quences have chanced through the rise of these Indepen- dents—consented to lend my countenance and labour to the great work, by becoming chaplain to Colonel Harri- son’s regiment. Not that I mingled with carnal weapons in the field—which Heaven forbid that a minister of the altar shoull—tut 1 p»eached, exhorted, and, ip time of VOL. XLI. 22B38 WAVERLEY NOVELS. need, was a surgeon, as well to the wounds of the body us of the soul. Now, it fell, towards 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 « 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 val- jantly. And so, contrary to my wont, I went forth with them, even to the field, where there was valiant fighting on both sides. Nevertheless, the malignants shooting their wall-pieces at us, had so much the advantage, that, after bursting their gates with a salvo of our cannon, Colonel Harrison ordered his men to advance on the cruseway, and try to carry the place by storm. Nathe- less, although our men did valiantly, advancing in cood order, yet being galled on every side by the fire, they at length fell imto disorder, and were retreating with much less, Harrison himself valiantly bringing up the rear, and defending them as he could against the enemy, who sal- lied forth in pursuit of them, to smite them hip and thigh. Now, Colonel Everard, I am a man of a quick and yehe- ment 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, whoWOODSTOCK. Was umong the malignants, and asking them whether ¢] would not do as much for a true the uncireumcised would and strokes prevailed ; iey servant of Heaven, as fora priest of Baal. My words they turned at onee, and shouting out, Down with Baal and his worshippers! they charged the malignants so unexpectedly | tome, that they not only ir house of garrison, but entered as the phrase is, pell-mell. I also was there, iurried on by the crowd, partly to prevail on our enraged soldiers to vive quarter; 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 fighting and slaughtering, and I calling to them to Stay their hand, the building, which was in part drove them back into the it with them, partly | we gained the very roof of leaded, and to which, asa last tower of refuge, those of the cavaliers, who yet escaped, had retired. self, J may say, forced up. tl by our soldiers, who I was my- 1e narrow winding staircase rushed on like dogs of chase upon and when extricated from. the } found myself in tl their prey ; assage, I 1e midst of a horrid scene. The seat- tered defenders Were, some re sisting with the fury of de- knees, imploring for compassion in weak a man’s heart when he thinks calling on God for mercy; and it was time, for man had none. spair; some on their words and tones to | on them; some were They were stricken down, thrust through, flung from the battlements into the lake ; and the wild cries of the victors, mingled with the groans, shrieks, and clamours, of the vanquished , made a sound so horrible, that only d eath can erase it frora my memcry. And the men who butchered their fellow-creatures thus, were neither pagans from distant savage lands, sor ruf- fans, the refuse and offscourings of onr ow: : eopleWAVERLEY NOVELS. They were in calm blood reasonable, nay, religious men, maintaining 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 to wards their fellow-creatures !” “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 night.” “You shall hear anon,” said Mr. Holdenough ; then paused as one who makes an effort to compose himself before continuing 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, Colonel Everard!” He grasped Everard’s hand with his own left hand, and pressed the palm of his right to his face and fore- head, sobbing aloud. “Tt was your college companion ?” said Everard, ant- gipating the catastrophe. “Mine ancient—mine only friend—with whom f had spent the happy days of youth!—l rushed forward—I struggled—I entreated.—But my eagerness left me neither voice nor language—all was drowned in the wretched cry which L had myself raised—Down with the priest of Baal—Slay Mattan—slay him were he between the al- tars!—IFerced over the battlements, but struggling for RRA RSG Thygy 1) sta li a li a al i eeWOODSTOCK. 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. J heard the heavy fall into the bottomless abyss below.—Excuse me—TI can- not go on,” “ He may have escaped.” “Oh! no, no, no—the tower was four stories in height, Even those who threw tl 1emselves into the lake from the lower windows, to escape by swimming, had no safety ; for mounted troopers on the shore caught the same blood- thirsty humour which had seized the storming party, gal- loped around the margin of the lake, and shot those who were strugeling for life in the water, or cut them down as they strove to’get to land. They were all cut off and destroyed.—Oh ! may the blood s] silent!—Oh! that the earth may receive it in her re- cesses !—QOh! that it may be mingled for ever with the dark waters of that lake, so that it may never cry for vengeance against those whose anger w slaughtered in their wratl 1ed on that day remain as fierce, and who 1!—And, oh! may the erring man be forgiven who came into their assembly, and lent his voice to encourage their cruelty !—Oh! Albany, my brother, my brother, I |] 1ave lamented for thee even as David for Jonathan } 7?) te * Michael Hudson, the plain-dealing chaplain of King Charles I. resembled, in his loyalty to that unfortunate monarch, the fictitious tharacter of Dr. Rochecliffe; and the circumstances of his death “vere copied in the narrative of the Presbyterian’s account of the Blaughter 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 prisouer by the Parliament, remained tong in their custody, and was treated with great severity. He made his cesapa ‘or about a year i: 1647; was retaken, and again escaped in 1648 and,B42 WAVERLEY NOVELS. The good man sobbed aloud, and so much did Colonel Everaré sympathize with his emotions, that he forbore to press him upon the subject of his own curiosity until the full tide of remorseful passion ad for the time abated. heading an insurrection 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 :— “T have been on the spot,’ saith his Lordship, ‘ and made all pos- sible inquiries, 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 sullies, against a party of tte Parliament at Stanford, till the colonel commanding them seut a stronger detachment, under a captain, his own kinsman, who was shot from the house, upon which the colonel himself came up to re- new the attack, and to demand surrendery, and brought them to capitulate upon terms of safe quarter. But the colonel, in base re- venge, commanded that they should not spare that rogue Hudson. Upon which Hudson fought his way up to the leads; and when he saw they were pushing in upon him, threw himself over the battle- ments, (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 barbarously knocked him on the head.’’—Prcr’s Desideraia 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 satis- ‘action, that Eeborough was killed by the bursting of his own gun; and that Walker, oblized to abandon his trade through poverty, be- fame a scorned mendicant. Vor some time a grave was not vouchsafed t. the remains of this brave and loyal divine, till one of the other party said, “ Since he is dead, let him. be 1 uried.”’ a i i aN i an i i a iii dia a a ail i ta heWOODSTOCK. DAS It was, however, fierce and agitating, the more SO, per- haps, that indulgence in siong mental feeling of any kind etic character of the man, erpowering when it had at Large tears flowed down us thin, and usually stern, or at least austere countenance; he e was foreign to the severe and ase and was therefore the more Ov once surmounted all restraints. the trembling features of | agerly returned the compression of Everard’s hand, as if thankful for the 8ympathy which the caress implied. Presently atter, Master Holdenough wiped his eyes, Withdrew his hand gentl y from that of Everard, shaking arted, and proceeded with more com- posure: “ Forgive me this burst of passionate feeling, worthy Colonel. J | it kindly as they | 4 am conscious it little becomes a mar 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 we, 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 my- self in the strife of the land had awakened me tu 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 Everard; and spoke in a solemn and mys- terious tone of voice, almost lowered to a whisper- —“ J saw him last night.” “Saw /im—saw whom?” said Everard. “Can you mean the person whom ”——— “Whom I saw so ruthlessly slaughtered,” said the clergyman—“ My ancient college friend-—Joseph Al- banv.” “Master Holdenough, your cloth and your character alike must prevent your jesting on such a subject as this’WAVERLEY NOVELS. “ Jesting!” answered Holdenough ; “I would as soon jest on my death-bed—as soon jest upon the Bible.” “ But you must have been deceived,” answered Ever ard, hastily ; ‘ this tragical story necessarily often returns to your mind, and in moments when the imagination over- comes the evidence of the outward senses, your fancy must have presented to you an unreal appearance. Nothing more likely, when the mind is on the stretch after something supernatural, than that the imagination should supply the place with a chimera, while the over- excited feelings render it difficult to dispel the delusion.” “ Colonel Everard,” replied Holdenough, with auster- ity, “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 carnal 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, you err m this, and give men too much pretence to confound your honourable 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 strengthened, 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; “I do not deny the existence of such preter- yatural 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. Neverthe- less, though I grant the possibility of such things, I have ae EA EN ~% Si ie aii iWOODSTOCK. $45 scarce yet heard of an instance in my days so well forti- fied by evidence, that I could at once and distinctly say, This must have happened by supernatural ageney, and not otherwise.” “ Hear, then, what I have to tell,” said the divine, “on the faith of a man, a Christian, and, what is more, a ser- vant of our Holy Church; and, therefore, though un- worthy, an elder and a teache1 among Christians. I had taken my post yester evening in the half-furnished apart- ment; wherein hangs a huge mirror, which might have served Goliath of Gath to have admired himself in, when clothed from head to foot in his brazen armour. TI the rather chose this place, because they informed 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 resolved 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 bodily fear,—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 myselfi—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 23 nourishing and supporting that true trust and conf fence in the blessed promises, being the true shield of 'aith wherewith the fiery darts of Satan may be withB46 WAVERLEY NOVELS. stood and quenched. And thus armed and prepared, 1 sate me down to read, at the same time to write, that I might compel my mind to attend to those subjects which became the situat'on in which I was placed, as preventing any unlicensed excursions of the fancy, and leaving no room for my imagination to brood over idle fears. So IT , methodized, and wrote down what I thought meet for the time, and peradventure some hungry souls may yét profit by the foed 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 weari- ness, a strange thrilling came over my senses, and the large and old-fashioned apartment seemed to wax larger, more gloomy, and more eavernous, while the air of the night grew more cold and chill. I know not if it was that the fire began to decay, or whether there cometh be- fore such things as were then about to 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 standing light which was then in front of the glass. And I looked up, and I saw ‘n the glass distinctly the appearance of a man—as sure rs these words issue from my mouth, it was no other than the sanre Joseph Albany—the companien of my youth—WOODSTOCK. he whom I had seen precipitated down the battlements of Clidesthrough Castle into the deep lake below!” “ What did you do?” “Tt suddevly 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 possessed 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.” “If 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 fool- ishness touching the things that are not worldly.” “ Did you not look again upon the mirror?” Colonel. “I did, when I had copied out the comfortable text, Thou shalt tread down Satan under thy feet.’ ” * And what did you then see?” said tha “The reflection of the same Joseph Albany,” said Holdenough, * passing slowly as from behind my chair— he same in member and lineament that I had knewn him n his youth, excepting that his cheek had the marks of the more advanced age at which he died, and was very pale.”WAVERLEY NOVELS. “ What did you then?” “T turned from the glass, and plainly saw the figure which had made the reflection in the mirror retreating towards 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, ghastly 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.” “This is a strange, and, as coming from you, a most excellently well-attested apparition,” answered Everard. “And yet, Master Holdenough, if the other world has been actually displayed, as you apprehend, and I will not dispute the possibility, assure yourself there are alse wicked men concerned in these machinations. I myself have undergone some: rencontres with visitants who pos- sessed bodily strength, and wore, I am sure, earthly weapons.” “Oh! doubtless, doubtless,” replied Master Hold- enough; “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. But failing that ghostly armament. against these strange and unearthlyWOODSTOCK. 349 enemies, truly 1 would recommend, that as a house of witcheraft and abomination, this polluted den of ancient tyranny and prostitution should be totally consumed by fire, lest Satan, establishing his head-quarters so much ta his mind, should find a garrison and a fastness from which he might sally forth to infest the whole neighbourhood. 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 practise spells and charms to the prejudice of the souls of the covetous. Trust me, there- fore, it were better that it were spoiled and broken down, not leaving one stone upon another.” “J 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 re- turn 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 Ever. ard?” said the divine, austerely. > > returned the Colonel.— ‘And where- “ Certainly it was, fore should I not exert mine influence to obtain a place of refuge for the brother of my mother ? ” “ Now, as sure as thy soul liveth,” answered the pres- byter, “ I 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 buffeoats and his green-jerkins, enforced the Papist Laud’s order to remove the altar to the eastern md of the church at Woodstock ? by his beard, that he would hang in the very street ot and did not he swear350 WAVERLEY NOVELS. Woodstock whoever should deny to drink the King’s health ?—and is not his hand red with the blood of and hath there been a ruffler in the field the saints ? for prelacy and high prerogative more unmitigable or fiercer ?” | “All this may have been as you say, good Master Hold- i J enough,” answered the Colonel: “but my uncle is now old and feeble, and hath scarce a single follower remain- ing, and his daughter is a being whom to look upon would ? make the sternest weep for pity ; a being who “Who is dearer to Everard,” said Holdenough, “ than his good name, his faith to his friends, his duty to his religion ;—this is no time to speak with sugared lips. The paths in which you tread are dangerous. You are striving to raise the papistical candlestick which Heaven in its justice removed out of its place—to bring back to this hall of sorceries those very sinners who are bewitched with them. I will not permit the land to be abused by te their witchcrafts——They shall not come hither.” EF He spoke this with vehemence, and striking his stick against the ground; and the Colonel, very much dis- satisfied, began to express himself haughtily in return. km tl a i “ You had better consider your power to accomplish your threats, Master 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, with a tone something con- temptuous. “Take heed—take heed,” said the divine, who, though an execllent, was, as we have elsewhere seen, an irritable nan.——‘‘ Do not insult me ; but think honourably of theWOODSTOCK. messenger, fur the sake of Him whose commissior he cairies.—Do not, I say, defy me—I am bound to dis. charge my duty, were it to the displeasing of my twin brother.” 66 ‘ Cp fe , . 4 VAC I can see nought your office has to do in the matter,” said Colonel Everard; “and JI, on my side, give you warning not to attempt to meddle beyond your commis- sion.” “Right—you hold me already to be as submissive as one of your grenadiers,” 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 powerless as you suppose. I will invoke every true Christian in Woodstock to gird 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 {domite 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 go down to cleanse this place of witches and sorcerers, and of enchantments, and will ery and exhort, saying—Will you plead for Baal ?—will you serve him? Nay, take the prophets of Baal not a man escape!” let “ Master Holdenough, Master Holdenough,” said Colo- nel Everard, with much impatience, “by the tale your- self told me, you have exhorted upon that text once toa siten already.” The old man struck his palm forcibly against his fore352 WAVERLEY NOVELS. head, and fell back into a chair as these words were uttered, as suddenly, and as much without power of resistance, as it the Colonel had fired a pistol through his head. Instantly regretting the reproach which he had suffered to escape him in his impatience, Everard hastened to apologize, and to offer every conciliatory excuse, however inconsistent, which occurred to him on the moment. But the old man was too 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 tri- umph, 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 for ever!” 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 mut- tered 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, but I must needs increase it, by chafing this irritable and quick-tempered old man, eager as I knew him to be in his ideas of church-government. and stiff in his prejudices respecting all who dissent from him! The mob of Woodstock will rise; for though heW YODSTOEK. 3538 would not get a score of them to stand by him in any honest or intelligible purpose, yet let him ery havoe 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, he will be as sure to fire upon those who come to attack the Lodge, as if he had a hundred men in gar- rison ; and then what can chance but danger and blood- shed?” This progress of melancholy anticipation was inter rupted by the return of Master Holdenough, who hurry- ing 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 whispering at my heart, that it is a disgrace to hold it extended so long.” “Most heartily do I receive your hand, my venerable friend,” said Everard, “and I trust in sign of renewed amity.” “Surely, surely,”—said the divine, shaking his hand kindly; “thou hast, it is true, spoken bitterly, but thou hast spoken truth in good time; and I think—though your words were seyere—with a good and kindly pur- pose. 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” “Forgive me, good Master Holdenough,” said Colonel Everard, “it was a hasty word; I meant not in serious earnest to wpbraid.” “Peace, I pray you, peace,” said the divine; “I say, the allusion to that which you have most justly upbraided VOL. XLI 23WAVERLEY NOVELS. 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 acknowledged by me as a favoun, for so are the wounds of a friend termed faithful. And surely I, who have by one unhappy exhortation 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 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 acknowledgment; and Colonel Everard, who knew the constitutional infirmities, and the early prejudices of professional consequence and exclusive party opinion, which he must have subdued ere arriving at such a tone of candour, hastened to express his admiration of his Christian charity, mingled with re- proaches on himself for haying so deeply injured his feelings. “Think not of it—think not of it, excellent young man,” said Holdenough; “we have both erred—I 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 into your friendly bosom. Be it all forgotten. Let your friends, if they are not deterred by what has happened at this manor of Woodstock, re- sume their habitation as soon as they will. If they can protect themselves against the powers of the air, believe me, that if I can prevent it by aught in my power, they shall have no annoyance from earthly neighbours ; and ussure yourself, good sir, that my voice is still. worth i i aWOODSTOCK, somuthing with the worthy Mayor, and the good Alder. men, and the better sort of housekeepers up youder in the town, although the lower classes are blown about with every wind of doctrine. And yet farther, be assured, Colonel, that should your mother’s brother, or any of huis fainily, 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 chureh in which he is an unworthy 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 prevent him doing what lies in his poor abilities for their protection and edification.” : “TI feel all the force of your kindness, reverend sir,” 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 accustomed to be his own protector in tem- poral danger, and in spiritual doubts to trust to his own prayers and those of his Church.” “TY trust I have not been superfluous in offering mine , assistance,” said the old man, something Jealous that his proffered spiritual aid had been held rather intrusive. “Task 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 with a natural heat of temper which he could not always sub- due, were the good man’s only faults. They had regained their former friendly footing, wheneee 856 WAVERLEY NOVELS. Roger Wildrake returned from the hut of Joceline, and whispered his master that his embassy had been success- ful. The Colonel then addressed the divine, and in- formed him, that as the Commissioners 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 something 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 prejudiced me in mine uncle’s opinion, that I must be for some time a stranger to his house and fam- ily. “Indeed! I rejoice to hear it with all my heart and 3) soul,” said the divine. “ Excuse my frankness—I do in- deed rejoice; I had thought—no matter what I had thought; I would not again give offence. But truly though the maiden hath a pleasant feature, and he, as all men say, is in human things unexceptionable, yet,—but I give you pain—in sooth, I will say no more unless you ask my sincere and unprejudiced advice, which you shall vommand, but which I will not press on you superfluously. Wend we to the borough together—the pleasant solitude of the forest may dispose us to open our hearts to each other.” They did walk up to the little town in company, and, somewhat to Master Holdenough’s surprise, the Colo- nel, though they talked on various subjects, did not (ttt i aaa a te fai ie Ee ee LyWOODSTOCK, request of him any ghostly advice on the subject of his love to his fair cousin, while, greatly beyond the expecta- tion of the soldier, the clergyman kept his word, and in his own phrase, was not so superfluous as to offer upon 80 delicate a point his unasked counsel,W OO DS POG ieWOODSTOCK. CHAPTER XVIH. Then are the harpies gone—Yet ere w: perch Where such foul birds have roosted, let us cleanse The foul cbscenity they've left behind them. AGAMEMNON Tar embassy of Wildrake had been successful, chiefiy through the mediaticn of the Episcopal divine, whom we formerly 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 exertions of Joceline Joliffe, of Phoebe, and of old Joan, were employed 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 inte which his household goods had been thrown, and im- patient till his mansion was purified from all marks ofWAVERLEY NOVELS. 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 sul- phureous 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 :1s bad,” said Joceline, “ for men say, for certain, it was tle 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 in- terferes with those of his own coat, for the Lees have been here, father and son, these five hundred years, with- out 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, muscadine, ale, and what not. We shall have a royal time on’t through half the winter; and Joan must get to salting and pickling presently.” Q “Out, villain!” said the knight; “are we to feed on the fragments 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 the owners. And, hark ye, I will none of their strony liquors. J 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 reckoning, and gone off.—And, hark ye, I will taste no water fromWOODSTOCK. 7 the cistern out of which these slaves have been serving themselves—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, belong- ing to the party of these strangers, who was directing about the removal of some trunks and mails which be- longed to the Commissioners, and who could receive his honour’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 honour 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 him- self with an iron gravity, which neither the terrors of the preceding night, nor the dignified demeanour of the high- born personage before whom he ‘stood, were able for av mstant to overcome.WAVERLEY NOVELS. “ How now, good fellow?” said Sir Henry; “I would fain see something more of thy fence, which baffled me the other evening; but truly, I think the ight was some- what too faint for my old eyes——Take a foil, man—T] walk here ir the hall, as Hamlet says; and ’tis the breathing-time of day with me. ‘Take a foil, then, in thy hand.” “ 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 knight, “if your fitness speaks, mine is ready. Methinks the very stepping on this same old pavement hath charmed away the gout which threatened me.—Sa—sa—I 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. His success put him into excellent humour. “There,” said he, “1 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 honour,” said Tomkins, ‘ it may beWOODSTOCK. d that you desire not the flesh of beeves, of ram, or of goats. Nevertheless, when you know that the provisions were provided and paid for out of your own rents and stock at Ditchley, sequestrated to the use of the state more than a year since, it may be you will have lesa 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 { was an ass to suspect your masters of subsisting, save at honest men’s expense.” “ And as for the rumps of beeves,” continued Tomkins, with the same solemnity, “there is a rump at Westmin- ster, 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 what was the mean- ing of this innuendo; for he was not a person of very quick apprehension. 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. JF austus 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—or the rump, as thou call’st it, or sitting part of the so-called Parliament.—And then, look you, friend, the very devil of all hath my willimg consent to fly away with the army in its turn, from the highest general down to the lowest drum-boy.—Nay, never look tierce for the matter; remember there is daylight enough vow for a game at sharps.” Trusty Tomkins appeared to think it best to suppress his displeasure ; and observing that the wains wera ready10 WAVERLEY NOVELS. to transport tlie Commissioners’ property to the borough, took a grave leave of Sir Henry Lee. Meantime the old man continued to pace his recov- ered hall, rubbing his hands, and evincing greater signy of glee than he had shown since the fatal 30th of January. “Here we are again in the old frank, Joliffe—well victualled too.—How the knave solved my point of con- science !—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 foins well,—very suffi- cient well.— But thou saw’st how I dealt with him when I had fitting light, Joceline.” “ Ay, and so your honour did,” said Joceline. “ You taught him to know the Duke of Norfolk, from Saunders Gardner. Ill warrant him he will not wish to» come under your honour’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! I promise thee, Joceline, I love this jarring betwixt the rogues of the board and the rogues of the swords 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 prospect of a change of times, in which he was not without hopes that something might turn up for the royal mterest.WOODSTOCK. Meanwhila, Alice, with a prouder and a lighter heart than had danced in her bosom for several days, went forth with a gaiety to which she of late had been a stranger, to contribute her assistance to the regulation and supply of the household, 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 per- form that duty, as presenting the character of some cap- tive 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 accusations the old knight had brought against him; and that, if a recon- ciliation 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 throw- ing of the arches may be accomplished in a subsequent season. The doubtful fate of her only brother might have clouded even this mumentary gleam of sunshine; but Alice had been bred up during the close and frequent contests cf civil war, and had acquired the habit of hoping in behalf of those dear to her, until hope was lost. In ‘he present case, all reports seemed to assure her of her vrother’s safety. Besides these causes for gaiety, Alice Lee had the12 WAVERLEY NOVELS. pleasing feelmg 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, be- cause 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 dutiful hands of youth. So that, altogether, as she hasted through the remains and vestiges of a wilder- ness already mentioned, and from thence about a bow-shot into the Park, to bring a pitcher of water from Rosa- mond’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 ex- pression 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 in the style of the six- teenth century, chiefly relating to ancient mythology. All these were now wasted and overthrown, and ex- isted only as moss-covered ruins, while the living spring continued to furnish its daily treasures, unrivalled in purity, though the quantity was small, gushing out amid flisjointed stones, and bubbling through fragments of an- cient sculpture. 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 & step something less gay, when she observed that theWOODSTOCK. person was a female ;—-some menial perhaps from the town, whom a fanciful mistress occasionally dispatched 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 apprehension. Denaturalized women had as usual fol- lowed 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 hypoc- risy, exercised nearly in like degree their talents, for murder or plunder. But it was broad daylight, the dis- tance 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 deter- mined and decided cause. Alice walked, therefore, gravely on toward the fount, and composed her jooks 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 some- what 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 nt best any thing higher than the wife of a small farmer, or, perhaps, the helpmate 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 whom14 WAVERLEY NOVELS. they were worn, but were articles of which she had be- come the mistress by some accident, if not by some suc- cessful 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 was too late now, and she had only to disguise as well as 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. “JT thank you,” said Alice in reply; and continued to fill her pitcher busily, by assistance of an iron bowl 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. “T thank you,” said Alice; “ but had I needed assist- ance, I could have brought those with me who had ren- dered it.” “I do not doubt of that, my pretty maiden,” answered he female ; “there are too many lads in Woodstock with ¢yes 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 ased by the speaker, and was desirous to break off the conversation. “Are you offended, my pretty mistress?” said the stranger ; “that was far from my purpose.—I will putWOODSTOCK. 15 my question otherwise.—Are the good damvs of Wood- stock 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 AWway with the lamb ?—that carelessne s, 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 towards the water which she was lay- Ing, it would be difficult to hear such a pipe as yours at the town of Woodstock, scream as loud as you would.” Alice shook the woman’s hand angrily off, took up her pitcher, though not above half full, and as she saw the stranger rise at the same time, said, not without fee uv, doubtless, but with a natural feeling of resentment and dignity, “I have no reason to make my eries heard as far as Woodstock ; were there 6ccasion for my crying for help at ap it is nearer at hand.” She spoke not without a warrant; for, at the moment, broke ee the bushes, and stood by her side, the noble hound Bevis; fixing on the stranger his eyes that glanced fire, raising every hair on his gallant mane as upright as the bristles of a wild boar when hard pressed, orinning fill a case of teeth, which would have matched those of 1 any wolf in Russia, were displayed in full array, and, without either -barking or springing, seeming, by his low determined growl, to await but the signal for dashing at the female, whom he plain.) considered as a suspicious person. But the strange: was undaunted. + My pretty maiden,”16 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 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 say- ing, she drew a pistol from her bosom, and cocked it— oD? pointing it towards the dog, as if apprehensive that he 9 e would spring upon her. “ Hold, woman, hold!” said Alice Lee; “ the dog will not do you harm.—Down, Bevis, couch down.—And ere you attempt to hurt him, know he is the favourite hound of Sit Henry Lee of Ditchley, the keeper of Woodstock Park, who would severely revenge any injury offered to him.” “And you, pretty one, are the old knight’s house- keeper, doubtless? I have often heard the Lees have good taste.” “T am his daughter, good woman.” “ His daughter !—I was blind—but yet it is true, noth- ing less perfect could ariswer the description 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 reconciliation, to fill her pitcher, and carry it as far as she will permit.” “As you will, good mother; but I am about to return instantly to the Lodge, to which, in these times, I cannot admit strangers. You can follow me no farther than the verge of the wilderness, and I am already too long from home: 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 account for, and began to walk quickly towards the Lodge, thinking thus to get rid of her troublesome acquaintance.WOODSTOCK. But she reckoned without her host ; for in a moment her new companion was by her side, not running, indeed but walking with prodigious long unwomanly strides, which seon brought her up with tke hurried and timid steps of the frightened maiden. But her manner was more respectful than formerly, though her voice sounded remarkably harsh and disagreeable, and her whole ap- pearance suggested an undefined, yet irresistible feeling of apprehension. “ Pardon a stranger, lovely Mistress Alice,” said her persecutor, “that was not capable of distinguishing be tween a lady of your high quality and a peasant weneh, and who spoke to you with a degree of freedom, ill-befit- ting your rank, certainly, and condition, and which, I fear, has given you offence.” “No offence whatever,” replied Alice; “ but, good woman, I am near home, and can excuse your farther 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, — [attempting to possess herself of it,] and I promise you, you shall hear what will please you.” “TY hear what does not please me,” said Alice, with dignity ; “you must carry your tricks of fortune-telling We of the gentry hold them to be either imposture or unlawful and palmistry to the women of the village knowledge.” “Yet you would fain hear of a certain Colonel, I VOL. XLLIt. 218 WAVERLEY NOVELS. warrant you, whom certain unhappy circumstances have separated from his family; you would give better than silver if I could assure you that you would see him in a lay or two—ay, perhaps, sooner.” “T know nothing of what you speak, good woman ; if you want alms, there is a piece of silver—it is all J 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 protec- tion.” “Take it—take it—give me my pitcher,” said Alice, “and begone,—yonder comes one of my father’s servants. —What, ho! The old fortune-teller hastily dropped something into 5 Joceline—Joceline ! ” 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 inclina- tion to harass the retreat of this suspicious person, yet, as if uncertain, ran towards Joliffe, and fawned on him, as to demand his advice and encouragement. Joceline pa- cified 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 vompetent reason, for the manners of the woman, though bold and intrusive, were not menacing. “She only said she had met a fortune-teller by Rosamond’s Well, and had had some difficulty in shaking her off. “Ah, the gipsy thief,’ said Joceline, “how well she ycented there was food in the pantry !—they have nosesWOODSTOCK. 3 19 like ravens, these strollers. Look you, Mistress Alice, you shall not see a raven, or a carrion-crow in all the ky for a mile round you; but let a sheep drop sud- denly down on the greensward, and before the poor crea- blue Ss ture ’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 on’t.” “You are so 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.” “It will be best for her health,” said Joceline, “lest I give her a ducking for digestionBut 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?” “J 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 Wood- stock already—we will not spare for the water—I can run back and fill the pitcher.” He poured out the water upon the grass, and at the bottom of the pitcher was found a goid ring, in which was set a ruby, apparently of some value. “ Nay, if this be not enchantment, I know not what is,” said Joceline. “Truly, Mistress Alice, I think you had better throw away this gimerack. 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 slavesae - 20 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 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. So, 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,” mur- mured Joceline. “ You will never get the best of them, but she is willing to save a bit of finery.— Well, Mis- tress Alice, I trust that you are too young and too pretty to be enlisted in a regiment of witches.” “T shall not be afraid of it till you turn conjurer,” 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 farther. “Tf this ring, which I dare say the jade stole some- where,” said the under-keeper to himself, “ be worth a few nobles, it is better in honest hands than in that of vagabonds. My master has a right to all waifs and strays, and certainly such a ring, in possession of a gipsy, 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 toWOODSTOCK. caity hooks at my finger-ends—that is trooper’s law. Yet, hang it, after all, I had best take it to Mark Ever- ard and ask his advice—I hold him now to be your learned counsellor 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 I'll give them leave to give mine um- bles to the kites and ravens if they find me conferring my confidence where it is not safe.”WAVERLEY NOVELS CHAPTER XIX. Being skilless in these parts, which, to a stranger, Unguided and unfriended, often prove Rough and inhospitable. TWELFTH Nigar. TaxRe 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-relief the ficure of Michael subduing the Arch-enemy, was placed on the table, and Joceline and Pheebe dutifully attended ; the one behind the chair of Sir Henry, the other to wait upon her young mistress, and both to make out, by formal and regular observance, the want of a more numerous train. “A health to King Charles!” said the old knight, hand- ing 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 lip, and returned it to her father, who took a copious draucht. “Tf 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 heed not spare it,” said Joceline. pigs ASAE ose OR eae aWOODSTOCK. 25 e 6 Qo. i. eae . 7 ‘Say’st thou?” said the knight ; “thow 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, aiter a triumphant glance atthe sculpture, “I had a sibe with that same red-coat about the Saint Michael just now.” saying, “ Red-coat—ha! what red-coat?” said the hasty old man. “ Do any of these knaves still lurk about Wood- stock ?—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 honour in the wood.” “ Ay, but I paid him off for it in the hall, as you your- self saw.—I 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. Iwill have thee try a bout in the hail with him to-morrow, though I think he will be too hard for thee. I know thy strength to an inch.” He might say this with some truth; for it was Joce- line’s fashion, when called on, as sometimes happened, to fence with his patron, just to put forth as much of his strength and skill as obliged the Knight to contend hard for the victory, which, in the long run, he always con- trived to yield up to him, like 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 [ tuld him he should not talk so, until one of their own roindheaded saints had given the devil as complete a24 WAVERLEY NOVELS. eross-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 whether your honour and Mistress Alice, not to mention old Joan and myself, since it is your honour’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 chaplain.—I think I know the length of this man’s foot. We have had a jollification or so together. He is hand and glove with me, for as great a fanatic as jie 1s..” “Trust him not too 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 blood- Liounds, and can smell out a loyalist under any disguise.” “Tf your honour thinks so,” said Joceline, “ Pll watch for the doctor witli good will, and bring him into the uedge by the old condemned postern, and so up to this apartment ; and sure this man Tomkins would never pre- sume to come hither; and the doctor may have a bed in Woodstock Lodge, and he never the wiser; or, if your honour does not think that safe, I can cut his throat for you, and I would not mind it a pin.” “(sod forbid!” said the knight. “ He is under eurWOODSTOCK. 25 roof, and a guest, though not an invited one..-—Go, Joce- line ; 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. Ar October night or two in the forest would finish the goou man.” “ He’s more like to finish our October than our October is to finish him,” said the keeper ; and withdrew under the encouraging smile of his patron. He whistled Bevis along with him to share in his watch and having received exact information where the clergy man was most likely to be found, assured his master ths he would give the most pointed attention to his safety When the attendants had withdrawn, having previousl, removed the remains of the meal, the old knight, leaning, back in his chair, encouraged pleasanter visions than hat of late passed through his imagination, until by degree. he was surprised by actual slumber; while his daughte; not venturing to move but on tiptoe, took some needle work, and bringing it close by the old man’s side, em ployed 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 interrupting the first sound and refresh- ing sleep which her father had enjoyed, in all probability for the last two nights and days. She herse:f had no other amusement, as she sat facing one of the great oriel windows, the same by which Wild- take had on a former occasion looked in upon Tomkins and Joceline while at their compotations, than watching26 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 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, I know not why, something peculiarly pleasing to the imag- ination in contemplating the Queen of Night, when she is wading, as the expression is, among the vapours which she has not 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 be- dimmed in the eyes of the world, by suffering, by misfor tune, 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 win- dow, and was looking into the room. The idea of super- itate Alice. oO} o natural fear did not in the slightest degree a She was too much accustomed to the place and situation ; for folk do not see spectres in the scenes with which they have been familiar from infancy. But danger from ma- rauders 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 fire-arms hung, and while she screamed to her father to awake, had the presence of mind to present it at the intruder. She did so the more readily, because she imagined she recognised in the visage, which she par- tially saw, the features of the woman whom she had met with at Rosamond’s Well, and which had appeared to her peculiarly harsh and suspicious. Her father at the same lime seized his sword and came forward, while the persouWOODSTOCK. 97 at the window, alarmed at these demonstrations, and en- deavouring to descend, missed footing, as had Cavahero Wildrake before, and went down to the earth with no small noise. Nor was the reception on the bosom of our common mother either soft or safe ; for, by a most terrifie 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,” said the old knight.— “ Alice, thou art the queen of wenches! Stand fast here till T run down and secure the rascal.” “For God’s sake, no, my dearest father!” Alice ex- claimed; “Joceline will be up immediately—Hark !—I hear him.” There was indeed a bustle below, and more than one light danced to 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—‘ Here, Lee,— Forester —take the dog off, else I must shoot him.” “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 ruffian— Bevis, hold on!” “Back, Bevis ; down, sir,” cried Joceline. “I em coming, I am coming, Sir Henry—Saint Michael, I skall go distracted !” A terrible thought suddenly occurred to 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 outPe ee 28 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 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 interference, and there was close whispering for an instant, as of people in con- sultation. “ All is quiet now,” said one voice; “I will up and prepare the way for you.” And immediately a form pre- sented itself on the outside of the window, pushed open the lattice, and sprung into the parlour. But almost ere his step was upon the floor, certainly before he had obtained any secure footing, the old knight, who stood ready with his rapier drawn, made a desperate pass, which bore the intruder to the ground. Joceline, who clam- bered up next with a dark lantern in his hand, uttered a dreadful exclamation, when he saw what had happened, crying out, “Lord in heaven, he has slain his own son!” “No, no—I tell you no,” said the fallen young man, ¢ Albert Lee, the only son of the o who was indeed youn old knight ; “I 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, piere- ing the clothes, while the hilt coming against his side with the whole force of the longe, had borne him to the ground. Joceline all the while enjoined silence to every one, unde1 the strictest conjurations, “Silence, as you would long live on earth—silence, as ye would have a place inWOODSTOCK. heaven; be but silent for a few minutes—all our lives depend on it.” Meantime he procured lights with inexpressible . dis- patch, and they then beheld that Sir Henry, on hearing the fatal words, had sunk back on one of the large chairs, without either motion, colour, or sign of life. “Oh, brother, how could you come in this manner ?” paid Alice. “ Ask no questions—Good God! for what am I re- served!” He gazed on his father as he spoke, who, with clay-cold features rigidly fixed, and his arms ex- tended in the most absolute helplessness, looked rather the image of death upon a monument, than a being in whom existence was only suspended. “ 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 pray- ers at Jocveline’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 unex- pected 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 bandage. I must take some blood— some aromatics, too, if they can be had, my good Alice.” But while Alice procured the cup and bandage, strip- ped her father’s sleeve, and scemed by intuition even to30 WAVERLEY NOVELS. anticipate every direction ofthe reverend doctor, her vrother, hearing no word, and seeing no sign of comiort, stood with both hands clasped and elevated into the air, a monument of speechless despair. Every feature in hig lace ‘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 reproy- ing 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 Weaven’s bounty, remember 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 wilder- ness, and bring in your attendant.” “ Thanks, thanks, a thousand thanks,” answered Albert Lee; and springing through the lattice, he disappeared as unexpectedly as he had entered. At the same time Joecline followed him, and by the same road. Alice, whose fears for her father were now something nhated, upon this new movement among the persons of the scene, could not resist appealing to her venerable as- sistant. “Good doctor, answer me but one quesven 2G OE TIE ERS EU Rone AWOODSTOCK. 3} Was my brother Albert here Just now, or have I dreamed all that has happened for these ten minutes past? Me. thinks, but for your presence, I could suppose the whole had passed in my sleep; that horrible thrust—that death- like, corpse-like old man—that soldier in mute despair; I must indeed have dreamed,” “If you have dreamed, my sweet Alice,” said the doc- tor, “I wish every sick-nurse h ad your property, since you |] lave 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 darling, 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 up your arm.” “My wound ?—with all my heart, doc@@r,” said Sir Henry, raising himself, and gathering his recollection by degrees. “TI knew of old thou wert body-curer as well as soul-curer, and served my regiment for surgeon as wel] as chaplain.—But where is the rascal I killed ?—T never made a fairer stramacon 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,” said the doctor ; “we must thank God for that, since there were none but friends to slay. Here is a good cloak and doublet, though, wounded in a 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 snd\surprise of seeing your son, who, though hunted32 WAVERLEY NOVELS 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 pro- posal to return to the old Lodge, where a hundred men might be concealed, though a thousand were making search to discover them. Never sucha place for hide- and-seek, as I shall make good when I can find means te publish my Wonders of Woodstock.” “ 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 cgve not to trust farther 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 of enter- ing 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 Let me see is nothing to my son, Albert—where is he? him.” “ But, Sir Henry, wait,” said the doctor, “ till your res stored strength ”WOODSTOCK. 33 “A plague of my restored strength, man!” answered the knight, as his old spirit began to awaken within him. ——“ Dost not remember that I lay on Edgehill-field all night bleeding like a bullock from five several wounds, and wore my armour within six weeks ? and you talk to me of the few drops of blood that follow such a seratch as a cat’s claw might have made!” “ Nay, if you feel so courageous,” said the doctor, “I will fetch your son—he is not far distant.” So saying, he left the apartment, making a sign to Alice to remain, in case any symptoms of her father’s weakness should return. It was fortunate, perhaps, that Sir Henry never seemea to recollect the precise nature of the alarm, which had at once, and effectually as the shock of the thunderbolt, for the moment suspended his faculties. Something he said more than once of being certain he had done mischief with that stramagon, 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 for- gotten 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 in a few minutes, Albert cut off all farther inquiry, by entering the room, followed by the doctor, and throw- -ng himself alternately inte the arms of his father and of his sister. VOL. XLII.NOVETS WAVERLEY CHAPTER XxX. The boy is—hark ye, sirrah—what’s your name ?-.~ Oh, Jacob—ay, I recollect—the same. CRABEE. THE affectionate relatives were united as those who, meeting under great adversity, feel still the happiness of sharing it in common. They embraced again and again, and gave way to those expansions of the heart, which at once express and relieve the pressure of mental agitation. At length the tide of emotion began. to subside ; and Sir Henry, still holding his reeovered son by the hand, re- sumed the command of his feelings which he usually practised. “So you have seen the last of our battles, Albert,” he said, “and the King’s colours have fallen for ever, before the rebels ?” “Tt is but even so,” said the young man—“ the last east of the die was thrown, and, alas! lost at Worcester ; and Cromwell’s fortune carried it there, as it has wher- ever he has shown himself.” “ Well—it can but be for a time—it can but be for a tue,” answered his father; “ the devil is potent, they say, ja raising and eratifying favourites, but he can grant but short leases.—And the Kinz—the King, Albert—the King—in my ear—close, close!” “Qur last news were confident that he had escaped from Bristol.”WOODSTOCK. oo “Thank God for that—thank Knight. “ Where didst thou |] “ Our men were almost al God for that!” said the eave him ?” | cut to pieces at the bridge,” Albert replied ; “but I followed his Majesty with about five hundred other officers and gentlemen, who were re- solved to die around him, until as our numbers and ap- pearance 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 especial. He sent his royal sree’ ang to you, sir, in particular, and repeat.” “ Nay, I will hear it every word, boy said more than Heoaen me to » said Sir Henry ; “is not the certainty that thou hast discharged tl ry duty, and that King Charles owns it , enough to console me for all we haye lost and suffe red, and wouldst thou stint me of it from a false shamefacedness ?’—I will have it out of thee, were it drawn from thee with cords ! ” “Tt shall need no such compulsion,” said the young man—* It was his Majesty’s pleasure to bid me tell Sir Henry Lee, in his nz ame, that if his son could not eo be- fore his father in the race of loyalty, he was at kast following him closely, and would soon move side by side.” “Said he so?” answered the knight—“ Old Victor Lee will loox down with pride on the e, 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.” “ Joccline !-—what ho, Joceline!” The under-keeper entered, and received orders to get Supper prepared directly.WAVERLEY NOVELS. “ My son and Dr. Rochecliffe are half starving,” said the knight. “And there is a lad, too, below,” said Joceline; “a page, he says, of Colonel Albert’s, whose belly rings cup- board 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 eat at the sideboard; tor he has devoured a whole loaf of bread and butter, as fast as Pheebe could cut it, and it has not staid his stomach for a minute—and truly I think you had better keep him under your own eyes, for the steward beneath might ask him troublesome questions if he went below—Aud 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—afterwards joined the King in Scotland, and came with him as far ag Worcester. He was wounded the day before the battle and conjured me to take this youth under my charge, which I did, something unwillingly; but I could not re- fuse a father, perhaps on his death-bed, pleading for the safety of an only son.” “Thou hadst deserved an halter, hadst thou hesitated,” said Sir Henry; “ the smallest tree can always give some shelter,—and it pleases me to think the old stock of Lee is not so totally prostrate, but it may yet be a refuge for the distressed. Fetch the youth in;—he is 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 “small cause. WOODSTOCK. od national drawling accent, sir ?” said Albert, « though I know “T have small cause, Albert,” you like it not.” answered the knight— Who stirred up these disunions?—the Scots. Who strengthened the hands of Parl iament, when their cause was well-nigh ruined ?—the Scots again. Who delivered up tl this lad’s father, you s noble Montrose; ie King, their countryman, who had flun himself upon their protection ’—the Scots again. Vg Ss But say, has fought on the part of the and such a man as the great Marquis may make amends for the degeneracy of a whole nation.” “Nay, father,” said Albert, “and I must add, that though this lad is uncouth and wayward, and, as you will see, something wilful, yet zealous friend in England; the King has not a more and, when occasion offered, he fought stoutly, too, in his defence—I marvel he comes not.” “He hath taken the bath,’ ’ said Joceline, “and nothing less would serve than that he should have it immediately —the supper, he said, might be got ready in the mean time; and he commands all about him as if he were in his father’s old castle, where he might have called long enough, I warrant, without any one to hear him.” “ Indeed ?” chick of the name?” said Sir Henry, “this must be a forward game, to crow so early.—What is his “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 Kinear- dineshire.” “Kerneguy, and Killstewers, and Kin—what d’ye call ; ; t?—Truly,” said the knight, “these northern men’s names and titles smack of their origin—they sound likeWAVERLEY NOVELS. a north-west wind, rumbling and roaring among heather and rocks.” “Tt is but the asperities of the Celtic and Saxon dialects,” said Dr. Rochecliffe, “ which, according to Ver- stegan, still linger in those northern parts of the island. —But peace—here comes supper, and Master Louis Kernesuy.” Supper entered accordingly, borne in by Joceline and Pheebe, 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 provis- ions that went before him, than any thing else—came Maste: 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 national 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 a mode of life, the fugitive royalists had been obliged to en- counter. His address was by no means prepossessing, ORE 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 stuck 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 en- hanced its natural plainness. Yet the eyes were brilliant and expressive, and amid his ugliness—for it amounted to that degree of irregularity—the face was not deficient fn some lines which expressed both sagacity and resolu- tion. his Albert himself was far beneath of The dressWOUDSTOCK. 3 De 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. name of the Spanish Chamber. These hangings were in some places entirely torn down, in others defaced and hanging in tatters. But Albert stopped not to make ob- servations, anxious it seemed, to get Joceline out of the room; which he achieved by hasti of fresh fuel, and more liqu r answering his offers or, in the negative, and re- turning, with equal conciseness, the under-keeper’s good wishes for the evening. He at length retired, somewhat unwillingly, and as if he the ught that his young master60 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 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 preeautions 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 impos- sible to withdraw it, or open the door, unless by breaking it down. The page held a light to him during the opera~ tion, which his master went through with much exactness and dexterity. But when Albert arose from his knee, on which he had rested during the accomplishment of this task, the manner of the companions was on the sudden entirely changed towards each other. The honourable Master Kerneguy, from a cubbish lout-of a raw’ Scots- man, seemed to have acquired 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 in- difference of a superior, who rather graces than troubles his dependent by giving him some slight service to per- form. Albert, with the greatest appearance of deference, assumed in his turn the character of torch-bearer, and back upon him as he did so. He then set the light on lighted his page across the chamber, without turning his a 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 nousehold of the highest distinction, disrobing his SévWOODSTOCK. @reiyn of the Mantle of the. Garter. Lhe person te whom this ceremony was addressed endured it for a yrofound gravity, and then bursting out a-laughing, exclaimed to Albert, “ What a devil nunute or two with | meas all this formality ?—thou complimentest with these miserable rags as if they were silks and sables, and with poor Louis Kernegu; as if he were the King of Great Britain! ” “And if your Majesty’s commands, and the circum- stances of the time, have made me for 2 moment seem to forget that you are my sovereign, surely I may be per- mitted to render my homage as such while you are in your own royal palace of Woodstock ?” SE ruly,* replied the disguised Monarch, “the sover- eign and the palace are not ill matched ;—these tattered hangings and my ragged Jerkin suit each other admirably. —This Woodstock !—this the bower where the royal Norman revelled with the fair Rosamond Clifford !— Why, it is a place of assignation for owls!” ‘Then, sud- denly recollecting himself, with his natural courtesy, 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 be a roost for owls, as there is no denying, why we know it has never- o>) 39 theless brought up eagles. He threw himself as he spoke upon a chair, and in- dvlently, but gracefully, received the kind offices of Albert, who undid the coarse buttonings of the leathern gamashes which defended his legs, and spoke to him the whilst :—*“ What a fine specimen of the olden time igs your father, Sir Henry! It is strange I should not have seen him before ;—but I heard my father often speak of aim as being among the flower of our real old English62 WAVERLEY NOVETS. gentry. By the mode in which he began to school me, I can guess you had a tight taskmaster of him, Albert— I warrant you never wore hat in his presence, eh ?” “J never cocked it at least in his presence, please your Majesty, as I have seen some youngsters do,” answered Albert; “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 gentleman—but with that, methinks, in his countenance, that assures you he would not hate the child in sparing lorious Restoration come round—which, if drinking to its arrival the rod.—Hark ye, Albert—Suppose the same g ean hasten it, should not be far distant,—for in that par- ticular our adherents never neglect their duty,—suppose it come, therefore, and that thy father, as must be of course, becomes an Karl and one of the Privy Council, oddsfish, man, I shall be as much afraid of him as ever was my grandfather Henri Quatre of old Sully.— Imagine there were 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 !”’ “T am glad to see your Majesty so merry after your fatiguing journey.” “The fatigue was nothing, man,” said Charles; “a kind welcome and a good meal made amends {or all that. But they must have suspected thee of bringing a wolf from the braes of Badenoch alon a with you, instead of a e2 two-leeeed being, with no more than the usual allowance pf mortal stowage for provisions. I was really ashamedWOODSTOCK, 63 of mM} appetite ; but thou knowest ] had eat nothing for twenty-four hours, save the raw egg you stole for me from the old woman’s hen-roost—I tel] thee, I blushed to show myself so ravenous before that high-bred and old gentleman your father, and tl sister—or cousin, is she ?” respectable 1e very pretty girl your “ She is my sister,” said Albert Lee, dryly, and added, in the same breath, “ Your Majesty’s appetite suited wel] 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 un- chained 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 Ker- neguy 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 a Scottish youth of high birth, and your behay- iour perhaps a little too churlish. I thought too—though I pretend not to be skilful—that some of your Scottish sounded as if it were not genuine.” “ Not genuine ?—there is no pleasing thee, Albert.— Why, who should speak genuine Sccttish but myself ?—~ Was I not their King for a matter of ten months? and if [ did not get knowledge of their language, I wonder what else I got by it. Did not east country, and south coun- ry, and west country, and Highlands, caw, croak, andee Leet 64 WAVERLEY NOVELS. shriek about me, as the de sp guttural, the bread draw], and the high sharp yell predominated by turns ?-—Odds- fish, man, have I not been speeched at by their orators, addressed by their senators, vebuked by their kirkmen ? Ilave I not sate on the cutty-stool, mon, [again assuming the northern dialect,] and thyught it grace of worthy Mas John Gillespie, that I was permitted to do penance in mine own privy chamber, instead of the face of the con- gregation? 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 Nor- ton’s, that I was too:courteous and civil for a young. page —now you think me too rude.” “ And there is a medium, if one could find it,” said Al- bert, defending his opinion in the same tone in which the King attacked 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, you 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 y face was enough to put gowns, caps, and kirtles, out of fashion for eyer—the very dogs fled from oO > ne—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 martbus : and right glad am I to be repossessed of them. YT can tellWOODSTOCK. 65 you too, my friend, I shall resume all m leges with ny proper habiliments ; been too coarse to-night, [ y masculine privi. and as you say I have will behave myself like q 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 ex- press the unpleasant nature of his feelings. They could not escape: Charles; but | ‘I pique myself on seeing ladies as most folk, tl 1¢ proceeded without scruple. as far into the hearts of young 10ugh God knows they are some- times too deep for the wisest of us. But I mentioned to your sister in my character of fortune-teller,—thinking, poor simple man, that a country girl must | 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 toa brother. So up she got, and away she flew from me like a lapwing. J] lave No one ‘an excuse her—for, looking 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, endeavoured to put a stop to the present topic by a grave answer. “His sister,” he said, “ had been in some measure edu- cated with the son of her maternal uncle, Markham “verard ; but as his father and he himself had adopted VOLS KT 5aa aad 66 WAVERLEY NOVEL3:. the cause of the roundheads, the families had in conse quence been at variance; and any projects which might have been formerly entertained, were of course long since dismiss2d on all sides.” ” said the King, pitilessly pursuing his jest. “You Colonels “You are wrong, Albert, you are wrong, 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 restoration 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, Iam the party most concerned in maintaining true allegiance among my subjects; and if I gain the pretty maiden’s good will, that of the sweetheart’s will soon follow. This was jolly King Edward’s way—Edward the Fourth, you know. The king-making Earl of War- wick—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 al- tered and embarrassed tone, “ I did not expect ” Here he stopped, not able to find words adequate at P] | the same time to express his sentiments, and respectful enough to the King, while ‘n his father’s bouse, and under his own protection. Se RR AR AE SE Rat, 1WOODSTOCK. 67 “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 far. ther than, “I would hope, if it pl ease 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, preventing his giving utterance to his irritated feelings. “And what does Colonel Albert Lee hope?” said Charles, in the same dry and cold manner in which he had before spoken.—Re ix Seer x x yee aoe joy 502 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 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 forcibly, 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 fearless indifference. ‘The soldiers stood around, some holding the torches, which illuminated the apartment with a lurid and sombre glare of light, the others resting upon their weapons. ~ Phoebe, with her hands folded, her eyes turned upwards till the pupils were scarce visible, and every shade of colour banished from her ruddy cheek, stood like one in immediate apprehension 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 Crom- well waited for. He started up, and asked hastily, “ Any news, Pearson? any prisoners—any malignants slain in thy defence ?” “None, so please your Excellency,” said the officer. “And are thy sentinels all carefully placed, as Tom kins’ scroll gave direction, and with fitting orders?” “ With the most deliberate care,” said Pearson. * But mortal pleasure, what art thou in truth? The torrent’s smoothness ere it dash below. CAMPBELL'S (ertrude of Wyoming.WOODSTOCK. 3038 “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 communications, all will be lost should the arty we look for have the means of dodging us by ar escape into the more open rooms, and from thence per- haps into the forest.” “My. Lord General,” answered Pearson, “ if placing the guards on the places pointed out in this scroll be suflicient, with the strictest orders to stop, and, if neces- sary, to stab or 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.” “ 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 awanting.—And now te business.—Sir Henry Lee, undo me the secret spring of yonder picture of your ancestor. Nay, spare yourselt the trouble and guilt of falsehood 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 Pheebe, “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 soore sense.” “Oh Lord, sir, what shall Ido?” said Phoobe, took- ing to the knight ; “they know all about it. What shall [ dor”aX —— a 804 WAVERLEY NOVELS. “For thy life, hold out to the last, weuch! 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 wrench- ing-irons—Or, ha! another petard were well bestowed— Call the engineer.” “OQ Lord, sir,’ cried Phebe, “I shall never live another peter—lI 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; it 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 been expected from his person or years, which were past the meridian of life, and exclaim- ing, “ Before, those with the torches!” he followed ihe party, like an eager huntsman in the rear of his hounds, to encourage at once and direct them, as they penetrated into the labyrinth described by. Dr. Rocheliffe in the * Wonders of Woodstock.”WOODSTOCK. CHAPTER XXXIV. 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 bullt, 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 Fair Rosamonp Tue tradition of the country, as well as some hist rical evidence, confirmed the opinion that there existed, within the old Royal Lodge at Woodstock, a labyrinth, or con- nected 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 sometimes 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 undeniable, that. in raising the fabric some Ner- man architect had exerted the utmost of the complicated ert, which they have often shown elsewhere, in creating Vou. XLII 20 Pen ere CEI)Why, 306 WAVERLEY N@YELS. secret passages, and chambers of retreat and conceal- ment. ‘There were stairs, which were ascended merely, as it seemed, for the purpose of descending again-—pass sayes, Which, after turning and winding for a considera- ble way, returned to the place where they set out—there were trapdoors and hatchways, panels and _ portcullises. Although Oliver was assisted by a sort of ground-plan, made out and transmitted by Josepls Tomkins, whose former employment in Dr. Rechecliffe’s service had made him fully acquainted with the place, it was found imper- fect ; and, moreover, the most serious obstacles to their progress occurred in the shape of strong doors, party- walls, and iron-grates—so that the party blundered on: in the dark, uncertain whether they were not going farther from, rather than approaching the extremity of the laby- rinth. 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. Labouring 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 Corporal Grace-be-here himself putfed and blew tike a grampus that has got into shoal water. Crom- well alone continued, with unabated zeal, to push on his researches—to encourage the soldiers, by the exhorta- tions which they best understood, against fainting for lack of faith—and to secure, by sentinels at proper places, possession of the ground which they had already ex- plored. His acute and observing eye detected, with a sneering smile, the cordage and machinery by which the ped of poor Desborough had been inverted, and several remains of the various disguises, as well as private modesWOODSTOCK. of access, by which Desborough, Bletson, and Harrison, had been previously imposed upon. He pointed them out to Pearson, with no farther comment than was im- plied in the exclamation, “ The simple fools ! ” But his assistants began to lose heart and be discour- aged, and required all his Spirit to raise theirs. He then called theii 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 Common- wealth, who, for the execution of his malignant plots, had retreated into these extraordinary fastnesses. The spirits of the men became at last downcast, not- withstanding all this encouragement. They spoke to eacu 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 Crom. well, however, and the refreshment: of some food and trong waters, reconciled them to pursuing their task. Nevertheless, with all their unwearied exertions, morn- ing dawned on the search before they had reached Dr. Rochecliffe’s sitting apartment, into which, after all, they obtained entrance 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 tlat 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 pas gages opened from it, they all terminated in places withawk ARE yer 5 € -{ HRS 4 — aa = STEER a aaa 308 WAVERLEY NOVELS. which they were already acquainted, or communicated with the other parts of the house, where their own sen- tinels assured them none had passed. Cromwell re- mained long in de -p uncertainty. Meantime he directed Pearson to take charge of the ciphers, and more impor- tant papers which lay on the table. “Though there is little there,” he said, “that I have not alre sady known, by means of Trusty Tomkins—Honest Joseph—for an art- ful and thorough-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 ex- planation of the secrets of this apartment. “So please your Excellency, to let me to 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 whipcord twitched tight round their forehe ad, and twisted about with a pistol-butt, I could make either the truth start from their lips, or the eyes from their head.” “ Out eee thee, Pearson!” said Cromwell, with ab- horrence ; “we have no war rant for such er uelty, neither as Englishmen nor Christians. We mays slay malignants as we crusli noxious animals, but to torture them isa deadly 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, trus ting that wisdom will be granted us without it, to discover their most seeret Wevices.” There was a pause accordingly, during which au ideaWOODSTOCK. 309 keized upon Cromwell’s j cer ition —“ sring me hither,” he said, “ yonder stool;” and placing it beneath one of the windows, of which dhiene were two so high in the wall as not to be accessible from the floor, he clambered up into the entrance of the w indow, which was six or seven feet deep, corresponding with the thickness of the wall. “Come up hither, Pearson,” said the General; “but ere thou comest, double the guard at the foot of the turret called Love’s Ladder, and bid them bring up the other petard—So now, come thou hither.” The inferior Shack however brave in the field, was one of those whom a great height strikes with giddiness and sickness. He shrunk back from the view of the precipice, on the verge of which Cromwell was standing with complete indifference, till the General, catching the hand of his follower, pulled -him forward as i as he would advance. “TI think,” said the General, “I have found the clew, but by this light it is no easy a See you, we stand in the portal near the top of Rosamond’s Lower; and yon turret, which rises opposite to our feet, is that which is called Love’s Ladder, from which the drawbridge reached that admitted the profligate Norman tyrant to the bower of his mistress.” “True, my lord, but the drawbridge is gone,” said Pearson. “ Ay, Pearson,” replied the general; “but an active man might spring from the spot we stand upon to the battlements of yonder turret.” “JT do not think so, my lord,” said Pearson. “What?” said Cromwell; “not if the avenger of blood were behind you, with his slaughter-weapon in his hand? ” “The fear of instant death might do much,” answeredak, < Ree apa SG ea Sirah Wie fu: ( Scie ee ease aoa WAVERLEY NOVELS. Pearson ; “but when I look at that sheer ldepth on either side, and at the empty chasm between us and yonder tur- ret, which is, I warrant you, twelve feet distant, I confess the truth, nothing short of the most imminent danger should induce me to try. Pah—the thought makes my head grow giddy !—I tremble to see your Hiehness 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 Highness, for the rescue of my life.” “ Ah, base and degenerate spirit!” said the General; “soul of mud and clay, wouldst thou not do it, and much more, for the possession of empire !—that is, peradven-— ture,” continued he, changing his tone as one who has said too much, “shouldst thou-be called on to do this, that thereby becoming a great man in the tribes of Israel, thou mightest redeem the captivity of Jerusalem—ay, -and it may be, work some great work for the afflicted people of this land ? ” “Your Highness may feel such calls,” said the officer; “but they are not for poor Gilbert Pearson, your faithful follower. 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 speech.” “ But, Pearson,” said Cromwell, “thou hast thrice, yea, four times, called me your Highness.” “Did I, my lord? I was not sensible of it. your pardon,” said the officer. I crave “Nay,” said Oliver, “there was no offence. I do in deed stand high, and I may perchance stand higher—. though, alas! it were fitter for a simple soul like me te return to my plough and my husbandry. Nevertheless, I will not wrestle against the Supreme will, should I beWOODSTOCK, 311 called’ on :o do yet more in that worthy cause. For surcly he who hath been to our British Israel of help, and a sword of excell be found liars unto her, will as a shield ency, making her enemieg 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 hire- lings, not shepherds.” “T trust to see your lordship quoit them all down stairs,’ answered Pearson. « But may I ask why we pursue this discourse even how, until we have secured the common enemy?” “YT will tarry no jot of time,’—said the General ; “fence the communication of Love’s Ladder, as it is called, below, as 1 take it for almost certain, that the party whom we have driven from fastness to fastness during the night, has at leneth sprung to the top of yonder bat- tlements 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 ‘abinet,” said Pearson ; “ 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 into 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 evary recess and yaulted archway. Crom. well, as if he cared not to look upon the person whomara : Pak ye I 512 WAVERLEY NOVELS. he expucted to appear, drew back, like a necromancer afraid of the spectre which he has evoked. “ He has come to the battlement,” said Pearson to his General. “Tn what dress or appearance?” answered Cromwell from within the chamber. “A ray riding-suit, passmented with silver, russet walking-boots, a cut band, a gray hat and plume, black hair.” “Tt is he, it is he!” said Cromwell; “and another crowning 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 con- dition, 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 art as strong as a bull; and I will back thee against despair itself.” “But, sail the corporal, mounting reluctantly, “the place is as the pinnacle of the Temple; and it is written, that Eutyechus fell down from the third loft, and was taken np dead.”WOObSTOCK. 312 “ Because he slept upon his post,” answered Cromwell, beadily. “ 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, us well as the corporal, will draw into the vaul 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.” * ted passage Robins bowed, and the General departed. to Join those who 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. un- mingled with horror, shot across the veins of the ambi- tions soldier. * Now—now!” he cried; « they are dealing with 19 him ! His expectations were deceived. Pearson and the others returned disappointed, and reported they had been stopt by a strong trap-door of grated iron, extended over the narrow stair; and they could see there was an ob- stacle of the same kind some ten feet higher. To remove it by force, while a desperate and well-armed man had the advantage of the steps above them, might cost many lives. “ Which, lack-a-day,” said the General, “it is our iluty to be tender of. What dost thou advise, Gilbert Pearson ?” “We must use powder, my lord,” answered Pearson, * * Lance-prisade,”’ or “ lance-brisade,” a private appointed to q tmail command—a sort of temporary corporal.UL aaa ae 814 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 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 havea sausage, by good luck, to form the train—and 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 re- treat is sounded. You will allow them five minutes for this purpose.” “Three is enough for any knave of them all,’ said oOo 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 listened to, if he asks quarter. It may be, he may re- pent him of his hard-heartedness, and call for mercy.” “And mercy he shall have,’—answered Pearson, * pro- vided 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 ; an 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 fellow walked a little way, then turned back to whisper, “ What thou dost, do quickly ;” then returned again towards the outer circle of guards, turning his head from time to time,WOODSTOOK. 3815 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 |] Tower and the corresponding turret. ing on his post, the General mutte laches, “The fellow hath the Jetween Rosamond’s Seeing him stand- red between his mus- strength and courage of a bear; and yonder is a post where one shall do more to keep back th an an hundred in making way.” He cast a last look on the gigantic ficure, who stood’ in that airy position, like some Gothie statue, the weapon half levelled against the opposite turret, with the butt rested against his right foot, his steel cap and | surnished corselet glitter- ing in the rising sun. Cromwell then passed on to give the necessary orders, that such sentinels as might be endangered at their pres- ent 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 soldiers, who adored him ; and yet he resembled a volcano before the eruption com- mences—all peaceful and quiet without, while an hundred contradictory passions were raging in his bosom. Corporal Humeudgeon, meanwhile, remained steady apon 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 cf time which might be allowed for his es ¢ leng f ° Peet See ee Staa ry TROGIR ES TE 316 WAVERLEY NOVELS. cape from such a dangerous vicinity. The duty of con- stant 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 keoping them riveted on the opposite turret. At length the interest of the scene arose to the utter- ‘most. After entering and returning from the turret, and coming out again more than onée, 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 be- twixt 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 handling 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 besiegers, had resolved to mak? one desperate effort for self-preservation, While the head of the sentinel on the opposite platform was turned from him, and bent rather downwards, he suddenly sprung across the chasm, though the space on which he lighted was scarce wide enough for two persons, threw the sur- prised soldier from his precarious stand, and jumped him- self down into the chamber. The gigantic trooper wentWOODSTOCK, 317 sheer down twenty feet, struck against a projecting battle- ment, which launched the wretched man outwards, 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 snapt 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 power- ful 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 inclined outwards, 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 towards him, while a huge stone from the summit of the building, flying farther 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, still in great agitation, “and yonder lies his body half-buried in the rubbish.” With a quick and resolute step Cromwell approachedaf ime Eero “4 eee Tae Se tA amis vigseeathaes Pee bisa Tn 318 WAVERLEY NOVELS, the spot, and exclaimed, “ Pearson, thou hast ruined me —the young Man hath escaped.—This is our own sen- tinel—plague on the idiot! Let him rot. beneath the rains which erushed him ?” A cry now resounded from the platform of Rosamond’s Tower, which appeared yet taller than formerly, deprived of the neighbouring 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 the Lord hath delivered him into the hand of his servants.” in the snare “Look you keep him in safe custody,” exclaimed Cromwell, “and bring him presently down to the apart- ment from which the secret passages have their principal entrance.” “ Your Excellency shall be obeyed.” The proceedings of Albert Lee, to which these excla- mations related, had been unfortunate. He had dashed from the platform, as we have related, the gigantic strength of the soldier opposed to him, and had instantly jumped down into Rochecliffe’s chamber. But the sol- diers stationed there threw themselyes upon him, and alter a struggle, which was hopelessly maintained against such advantage of numbers, had thrown the young cava- lier 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 5 u clap of thunder in the immediate vicinity, shook all around them, till the strong and solid tower tottered like the mast of a stately vessel when about to part by the board. In a few seconds, this was followed by another sullen sound, at first low, and deep, but augmenting like the 1oar of a cataract, as it descends, reeling, bellowing,WOODSTOCK. 319 end rushing, as if to astound both heaven and earth. So awiul, indeed, was the sound of the neighbour tower as it fell. that both the captive, and those who struggled with him, continued for a minute rr two p grasp. assive in each other’s Albert was the first who recovered consciousness and netivity. He shook 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 ac« customed to every species of danger , and whose energies were recovered nearly as soon as | ls own, he was com- pletely secured, and his arms held down. Loyal and faithful to his trust, and resolved to sustain to the last the eharacter which he had assumed, he exclaimed, as his struggles were finally overpowered, “Rebel villains! would you slay your king ?” “ Ha, heard- 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 Strickalthrow, to slay in cold blood the captive 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 Instrument, even pur General, that he may do with him what is mect in his eyes.” By this time the soldier, whose exultation had made him the first to communicate the intelligence from the * Tredagh, or Drogheda, was taken by Cromwell in 1649, by storm, und the governor and whole garrison put to the sword.aa TERM IR neez . % Sica) [Saari sein PETERS oat Ts me st Mima. B20 WAVERLEY NOVELS. battlements to Cromwell, returned, and brought com- mands corresponding to the orders of their temporary officer ; and Albert Lee, disarmed and bound, was con- ducted as a captive into the apartment 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 which 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 deceit which might for a time insure the King’s safety. The difference betwixt them could not, he thought, be instantly discovered, 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 dig- nity 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 ‘ause to which the house of Lee had been hereditarily faithful.WOODSTOCK. CHAPTER XXXV. 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 scldiers, Zerubbabel Robins and Merciful Strick- nlthrow, introduced 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 ‘o Worcester, from Worcester to Woodstock, and we have met at last !” “TI would,” replied Albert, speaking in the character which he had assumed, “that we had met where I could have shown thee the difference betwixt a rightful King and an ambitious Usurper ! ” “Go to, young man,” said Cromwell; “say rather the difference between a judge raised up for the redemption of England, and the son of those Kings whom the Lord \n his anger permitted to reign over 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 voL. XLit 21np WAS ERLEY NOVELS. humble in our thoughts as we are of ourselves; and in pur unassisted nature frail and foolish; and unable to render a reason but for the- better spirit within as, which is not of us.—Thou art weary, young man, and thy nature requires rest and refection, 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 stopt, and then abruptly exclaimed—“ But is this—Ay! whom have we here? These are not the locks of the swarthy lad, Charles Stewart ?—A cheat! a cheat!” Albert hastily cast his eyes on a mirror which stood in the room, and perceived that a dark peruke, found among Dr. Rochecliffe’s miscellaneous wardrobe, had been disor- dered in the scuffle with the soldiery, and that his own light-brown hair was escaping from beneath it. “Who is this?” said Cromwell, stamping with fury— “ Pluck the disguise from him.” The soldiers did so; and bringing him at the same time towards the light, the deception could not be maintained for a-moment longer with any possibility of success. Cromwell came up to him with his teeth set, and grind- ing against each other as he spoke, his hands clenched, and trembling with emotion, and speaking with a voice low-pitched, bitterly and deeply emphatic, such as might have preceded a stab with his dagger. “Thy name, young man?” He was answered calmly and firmly, while the coun- tenance of the speaker wore a cast of triumph and even vontempt. “Albert Lee of Ditchley, a faithful subject of King Charles.”WOoDSTOGK. 323 “I might have guessed ts? to King Charles shal the dial.— Pearson,’ the others said Cromwell.—é Ay, and t thou ga as soon ” he continued, * let | ; and let them be executed “All, sir?” said Pe though he as it is noon on iim be carried to at twelve exactly.” arson, surprised; for Cromwell at times made formidable ex general, by no mcans sanguinary. “All”—repeated Cromwell iee. 4 Yes, young sir, thy father, thy | 3 amples, was, in » fixing his eye on young your conduct has devoted to death length, heading a group of the noblest in Kengland, and supported by his royal brothers on either 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 recognised 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 recognised, not instantly to know Bevis and his vener- able master. The Monarch sprung from his horse, and walked instantly up to the old knight, amid thundering CEN Oe OEB58 WAVERLEY NOVELS. acclamations which rose from the multitudes around, when they saw Charles with his own hand oppose the feeble attempts of the old man to rise to do him homage Gently replacing him on his seat 6 f Pd “ Bless,” he said, ather—bless your son, who has-returned in safety, ag 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 moments’ repose, turned to Alice— “And you,” he said, “my fair guide, how have you been employed since our perilous night-walk? But I need not ask,” glancing round—*in the service of King and Kingdom, bringing up subjects as loyal as their an- cestors.—A_ fair lineage, by my faith, and a beautiful sight to the eye of an English King !—Colonel Everard, we -shall see you, I trust, at Whitehall?” Here he nodded to Wildrake. “And thou, Joceline, thou eanst hold thy quarter-staff with one hand, sure ?—Thrust for- ward 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 Pheebe with some of these,” said Charles ; “she too has been doing her duty to Old England.” The 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 towards him to catch his accents, while the old man, detaining him with the other hand, said something faltering, of which Charles could only catch the quotation— “ Unthread the rude eye of rebellion, And welcome home again discarded faith."WOODSTOCK, Extricating himself, therefore, as gently from a scene which began to grow p ing, the good-natured King said, distinctness to Insure the old “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 wil] send down Louis Kerneguy to visit you, that you may see how rational that mischievous lad is become since his travels,” So saying as possible, ainfully embarrass. speaking with unusual man’s comprehending hin, > he once more pressed’ man’s hand, bowed to A drew; Sir Henry affectionately the old lice and all around, and with- Lee, listening with 9 smile, which showed he comprehended the gracious tendency of what had been said. The old man leaned ba and muttered the Wune dimittas. “Excuse me for havin ck on his seat, g 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 trum- pets 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 varied brilliancy that pro ceeded over the heath. When she looked again at Sir Henry, she was startled to see that his cheek, which had gained some colour 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 pete eret360 WAVERLEY NOVELS. late. ‘The light that burned so low in the socket, had leaped up, and expired 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 Glengarry to the author. A beautiful sketch of him was made by Edwin Landseer, and afterwards engraved. I cannot sup- press the avowal of some personal 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 displayed the form of this veteran favourite, simply marked as Der lieblung hund von Walter Scott. Mr. Landseer’s painting is at Blair-Adam, the property of my venera- ble friend, the Right Honourable Lord Chief Commissioner Adam. OF WOODSTOCK.s VEO ae Oe eee\ x , NALDERMAN LIBRARY The return of this book is due on the date indicated below DUE DUE 7 a —— io i be = | & J i \ sea: i . Wee, 7 Sey t¥ i i Cat % pir | Ped LY pe f é ily oo é eg a | —_ “res wel ay tin amie ‘ | j j | i | i | | | j i | | : | id | Lore 5 és tr KD at Usually books are lent out for two weeks, but there are exceptions and the borrower should note carefully the date stamped above. 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