The Antiquary 9781474433051

Table of contents :
FOREWORD
CONTENTS
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
GENERAL INTRODUCTION
THE ANTIQUARY
ADVERTISEMENT
VOLUME I
VOLUME II
VOLUME III
ESSAY ON THE TEXT
EMENDATION LIST
END-OF-LINE HYPHENS
HISTORICAL NOTE
EXPLANATORY NOTES
GLOSSARY

Citation preview

WALTER SCOTT

THE ANTIQUARY

Edited by David Hewitt

EDINBURGH

COLUMBIA

University Press

University Press

THE EDINBURGH EDITION OF THE WAVERLEY NOVELS EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

Professor David Hewitt

PATRONS

His Grace the Duke of Buccleuch : Mrs Patricia Maxwell-Scott The Royal Society of Edinburgh : The University of Edinburgh CHIEF FINANCIAL SPONSOR

Bank of Scotland ADVISORY BOARD

Sir Kenneth Alexander, Chairman Professor David Daiches, Vice-Chairman Dr W.E.K.Anderson : Thomas Crawford Professor Andrew Hook : Professor R.D.S Jack Professor A.N.Jeffares : Professor D.N.MacCormick Dr Douglas Mack : Professor John MacQueen Allan Massie : Professor Jane Millgate Professor David Nordloh : Sir Lewis Robertson Professor Denis Roberts (until 1990) Secretary to the Board Archie Turnbull GENERAL EDITORS

DrJ.H.Alexander, University ofAberdeen Dr P.D.Garside, University of Wales (Cardiff) Miss Claire Lamont, University ofNewcastle upon Tyne G.A.M.Wood, University ofStirling

Research Fellows Mrs Mairi Robinson : Dr Alison Lumsden : Gerard Carruthers

Typographical Adviser Ruari McLean

VOLUME THREE

THE ANTIQUARY

EDINBURGH EDITION OF THE WAVERLEY NOVELS

to be complete in thirty volumes Each volume will be published separately but original conjoint publication of certain works is indicated in the EEWN volume numbering [4a, b; 7a, b, etc.]. Where EEWN editors have been appointed, their names are listed

1Waverley [1814] 2 Guy Mannering [1815] P.D.Garside, Cardiff 3 The Antiquary [1816] David Hewitt, Aberdeen 4a The Black Dwarf [1816] P.D.Garside 4b The Tale of Old Mortality [1816] Douglas Mack, Stirling 5Rob Roy [1818] John and Winifred MacQueen, Edinburgh 6 The Heart of Mid-Lothian [1818] 7a The Bride of Lammermoor [1819] J.H.Alexander, Aberdeen 7b A Legend of the Wars of Montrose [1819] J.H.Alexander 8

9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18a 18b 19 20 21 22 23a 23b 24 25a 25b

Ivanhoe [1820] Graham Tulloch, S. Australia

The Monastery [1820] Penelope Fielding, Trinity College, Dublin The Abbot [1820] Christopher Johnson, Oxford Kenilworth [1821] J.H.Alexander The Pirate [1822] The Fortunes of Nigel [1822] Frank Jordan, Miami, Ohio Peveril of the Peak [1822] Quentin Durward [1823] G.A.M.Wood, Stirling Saint Ronan’s Well [1824] Mark Weinstein, Nevada Redgauntlet [1824] G.A.M.Wood The Betrothed [1825] J.B.Ellis, Edinburgh The Talisman [1825] J.B.Ellis Woodstock [1826] Chronicles of the Canongate [1827] Claire Lamont, Newcastle The Fair Maid of Perth [1828] A.Hook and D.Mackenzie, Glasgow Anne of Geierstein [1829] J.H.Alexander Count Robert of Paris [1831] Kurt Gamerschlag, Bonn Castle Dangerous [1831] Stories from The Keepsake [1828] Introductions and Notes from the Magnum Opus edition of 1829–33 Introductions and Notes from the Magnum Opus edition of 1829–33

© The University Court of the University of Edinburgh 1995 Edinburgh University Press 22 George Square, Edinburgh Columbia University Press 562 West 113th Street, New York Typeset in Linotronic Ehrhardt by Speedspools, Edinburgh Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY

ISBN 978 1 4744 3305 1 (ePDF) ISBN 0 7486 0537 1 (Edinburgh edition)

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Waverley Novels Fiction Scott, Sir Walter 1771–1832 New Edition Hewitt, David, Editor-in-chief The Antiquary David Hewitt, editor isbn 0-231-10396-4 (Columbia edition)

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data and LC Card Number available on request

No part of this publication maybe reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage or retrieval system, without the prior permission in writing from the publisher.

FOREWORD

ThePublication of Waverley in 1814 marked the emergence of the modern novel in the western world. It is difficult now to recapture the impact of this and the following novels of Scott on a readership accus­ tomed to prose fiction either as picturesque romance, ‘Gothic’ quaint­ ness, or presentation of contemporary manners. For Scott not only invented the historical novel, but gave it a dimension and a relevance that made it available for a great variety of new kinds of writing. Balzac in France, Manzoni in Italy, Gogol and Tolstoy in Russia, were among the many writers of fiction influenced by the man Stendhal called ‘notre père, Walter Scott’. What Scott did was to show history and society in motion: old ways of life being challenged by new; traditions being assailed by counterstatements; loyalties, habits, prejudices clashing with the needs of new social and economic developments. The attraction of tradition and its ability to arouse passionate defence, and simultaneously the challenge of progress and ‘improvement’, produce a pattern that Scott saw as the living fabric of history. And this history was rooted in place; events happened in localities still recognisable after the disappearance of the original actors and the establishment of new patterns of belief and behaviour. Scott explored and presented all this by means of stories, entertain­ ments, which were read and enjoyed as such. At the same time his passionate interest in history led him increasingly to see these stories as illustrations of historical truths, so that when he produced his final Magnum Opus edition of the novels he surrounded them with historical notes and illustrations, and in this almost suffocating guise they have been reprinted in edition after edition ever since. The time has now come to restore these novels to the form in which they were presented to their first readers, so that today’s readers can once again capture their original power and freshness. At the same time, serious errors of tran­ scription, omission, and interpretation, resulting from the haste of their transmission from manuscript to print can now be corrected. David Daiches EDINBURGH

University Press

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements viii

General Introduction

xi

THE ANTIQUARY Volume I

5

Volume II

119

Volume III

237

Essay on the Text

357

genesis

357

composition

364

later editions

370

the present text

380

Emendation List

394

End-of-line Hyphens

442

Historical Note

444

Explanatory Notes

451

Glossary

523

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The Scott Advisory Board and the editors of the Edinburgh Edition of the Waverley Novels wish to express their gratitude to The University Court of the University of Edinburgh for its vision in initiating and supporting the preparation of the first critical edition of Walter Scott's fiction. Those Uni­ versities which employ the editors have also contributed greatly in paying the editors’ salaries, and awarding research leave and grants for travel and mater­ ials. Particular thanks are due to The University of Aberdeenfor its support in the editing of The Antiquary. Although the edition is the work of scholars employed by universities, the project could not have prospered without the help of the sponsors cited below. Their generosity has met the direct costs of the initial research and of the preparation ofthe text ofthefirst six novels to appear in this edition. BANK OF SCOTLAND

The collapse ofthe great Edinburgh publisherArchibald Constable in January 1826 entailed the ruin ofSir Walter Scott who found himself responsible for his own private debts, for the debts of the printing business ofJames Ballan­ tyne and Co. in which he was co-partner, and for the bank advances to Archibald Constable which had been guaranteed by the printing business. Scott's largest creditors were Sir William Forbes and Co., bankers, and the Bank ofScotland. On the advice ofSir William Forbes himself, the creditors did not sequester his property, but agreed to the creation ofa trust to which he committed his future literary earnings, and which ultimately repaid the debts ofover £120,000 for which he was legally liable. In the same year the Government proposed to curtail the rights of the Scottish banks to issue their own notes; Scott wrote the 'Letters ofMalachi Malagrowther' in their defence, arguing that the measure was neither in the interests ofthe banks nor ofScotland. The 'Letters' were so successful that the Government was forced to withdraw its proposal and to this day the Scottish Banks issue their own notes. A portrait of Sir Walter appears on all current bank notes of the Bank of Scotland because Scott was a champion of Scottish banking, and because he was an illustrious and honourable customer not just of the Bank of Scotland itself, but also of three other banks now incorporated within it—the British Linen Bank which continues today as the merchant banking arm of the Bank of Scotland, Sir William Forbes and Co., and Ramsays, Bonars and Company. Bank of Scotland’s support of the EEWN continues its long and fruitful involvement with the affairs of Walter Scott. viii

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

ix

P.F. CHARITABLE TRUST

The P.F. Charitable Trust is the main charitable trust of the Flemingfamily which founded and still has a controlling interest in the City firm of Robert Fleming Holdings Limited. It was started in 1951 b y Philip Fleming and has since been added to by his son, Robin, who is now Managing Trustee. The Board and the editors are most grateful to the Trust and Mr Robin Flemingfor their generosity to the Edition. EDINBURGH UNIVERSITY DEVELOPMENT TRUST

The Edinburgh University General Council Trust, now incorporated within the Edinburgh University Development Trust, derived its funds from the contributions ofgraduates of the University. To the trustees, and to all whose gifts allowed the Trust to give a generous grant to the EEWN, the Board and the editors express their thanks. The Board and editors also wish to thank Sir Gerald Elliot for a giftfrom his charitable trust, and the British Academy and the Carnegie Trust for the Universities of Scotland for grants to facilitate specific aspects of EEWN research. LIBRARIES

Without the generous assistance of the two great repositories of Scott manu­ scripts, the National Library of Scotland and the Pierpont Morgan Lib­ rary, New York, it would not have been possible to have undertaken the editing ofScott's novels, and the Board and editors cannot overstate the extent to which they are indebted to their Trustees and staffs. In particular they wish to pay tribute to the late Professor Denis Roberts, Librarian of the National Library, who served on the Scott Advisory Board, who persuaded many ofhis colleagues in Britain and throughout the world to assist the Edition, and whose determination brought about the repatriation in 1986 of the Pforzheimer Library's Scott manuscripts and ofthe Interleaved Set ofthe Waverley Novels. THE BRITISH ACADEMY

The assistance of the British Academy in awarding a series ofMajor Research Grants in support of the Edition's Research Fellows has been of the greatest consequence, has been much appreciated, and has been received with gratitude. THE ANTIQUARY

The manuscript of The Antiquary is owned by the Pierpont Morgan Library, New York, and the editor acknowledges the generosity ofthe Morgan Library, and ofits Keeper ofManuscripts, Dr Robert Parks, in making the manuscript accessible to the editor, and for lending it to the National Library ofScotland for an extended period, which greatly eased the task of studying what Scott actually wrote. The great majority of the other relevant manuscripts—letters to and from Scott, his printers, and his publishers—and examples of most of

x

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

the editions needed by a Scott editor, are in the National Libraiy ofScotland, and without access to these materials, and without thefacilities ofthe National Library, it would not have been possible to have produced a proper scholarly edition. The Longman correspondence is in Reading University Library, and the help of its Department ofManuscripts, and the permission ofLongmans to publish copyright material from the Longman archive, is gratefully acknow­ ledged. Thanks are also due to the staffofAberdeen University Library who have been most helpful. Editing Scott requires knowledge and expertise beyond what can be mustered by any one person, and the business ofpreparing materials, collating, checking information, quotations and citations, andproofreading, requires much collab­ orative endeavour: thus a great many people have assisted the editor of The Antiquary. He is particularly indebted to the Edition’s Research Associate/ Fellows, Mrs Mairi Robinson, Dr Alison Lumsden, and Gerard Carruthers; to Dr Ian Clark, and Dr Gillian Hughes; to his immediate colleagues on the EEWN, and especially to Dr J. H. Alexander, and Dr Peter Garside; and to his assistant, Ms Sheena Sutherland. He also wishes to thank thefollowing for specific advice, information or assistance: Dr Stuart Airlie, Dr W. E. K. Anderson who as literary executor to the late Dr J. C. Corson made available Dr Corson's notes to the Waverley Novels, Professor Dieter Berger, Dr Iain G. Brown, Thomas Crawford, Professor David Daiches, Rev. Ian Dunlop, Dr Alastair Durie, Professor William Johnstone, Peter Kristiansen, Professor John MacQueen, Mrs Patricia Maxwell-Scott, ProfessorJane Millgate, Pro­ fessor W. F. H. Nicolaisen, DrMurray Pittock, DrMalise Ruthven, Dr Henry Sefton, DrJeremy Smith, and Dr Archie Turnbull. To help editors solve specificproblems, the Edinburgh Edition ofthe Waverley Novels has appointed the following as consultants: Professor David Nordloh, Indiana University (editorialpractice); DrAlan Bruford, University ofEdin­ burgh (popular beliefs and customs); DrJohn Cairns, University ofEdinburgh (Scots Law); Professor Thomas Craik, University ofDurham (Shakespeare); Mr John Ellis, University of Edinburgh (medieval literature); Dr Caroline Jackson-Houlston, Oxford Brookes University (popular song); Roy Pinkerton, University of Edinburgh (classical literature); Mrs Mairi Robinson (lan­ guage); Professor David Stevenson, University of St Andrews (history). Of these the editor of The Antiquary is particularly indebted to Dr Cairns, Pro­ fessor Craik, and Mr Pinkerton. Finally, the editor must thank hisfamilyfor its support and long sufferance. The General Editorfor this volume was Dr Peter Garside.

GENERAL INTRODUCTION

The Edinburgh Edition of the Waverley Novels is the first authoritative edition of Walter Scott’s fiction. It is the first to return to what Scott actually wrote in his manuscripts and proofs, and the first to reconsider fundamentally the presentation of his novels in print. In the light of comprehensive research, the editors decided in principle that the text of the novels in the new edition should be based on the first editions, but that all those manuscript readings which had been lost through accident, error, or misunderstanding should be restored. As a result each novel in the Edinburgh Edition differs in thousands of ways from the versions we have been accustomed to read, and many hundreds of readings never before printed have been recovered from the manuscripts. The indiv­ idual differences are often minor, but are cumulatively telling. The return to the original Scott produces fresher, less formal and less pedantic novels than we have known. Scott was the most famous and prestigious novelist of his age, but he became insolvent in 1826 following the bankruptcy of his publishers, Hurst, Robinson and Co. in London and Archibald Constable and Co. in Edinburgh. In 1827 Robert Cadell, who had succeeded Constable as Scott’s principal publisher, proposed the first collected edition of the complete Waverley Novels as one way of reducing the mountain of debt for which Scott was legally liable. Scott agreed to the suggestion and over the next few years revised the text of his novels and wrote introduc­ tions and notes. The edition was published in 48 monthly volumes from 1829 to 1833. The full story of the making of the Magnum Opus, as it was familiarly christened by Scott, is told in Jane Millgate’s Scott's Last Edition (Edinburgh, 1987), but for present purposes what is significant is that the Magnum became the standard edition of Scott, and since his death in 1832 all editions of the Waverley Novels, with the exceptions of Claire Lamont’s Waverley (Oxford, 1981), and Tony Inglis’s The Heart ofMid-Lothian (London, 1994), have been based on it. Because Scott prepared the Magnum Opus it has long been felt that it represented his final wishes and intentions. In a literal sense this must be so, but all readers who open the pages of any edition published since 1832 and are confronted with the daunting clutter of introductions, pre­ faces, notes, and appendices, containing a miscellaneous assemblage of historical illustration and personal anecdote, must feel that the creative power which took Britain, Europe and America by storm in the preced­ ing decades is cabin’d, cribb’d, confin’d by its Magnum context. Just as the new matter of 1829–33 is not integral to the novels as they were xi

xii

GENERAL INTRODUCTION

originally conceived, neither are the revisions and additions to the text. ‘Scholarly editors may disagree about many things, but they are in general agreement that their goal is to discover exactly what an author wrote and to determine what form of his work he wished the public to have.’ Thus Thomas Tanselle in 1976 succinctly and memorably de­ fined the business of textual editing. The editors of the Edinburgh Edition have made this goal their own, and have returned to the original manuscripts, to the surviving proofs, and to other textually relevant material to determine exactly what Scott wrote; they have also investi­ gated each British edition and every relevant foreign edition published in Scott’s lifetime. They have discovered that ever since they were written, the Waverley Novels have suffered from textual degeneration. The first editions were derived from copies of Scott’s manuscripts, but the pressure to publish quickly was such that they are not wholly reliable representations of what he wrote. Without exception, later edi­ tions were based on a preceding printed version, and so include most of the mistakes of their predecessors while adding their own, and in most cases Scott was not involved. There was an accumulation of error, and when Scott came to prepare the Magnum Opus he revised and cor­ rected an earlier printed text, apparently unaware of the extent to which it was already corrupt. Thus generations of readers have read versions of Scott which have suffered significantly from the changes, both deliber­ ate and accidental, of editors, compositors and proof-readers. A return to authentic Scott is therefore essential. The manuscripts provide the only fully authoritative state of the texts of the novels, for they alone proceed wholly from the author. They are for the most part remarkably coherent; the shape of Scott’s narratives seems to have been established before he committed his ideas to paper, although a close examination of what he wrote shows countless minor revisions made in the process of writing, and usually at least one layer of later revising. We are closest to Scott in the manuscripts, but they could not be the sole textual basis for the new edition. They give us his own words, free of non-authorial interventions, but they do not constitute the ‘form of his work he wished the public to have’. Scott expected his novels to be printed, usually in three volumes, and he structured his stories so that they fitted the three-volume division of the printed books. He expected minor errors to be corrected, words repeated in close proximity to each other to be removed, spelling to be normalised, and a printed-book style of punctuation, amplifying and replacing the marks he had provided in manuscript, to be inserted. There are no written instructions to the printers to this effect, but his acceptance of what was done implies approval, even although the imposition of the conventions of print had such a profound effect on the evolution of his text that the conversion of autograph text into print was less a question of transliteration than of translation.

GENERAL INTRODUCTION

xiii

This assumption of authorial approval is better founded for Scott than for any other writer. Walter Scott was in partnership with James Ballantyne in a firm of printers which Ballantyne managed and for which Scott generated much of the work. The contracts for new Scott novels were unusual, in that they always stipulated that the printing would be undertaken by James Ballantyne and Co., and that the pub­ lishers should have the exclusive right only to purchase and to manage the sales of an agreed number of copies. Thus production was con­ trolled not by the publishers but by James Ballantyne and his partner, Walter Scott. The textually significant consequence of this partnership was a mutual trust to a degree uncommon between author and printer. Ballantyne was most anxious to serve Scott and to assist him in preparing the novels for public presentation, and Scott not only permitted his but actively sought it. Theirs was a unique business and literary partnership which had a crucial effect on the public form of the Waverley Novels. Scott expected his novels to appear in the form and format in which they did appear, but in practice what was done was not wholly satisfact­ ory because of the complicated way in which the texts were processed. Until 1827, when Scott acknowledged his authorship, the novels were published anonymously and so that Scott’s well-known handwriting should not be seen in the printing works the original manuscripts were copied, and it was these copies, not Scott’s original manuscripts, which were used in the printing house. Not a single leaf is known to survive but the copyists probably began the tidying and regularising. The compos­ itors worked from the copies, and, when typesetting, did not just follow what was before them, but supplied punctuation, normalised spelling, and corrected minor errors. Proofs were first read in-house against the transcripts, and in addition to the normal checking for mistakes these proofs were used to improve the punctuation and the spelling. When the initial corrections had been made, a new set of proofs went to James Ballantyne. He acted as editor, not just as proof-reader. He drew Scott’s attention to gaps in the text and pointed out inconsistencies in detail; he asked Scott to standardise names; he substituted nouns for pronouns when they occurred in the first sentence of a paragraph, and inserted the names of speakers in dialogue; he changed incorrect punc­ tuation, and added punctuation he thought desirable; he corrected grammatical errors and removed close verbal repetitions; he told Scott when he could not follow what was happening; and when he particularly enjoyed something he said so. These annotated proofs were sent to the author, who sometimes accepted Ballantyne’s suggestions and sometimes rejected them. He made many more changes; he cut out redundant words, and substituted the vivid for the pedestrian; he refined the punctuation; he sometimes reworked and revised passages extensively, and in so doing made the proofs a stage in the composition of the novels.

xiv

GENERAL INTRODUCTION

When Ballantyne received Scott’s corrections and revisions, he transcribed all the changes on to a clean set of proofs so that the author’s hand would not be seen by the compositors. Further revises were prepared. Some of these were seen and read by Scott but by and large he seems to have trusted Ballantyne to make sure that the earlier correc­ tions and revisions had been correctly executed. When doing this Ballantyne did not just read for typesetting errors, but continued the process of punctuating and tidying the text. A final proof allowed the corrections to be inspected and the imposition of the type to be checked prior to printing. One might imagine that after all this activity the first editions would be perfect, but this is far from being the case. There are usually in excess of 50,000 variants in the first edition of a three-volume novel when compared with the manuscript. The great majority are in accordance with Scott’s general wishes as described above. But the intermediaries, as the copyist, compositors, proof-readers, and James Ballantyne are collectively known, made mistakes; they misread the manuscripts from time to time, and they did not always understand what Scott had written. This would not have mattered had there not also been procedural fail­ ures. The transcripts were not thoroughly checked against the original manuscripts. Scott himself does not seem to have read the proofs against the manuscripts and thus did not notice transcription errors which made sense in their context. And James Ballantyne continued his editing in post-authorial proofs; his changes may have been in the spirit of Scott’s own critical proof-reading, but it is probable that his efforts were never inspected by the author. The editors of the Edinburgh Edition of the Waverley Novels have studied every single variant in the first editions of all the novels they have worked on to date. There are a large number of small verbal differences, and the editors have come to the conclusion that the words originally written by Scott, though subsequently changed by the intermediaries, are nearly always justified by colloquial, dialect, or period usage. Sim­ ilarly the punctuation supplied at times misinterprets the sense of the manuscript or the rhythm of speech, and the substitution of synonyms for repeated words was often effected too mechanically, changing meaning or spoiling rhetoric. It is not surprising that the intermediaries should make mistakes when translating the manuscripts into print. Even James Ballantyne’s knowledge of language and history was limited com­ pared to Scott’s. He was a trusted and competent editor; he was honest about his likes and dislikes and was useful to Scott in giving voice to them. But his annotations and suggestions show that he did not appreci­ ate the full variety of Scott’s language, objected to any suggestion of the indelicate, and tidied the text by rule. Above all, his comments were made as Scott wrote, and without knowing the outcome of the story, and thus he was inevitably unaware of the architectonics of the complete

GENERAL INTRODUCTION

xv

work of art. His views were sometimes wrong, and Scott was sometimes wrong to give way to them. The editors have normally chosen the first edition of a novel as basetext, for the first edition usually represents the culmination of the initial creative process, and, local failings excepted, usually seems closest to the form of his work he wished his public to have. After the careful collation of all pre-publication materials, and in the light of their invest­ igation into the factors governing the writing and printing of the Waver­ ley Novels, they have incorporated into the base-text readings which were lost in the production process through accident, error or mis­ understanding. In certain cases they have also introduced into the basetexts revisions from printed texts which they believe to have emanated from Scott, or are consistent with the spirit of his own revision during the initial creative process. Only revisions which belong to the process and period of initial creation have been adopted. In addition, they have corrected various kinds of error, such as typographical and copy-editing mistakes including the misnumbering of chapters, inconsistencies in the naming of characters, egregious errors of fact that are not part of the fiction, and failures of sense which a simple emendation can restore. The result is an ideal text, which the first readers of the Waverley Novels would have read had the production process been less pressurised and more considered. The ‘new’ Scott will be visible not only in the text but also in the context. The Magnum introductions and notes are not integral to the novels as they were originally conceived, and are therefore reserved for separate publication in the final volumes of the edition where they will be treated as a distinct, final phase of Scott’s involvement in his fiction. Thus the novels appear as they were first presented. The Edinburgh Edition of the Waverley Novels offers a clean text; there are no footnotes or superscripts to detract from the pleasure of reading. It does not remove Scott’s own introductions only to replace them with those of modern editors; the textual essays appear at the end, where they will be encountered only after reading Scott. The essays present a detailed history of the genesis and composition of the novel, a history of the evolution of the old text, and a description of the distinguishing features of the new. The textual apparatus does not include a full list of variants because for one of the major early works there would be at least 100,000 to record. Instead, the textual essays analyse and illustrate the evidence gleaned from the collation of the manuscripts and proofs (where these are extant) and of all relevant editions published in Scott’s lifetime. All variants from the base-text are listed in the emendation list (but as variants from the Magnum are not, the scale of the change from old editions to the new is not immediately apparent). And finally, there are explanatory notes and a glossary. Scott’s read­ ing was wide and voluminous, he was immensely knowledgeable in a

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GENERAL INTRODUCTION

range of disciplines, and he had a considerable understanding of the social organisation, customs and beliefs of contemporary and historical societies. Few readers are likely to appreciate the full extent of his learning without some assistance, and the notes at the end of this volume draw on a greater variety of expertise, and are more comprehensive, than any previously published. They are informative rather than expos­ itory; for instance, they identify all quotations, from the most obvious passages in the Bible and Shakespeare through to the truly recondite, but they leave the reader to consider their significance in each context. And the glossary for the first time attempts to cover comprehensively all Scott’s period, dialectal, foreign, and obscure words. The Edinburgh Edition of the Waverley Novels aims to provide an authoritative text of Scott’s fiction, to give the reader the support required to appreciate the intellectual richness of his work, and to allow a new audience to share the excitement that the novels generated when they were first published. The editors are confident of fulfilling the first two aims. The reader must be judge of their success in the third. DAVID HEWITT

THE ANTIQUARY. BY THE AUTHOR OF “WAVERLEY” AND “GUY MANNERING.”

I knew Anselmo. He was shrewd and prudent, Wisdom and cunning had their shares of him; But he was shrewish as a wayward child, And pleased again by toys which childhood please; As—book of fables graced with print of wood, Or else the jingling of a rusty medal, Or the rare melody of some old ditty, That first was sung to please King Pepin’s cradle.

IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. I.

EDINBURGH: Printed by James Ballantyne and Co. FOR ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE AND CO. EDINBURGH; AND LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN, LONDON.

1816.

ADVERTISEMENT The present Work completes a series of fictitious narratives, in­ tended to illustrate the manners of Scotland at three different periods. Waverley embraced the age of our fathers, Guy Mannering that of our own youth, and the Antiquary refers to the last ten years of the eighteenth century. I have, in the two last narratives especially, sought my principal personages in the class of society who are the last to feel the influence of that general polish which assimil­ ates to each other the manners of different nations. Among the same class I have placed some of the scenes, in which I have endeavoured to illustrate the operation of the higher and more violent passions; both because the lower orders are less restrained by the habit of suppress­ ing their feelings, and because I agree with Mr Wordsworth, that they seldom fail to express them in the strongest and most powerful lan­ guage. This is, I think, peculiarly the case with the peasantry of my own country, a class with whom I have long been familiar. The antique force and simplicity of their language often tinctured with the oriental eloquence of Scripture, in the mouths of those of an elevated under­ standing, give pathos to their grief, and dignity to their resentment. I have been more solicitous to describe manners minutely, than to arrange in any case an artificial and combined narration, and have but to regret that I felt myself unable to unite these two requisites of a good Novel. The knavery of the Adept in the following sheets may appear forced and improbable; but we have had very late instances of the force of superstitious credulity to a much greater extent, and the reader may be assured, that this part of the narrative is founded on a fact of actual occurrence. I have now only to express my gratitude to the public, for the distinguished reception which they have given to works, that have little more than some truth of colouring to recommend them, and to take my respectful leave, as one who is not likely again to solicit their favour.

THE ANTIQUARY VOLUME I

Chapter One “Go call a coach, and let a coach be call’d, And let the man who calleth be the caller; And in his calling let him nothing call, But Coach! Coach! Coach! O for a coach, ye gods!” Chrononhotonthologos

It was early in a fine summer’s day, near the end of the eighteenth century, when a young man, of genteel appearance, having occasion to go towards the north-east of Scotland, provided himself with a ticket in one of those public carriages which travel between Edinburgh and the Queensferry, at which place, as the name implies, and as is well known to all my northern readers, there is a passage-boat for crossing the Firth of Forth. The coach was calculated to carry six regular passengers, besides such interlopers as the coachman could pick up by the way, and intrude upon those who were legally in possession. The tickets, which conferred right to a seat in this vehicle of little­ ease, were dispensed by a sharp-looking old dame, with a pair of spectacles on a very thin nose, who inhabited a “laigh shop,” anglicé, a cellar, opening to the High-street by a strait and steep stair, at the bottom of which she sold tape, thread, needles, skeans of worsted, coarse linen cloth, and such feminine gear, to those who had the courage and skill to descend to the profundity of her dwelling, without falling headlong themselves, or throwing down any of the numerous articles which, piled on each side of the descent, indicated the profes­ sion of the trader below. The written hand-bill, which, pasted on a projecting board, announced that the Queensferry Diligence, or Hawes Fly, departed precisely at twelve o’clock on Tuesday, the fifteenth July, 17—, in order to secure for travellers the opportunity of passing the Firth with 5

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the flood-tide, lied upon the present occasion like a bulletin; for although that hour was pealed from Saint Giles’s steeple, and repeated by the Tron, no coach appeared upon the appointed stand. It is true, only two tickets had been taken out, and possibly the lady of the subterranean mansion might have an understanding with her Automedon, that, in such cases, a little space was to be allowed for the chance of filling up the vacant places—or the said Automedon might have been attending a funeral, and be delayed by the necessity of stripping his vehicle of its lugubrious trappings—or he might have staid to take a half-mutchkin extraordinary with his crony the ostler— or—in short, he did not make his appearance. The young gentleman, who began to grow something impatient, was now joined by a companion in this petty misery of human life —the person who had taken out the other place. He who is bent upon a journey is usually easily to be distinguished from his fellow­ citizens. The boots, the great-coat, the umbrella, the little bundle in his hand, the hat pulled over his resolved brows, the determined importance of his pace, his brief answers to the salutations of loun­ ging acquaintances, are all marks by which the experienced traveller in mail-coach or diligence can distinguish, at a distance, the com­ panion of his future journey, as he pushes onward to the place of rendezvous. It is then that, with worldly wisdom, the first comer hastens to secure the best berth in the coach for himself, and to make the most convenient arrangement for his baggage before the arrival of his competitor. Our youth, who was gifted with little pru­ dence of any sort, and who was, moreover, by the absence of the coach, deprived of the power of availing himself of his priority of choice, amused himself, instead, by speculating upon the occupation and character of the personage who was now come to the coachoffice. He was a good-looking man of the age of sixty, perhaps older, but his hale complexion and firm step announced that years had not impaired his strength or health. His countenance was of the true Scottish cast, strongly marked, and rather harsh in features, with a shrewd and penetrating eye, and a countenance in which habitual gravity was enlivened by a cast of ironical humour. His dress was uniform, and of a colour becoming his age and gravity; a wig, well dressed and powdered, surmounted by a slouched hat, had something of a professional air. He might be a clergyman, yet his appearance was more that of a man of the world than usually belongs to the Kirk of Scotland, and his first ejaculation put the matter beyond question. He arrived with a hurried pace, and, casting an alarmed glance towards the dial-plate of the church, then looking at the place where

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the coach should have been, exclaimed, “De’il’s in it—I am too late after all.” The young man relieved his anxiety by telling him the coach had not yet appeared. The old gentleman, apparently conscious of his own want of punctuality, did not at first feel courageous enough to censure that of the coachman. He took a parcel, containing apparently a large folio, from a little boy who followed him, and, patting him on the head, bid him go back and tell Mr B——, that if he had known he was to have had so much time, he would have put another word or two to the bargain,—then told the boy to mind his business, and he would be as thriving a lad as ever dusted a duodecimo. The boy lingered, perhaps in hopes of a penny to buy marbles, but none was forthcoming. Our senior leaned his little bundle upon one of the posts at the head of the staircase, and, facing the traveller who had first arrived, waited in silence for about five minutes the arrival of the expected diligence. At length, after one or two impatient glances at the progress of the minute-hand of the clock, having compared it with his own watch, a huge and antique gold repeater, and having twitched about his fea­ tures to give due emphasis to one or two peevish pshaws, he hailed the old lady of the cavern. “Good woman,—what the d—l is her name?—Mrs Macleu­ char!”—— Mrs Macleuchar, aware that she had a defensive part to sustain in the encounter which was to follow, was in no hurry to hasten the discussion by returning a ready answer. “Mrs Macleuchar—Good woman,” (with an elevated voice)— then apart, “Old doited hag, she’s as deaf as the post—I say, Mrs Macleuchar!”—— “I am just serving a customer—indeed, hinny, it will no be a bodle cheaper than I tell ye.” “Woman,” reiterated the traveller, “do you think we can stand here all day till you have cheated that poor servant wench out of her halfyear’s fee and bountith?” “Cheated!” retorted Mrs Macleuchar, eager to take up the quarrel upon a defensible ground; “I scorn your words, sir; you are an uncivil person, and I desire you will not stand there to slander me at my ain stairhead.” “The woman,” said the senior, looking with an arch glance at his destined travelling companion, “does not understand the words of action.—Woman,” again turning to the vault, “I arraign not thy char­ acter, but I desire to know what is become of thy coach.” “What’s your will?” answered Mrs Macleuchar, relapsing into deafness.

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“We have taken places, ma’am,” said the younger stranger, “in your diligence for Queensferry”—“Which should have been half-way on the road before now,” continued the elder and more impatient travel­ ler, rising in wrath as he spoke; “and now in all likelihood we shall miss the tide, and I have business of importance on the other side— and your cursed coach”—— “The coach?—gude guide us, gentlemen, is it no on the stand yet?” answered the old lady, her shrill tone of expostulation sinking into a kind of apologetic whine; “Is it the coach ye can have been waiting for?” “What else could have keeped us broiling in the sun by the side of the gutter here—you—you faithless woman? Eh?” Mrs Macleuchar now ascended her trap stair, (for such it might be called, though constructed of stone,) until her nose came upon a level with the pavement; then, after wiping her spectacles to look for that which she well knew was not to be found, she exclaimed, with wellfeigned astonishment, “Gude guide us—saw ony body the like o’ that!” “Yes, you abominable woman,” vociferated the traveller, “many have seen the like of it, and all will see the like of it, that have any thing to do with your trollopping sex;” then, pacing in great indignation before the door of the shop, still as he passed and repassed, like a vessel who gives her broadside as she comes abreast of a hostile fortress, he shot down complaints, threats, and reproaches, on the embarrassed Mrs Macleuchar. He would take a post-chaise—he would call a hackney-coach—he would take four horses—he must— he would be on the north side to-day—and all the expence of his journey, besides damages, direct and consequential, arising from delay, should be accumulated on the devoted head of Mrs Mac­ leuchar. There was something so comic in his pettish resentment, that the younger traveller, who was in no such pressing hurry to depart, could not help being amused with it, especially as it was obvious, that every now and then the old gentleman, though very angry, could not help laughing at his own vehemence. But when Mrs Macleuchar began also to join in the laughter, he quickly put a stop to her ill-timed merriment. “Woman,” said he, “is that advertisement thine?” shewing a bit of crumpled printed paper: “Does it not set forth, that, God willing, as you hypocritically express it, the Hawes Fly, or Queensferry Dili­ gence, would set forth to-day at twelve o’clock, and is it not, thou falsest of creatures, now a quarter past twelve, and no such fly or diligence to be seen?—doest thou know the consequence of seducing

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the lieges by false reports?—doest thou know it might be brought under the statute of leasing-making?—Answer and for once in thy long, useless, and evil life, let it be in the words of truth and sincerity— hast thou such a coach?—is it in rerum natura?—or is this base annun­ ciation a mere swindle on the incautious, to beguile them of their time, their patience, and three shillings of sterling money of this realm?— hast thou, I say, such a coach?—aye or no?” “O dear, yes, sir; the neighbours ken the diligence weel, green picked out wi’ red—three yallow wheels and a black ane.” “Woman, thy special description will not serve—it may be only a lie with a circumstance.” “O man! man!” said the overwhelmed Mrs Macleuchar, totally exhausted by having been so long the butt of his rhetoric, “take back your three shillings, and mak me quit o’ ye.” “Not so fast, not so fast, woman—will three shillings transport me to Queensferry agreeably to thy treacherous program?—or will it requite the damage I may sustain by leaving my business undone, or repay the expences which I must deburse if I am obliged to tarry a day at the South Ferry for lack of tide?—will it hire, I say, a pinnace, for which alone the regular price is five shillings?” Here his argument was cut short by a lumbering noise, which proved to be the advance of the expected vehicle, pressing forward with all the dispatch to which the broken-winded jades that drew it could possibly be urged. With ineffable pleasure, Mrs Macleuchar saw her tormentor deposited in the leathern convenience; but still, as it was driving off, his head thrust out of the window reminded her, in words drowned amid the rumbling of the wheels, that, if the diligence did not attain the Ferry in time to save the flood-tide, she, Mrs Macleuchar, should be held responsible for all the consequences that might ensue. The coach had continued in motion for a mile or two before the stranger had completely repossessed himself of his equanimity, as was manifested by the doleful ejaculations which he made from time to time on the too great probability, or even certainty, of their missing the flood-tide. By degrees, however, his wrath subsided; he wiped his brows, relaxed his frown, and, undoing the parcel in his hand, pro­ duced his folio, on which he gazed from time to time with the knowing look of an amateur, admiring its height and condition, and ascertain­ ing, by a minute and individual inspection of each leaf, that the volume was uninjured and entire from title-page to colophon. His fellowtraveller took the liberty of enquiring the subject of his studies. He lifted up his eyes with something of a sarcastic glance, as he supposed the young querist would not relish or perhaps understand his answer,

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and pronounced the book to be Sandy Gordon’s Itinerarium Sep­ tentrionale, a book illustrative of the Roman remains in Scotland. The querist, unappalled by this learned title, proceeded to put several questions, which indicated, that he had made good use of a good education, and, although not possessed of minute information on the subject of antiquities, had yet acquaintance enough with the classics to render him an interested and intelligent auditor when they were enlarged upon. The elder traveller, observing with pleasure the capacity of his temporary companion to understand and answer him, plunged, nothing loth, into a sea of discussion concerning urns, vases, votive altars, Roman camps, and the rules of castrametation. The pleasure of this discourse had such a dulcifying tendency, that, although two causes of delay occurred, each of a more serious dura­ tion than that which had drawn down his wrath upon the unlucky Mrs Macleuchar, our Antiquary only bestowed upon the delay the honour of a few episodical poohs and pshaws, which rather seemed to regard the interruption of his disquisition than the delay of his journey. The first of these stops was occasioned by the breaking of a spring, which half an hour’s labour hardly repaired. To the second, the Anti­ quary was himself accessory, if not principal cause; for, observing that one of the horses had cast a fore-foot shoe, he apprized the coachman of this important deficiency. “It’s Jamie Martingale that furnishes the naigs on contract, and uphauds them,” answered John, “and I am not entitled to make ony stop, or to suffer prejudice by the like of these accidents.” “And when you go to—I mean where you deserve, you scoundrel, —who do you think will uphold you on contract? If you don’t stop directly and carry the poor brute to the next smithy, I’ll have you punished, if there’s a justice of peace in Mid-Lothian. ”—And, open­ ing the coach door, out he jumped, while the coachman obeyed his orders, muttering, that “if the gentlemen lost the tide now, they could not say but it was their ain fault, since he was willing to get on.” I like so little to analyze the complication of the causes which influence human actions, that I will not venture to ascertain whether our Antiquary’s humanity to the poor horse was not in some degree aided by his desire of shewing his companion a Pict’s camp or Roundabout, a subject which he had been elaborately discussing, and of which a specimen, “very curious and perfect indeed,” happened to exist about an hundred yards distant from the place where this inter­ ruption took place. But were I compelled to decompose the motives of my worthy friend, (for such was the gentleman in the sober suit, well powdered wig and slouched hat,) I would say, that, although he cer­

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tainly would not in any case have suffered the coachman to proceed while the horse was unfit for service, and likely to suffer by being urged forward, yet the man of whip-cord escaped some severe abuse and reproach by the agreeable mode which the traveller found out to pass the interval of delay. So much time was consumed by these interruptions of their jour­ ney, that when they descended the hill above the Hawes, (for so the inn on the southern side of the Queensferry is denominated,) the experienced eye of the Antiquary at once discerned, from the extent of wettish sand, and the number of black stones and rocks, covered with sea-weed, which were visible along the skirts of the shore, that the hour of tide was past. The young traveller expected a burst of peevish indignation; but whether, as Croaker says in “The Good-natured Man,” our hero had exhausted himself in fretting away his misfor­ tunes beforehand, so that he never felt them when they actually arrived, or whether he found the company in which he was placed too congenial to repine at any thing which delayed his journey, it is certain that he submitted to his lot with much resignation. “The d—l’s in the diligence and the old hag it belongs to! Dili­ gence, quoth I? Thou should’st have called it the Sloth—Fly, quoth she? why, it has moved like a fly through a glue-pot, as the Irishman says. But, however, time and tide tarry for no man—And so, my young friend, if you have no objections we’ll have a snack here at the Hawes, which is a very decent sort of a place, and I’ll be happy to finish the account I was giving you of the difference between the mode of entrenching the castra stativa and the castra æstiva, things confounded by too many of our historians—lack-a-day, if they had ta’en the pains to satisfy their own eyes, instead of following each other’s blind guid­ ance!—Well! we shall be pretty comfortable at the Hawes, and besides, after all, we must have dined somewhere, and it will be pleasanter sailing with the tide of ebb and the evening breeze.” In this Christian temper of making the best of all occurrences, our travellers alighted at the Hawes.

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Chapter Two Sir, they do scandal me upon the road here! A poor quotidian rack of mutton, roasted Dry to be grated! and that driven down With beer and butter-milk, mingled together. It is against my freehold, my inheritance. Wine is the word that glads the heart of man, And mine’s the house of wine. Sack, says my bush, Be merry and drink Sherry, that’s my posie. Ben Jonson’s New Inn

As the senior traveller descended the crazy steps of the diligence at the inn, he was greeted by the fat, gouty, pursy landlord, with that mixture of familiarity and respect which the Scotch innkeepers of the old school used to assume towards their more valued customers. “Have a care o’ us, Monkbarns, (distinguishing him by his territorial epithet, always most agreeable to the ear of a Scottish proprietor) is this you? I little thought to have seen your honour here till the summer session was ower.” “Ye donnard auld devil,” answered Monkbarns, his Scottish accent predominating when in anger, though otherwise not particularly remarkable, “ye donnard auld crippled ideot, what have I to do with the Session or the geese that flock to it, or the hawks that pick their pinions for them?” “Troth, and that’s true,” said mine host, who, in fact, only spoke upon a very general recollection of the stranger’s original education, yet would have been sorry not to have been supposed accurate as to the station and profession of him, or any other occasional guest— “That’s very true—but I thought ye had had some law affair of your ain to look after—I have ane mysell—a ganging plea that my father left me, and his father afore left to him—it’s about our back-yard—ye’ll maybe hae heard of it in the Parliament-house—Hutchinson against Mackitchenson—it’s a weel-kenn’d plea—it’s been four times in afore the Fifteen, and de’il ony thing the wisest o’ them could make o’t, but just to send it out again to the outer-house.—O it’s a beautiful thing to see how lang and how carefully justice is considered in this country!” “Hold your tongue, you fool,” said the traveller, but in great goodhumour, “and tell us what you can give this young gentleman and me for dinner.” “Ow, there’s fish, nae doubt,—that’s sea-trout and caller had­ docks,” said Mackitchenson, twisting his napkin; “and ye’ll be for a mutton-chop, and there’s cranberry tarts, very weel preserved, and—

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and there’s just ony thing else ye like.” “Which is to say, there’s nothing else whatever—well, well, the fish, and the chop, and the tarts, will do very well. But don’t imitate the cautious delay that you praise in the courts of justice. Let there be no remits from the inner to the outer house, hear ye me!” “Na, na,” said Mackitchenson, whose long and heedful perusal of volumes of printed Session papers had made him acquainted with some law phrases—“the denner shall be served quam primum, and that peremptorie.” And with the flattering laugh of a promising host, he left them in his little sanded parlour, hung with prints of the Four Seasons. As, notwithstanding his pledge to the contrary, the glorious delays of the law were not without their parallel in the kitchen of the inn, our younger traveller had an opportunity to step out and make some enquiry at the people of the house concerning the rank and station of his companion. The information which he received was of a general and less authentic nature, but quite sufficient to make him acquainted with the name, history, and circumstances of the gentleman, whom we shall endeavour, in a few words, to introduce more accurately to our readers. Jonathan Oldenbuck, or Oldinbuck, by popular contraction Old­ buck, of Monkbarns, was the second son of a gentleman possessed of a small property in the neighbourhood of a thriving sea-port town on the north-eastern coast of Scotland, which, for various reasons, we shall denominate Fairport. They had been established for several generations as landholders in the county, and in most shires of Eng­ land would have been accounted a family of some standing. But the shire of——was filled with gentlemen of more ancient descent and of larger fortune. In the last generation also, the neighbouring gentry had been almost uniformly Jacobites, while the proprietors of Monk­ barns, like the burghers of the town near which they were settled, were steady assertors of the Protestant succession. The latter had, however, a pedigree of their own, on which they prided themselves as much as those who despised them valued their respective Saxon, Norman, or Celtic genealogies. The first Oldenbuck, who had settled in their family mansion shortly after the Reformation, was, they asserted, descended from one of the original printers of Germany, and had left his country in consequence of the persecutions directed against the professors of the reformed religion. He had found a refuge in the town near which his posterity dwelt, the more readily that he was a sufferer in the Protestant cause, and certainly not the less so, that he brought with him money enough to purchase the small estate of Monkbarns, then sold by a dissipated laird to whose father it had been gifted, with

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other church-lands, upon the dissolution of the great and wealthy monastery to which it had belonged. The Oldenbucks were therefore loyal subjects on all occasions of insurrection; and, as they kept up a good intelligence with the borough, it chanced that the Laird of Monkbarns, who flourished in 1745, was provost of the town during that ill-fated year, and had exerted himself with much spirit in favour of King George, and even been put to expences on that score, which, according to the liberal conduct of the existing government towards their friends, had never been repaid him. By dint of solicitation, how­ ever, and borough interest, he contrived to gain a place in the customs, and, being a frugal careful man, had found himself enabled to add considerably to his paternal fortune. He had only two sons, of whom, as we have hinted, the present laird was the younger, and two daugh­ ters, one of whom still flourished in single blessedness, and the other, who was greatly more juvenile, made a love-match with a captain in the Forty-twa, who had no other fortune but his commission and a Highland pedigree. Poverty disturbed a union which love would oth­ erwise have made happy, and Captain MacIntyre, in justice to his wife and two children, had found himself obliged to seek his fortune in the East Indies. Being ordered upon an expedition against Hyder Ally, the detachment to which he belonged was cut off, and no news ever reached his unfortunate wife whether he fell in battle, or was mur­ dered in prison, or survived, in what the habits of the Indian tyrant rendered a hopeless captivity. She sunk under the accumulated load of grief and uncertainty, and left a son and daughter to the charge of her brother, the existing laird of Monkbarns. The history of that proprietor himself is soon told. Being, as we have said, a second son, his father destined him to a share in a sub­ stantial mercantile concern, carried on by some of his maternal rela­ tions. From this Jonathan’s mind revolted in the most irreconcileable manner. He was then put apprentice to the profession of a writer, or attorney, in which he profited so far, that he made himself master of the whole forms of feudal investitures, and shewed such pleasure in reconciling their incongruities, and tracing their origin, that his mas­ ter had great hope he would one day be an able conveyancer. But he halted upon the threshold, and, though he acquired some knowledge of the origin and system of the law of his country, he could never be persuaded to apply it to lucrative and practical purposes. It was not from any inconsiderate neglect of the advantages attending the pos­ session of money that he thus deceived the hopes of his master. “Were he thoughtless or light-headed, or rei sure prodigus” said his instructor, “I would know what to make of him. But he never pays away a shilling without looking anxiously after the change, makes his

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sixpence go farther than another lad’s half-crown, and will ponder over an old black-letter copy of the acts of parliament for days, rather than go to the golf or the change-house ; and yet he will not bestow one of these days on a little business of routine, that would put twenty shillings in his pocket—a strange mixture of frugality and industry, and negligent indolence—I don’t know what to make of him.” But in process of time his pupil gained the means of making what he pleased of himself, for his father, having died, was not long sur­ vived by his elder son, an errant fisher and fowler, who departed this life, in consequence of a cold caught in his vocation, while shooting ducks in the swamp called Kittlefitting-moss, notwithstanding his having drunk a bottle of brandy that very night to keep the cold out of his stomach. Jonathan, therefore, succeeded to the estate, and with it to the means of subsisting without the hated drudgery of the law. His wishes were very moderate; and as the rent of his small property rose with the improvement of the country, it soon exceeded his wants and expenditure; and though too indolent to make money, he was by no means insensible to the pleasure of beholding it accumu­ late. The burghers of the town near which he lived regarded him with some sort of envy, as one who affected to divide himself from their rank in society, and whose studies and pleasures seemed to them alike incomprehensible. Still, however, a sort of hereditary respect for the Laird of Monkbarns, augmented by the knowledge of his being a ready-money man, kept up his consequence with this class of his neighbours. The country gentlemen were generally above him in fortune, and beneath him in intellect, and, excepting one with whom he lived on habits of intimacy, had little intercourse with Mr Oldbuck of Monkbarns. He had, however, the usual resource, the company of the clergyman, and of the doctor, when he chose to request it, and also his own pursuits and pleasures, being in corres­ pondence with most of the virtuosi of his time, who, like him, meas­ ured decayed entrenchments, made plans of ruined castles, read illegible inscriptions, and wrote essays upon medals in the proportion of twelve pages to each letter of the legend. Some habits of hasty irritation he had contracted, partly, it was said, in the borough of Fairport, from an early disappointment in love, in virtue of which he had commenced Misogynist, as he called it, but yet more by the obsequious attention paid to him by his maiden sister and his orphan niece, whom he had trained to consider him as the greatest man upon earth, and whom he used to boast of as the only women he ever saw who were well broke-in and bitted to obedience; though, it must be owned, Miss Grizzy Oldbuck was sometimes apt tojibb when he pulled the reins too tight. The rest of his character must be gathered

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from the story, and we dismiss with pleasure the tiresome task of recapitulation. During the time of dinner, Mr Oldbuck, actuated by the same curiosity which his fellow-traveller had entertained on his account, made some advances, which his age and station entitled him to do in a more direct manner, towards ascertaining the name, destination, and quality of his young companion. His name, the young gentleman said, was Lovel. “What! the Cat, the Rat, and Lovel our dog?—was he descended from King Richard’s favourite?” “He had no pretensions,” he said, “to call himself a whelp of that litter; his father was a north-of-England gentleman. He was at pre­ sent travelling to Fairport, and, if he found the place agreeable, might perhaps remain there for some weeks.” “Was Mr Lovel’s excursion solely for pleasure?” “Not entirely.” “Perhaps on business with some of the commercial people of Fair­ port?” “It was partly on business, but had no reference to commerce.” Here he paused; and Mr Oldbuck having pushed his enquiries as far as good manners permitted, was obliged to change the conversa­ tion. The Antiquary, though by no means an enemy to good cheer, was a determined foe to all unnecessary expence upon a journey; and upon his companion giving a hint concerning a bottle of port wine, he drew a direful picture of the mixture, which, he said, was usually sold under that denomination, and, affirming that a little punch was more genuine and better suited for the season, he laid his hand upon the bell to order the materials. But Mackitchenson had, in his own mind, settled their beverage otherwise, and appeared bearing in his hand an immense double quart bottle, or magnum, as it is called in Scotland, covered with saw-dust and cobwebs, the warrants of its antiquity. “Punch!” said he, catching that generous sound as he entered the parlour, “the de’il a drap punch ye’se get here the day, Monkbarns, and that ye may lay your account wi’.” “What do you mean, you impudent rascal?” “Aye, aye, it’s nae matter for that—but do ye mind the trick ye served me the last time ye were here ?” “I trick you!” “Aye, just yoursell, Monkbarns. The Laird o’ Tamlowrie, and Sir Gilbert Grizzlecleugh, and Auld Bossballoh, and the Baillie, were just sitting to make an afternoon o’t, and you, wi’ some o’ your auld warld stories, that the mind o’ man canna resist, whirl’d them to the back o’ beyont to look at the auld Roman camp—Ah, sir!” turning to Lovel,

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“he wad wile the bird aff the tree wi’ the tales he tells about folk lang syne—and did not I lose the drinking o’ sax pints o’ gude claret, for the de’il ane wad hae stirr’d till he had seen that out at the least.” “D’ye hear the impudent scoundrel,” said Monkbarns, but laughing at the same time; for the worthy landlord, as he used to boast, knew the measure of a guest’s foot as well as e’er a souter on this side Solway; “well, well—you may send us in a bottle of port.” “Port! na, na! ye maun leave port and punch to the like o’ us, it’s claret that’s fit for you lairds; and, I dare say, nane of the folk ye speak so much o’ ever drunk either of the twa.” “Do you hear how absolute the knave is? Well, my young friend, I suppose we must for once prefer the Falemian to the vile Sabinum.” The ready landlord had the cork instantly extracted, decanted the wine into a vessel of suitable capaciousness, and, declaring itparfumed the very room, left his guests to make the most of it. Mackitchenson’s wine was really good, and had its effect upon the spirits of the elder guest, who told some good stories, cut some sly jokes, and at length entered into a learned discussion concerning the ancient dramatists, a ground on which he found his new acquaintance so strong, that at length he began to suspect he had made them his professional study. “A traveller partly for business and partly for pleasure?—Why, the stage partakes of both; it is a labour to the performers, and affords, or is meant to afford, pleasure to the spec­ tators. He seems, in manner and rank, above the class of young men who take that turn; but I remember hearing them say, that the little theatre at Fairport was to open with the performance of a young gentleman, being his first appearance upon any stage—if this should be thee, Lovel—Lovel? yes, Lovel or Belville are just the names which youngsters are apt to assume on such occasions—On my life, I am sorry for the lad.” Mr Oldbuck was habitually parsimonious, but not mean; his first thought was to save his fellow-traveller any part of the expence of the entertainment, which he supposed must be in his situation more or less inconvenient. He therefore took an opportunity of settling pri­ vately with Mr Mackitchenson. The young traveller remonstrated against his liberality, and only acquiesced in deference to his years and respectability. The mutual satisfaction which they found in each other’s society, induced Mr Oldbuck to propose, and Lovel willingly to accept, a scheme for travelling together to the end of their journey. Mr Oldbuck intimated a wish to pay two-thirds of the hire of a post-chaise, saying, that a proportional quantity of room was necessary to his accommoda­ tion; but this Mr Lovel resolutely declined. Their expence then was

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mutual, unless when Lovel occasionally slipt a shilling into the hand of a growling postillion, for Oldbuck, tenacious of ancient cus­ toms, never extended his guerdon beyond eighteen-pence a stage. In this manner they travelled, until they arrived at Fairport about two o’clock on the following day. Lovel probably expected that his travelling companion would have invited him to dinner upon his arrival; but his consciousness of a want of ready preparation for unexpected guests, and perhaps some other reasons, prevented Oldbuck from paying him that attention. He only begged to see him as early as he could make it convenient to call in a forenoon, recommended him to a widow who had apartments to let, and to a person who kept a decent ordinary, cautioning both of them apart, that he only knew Mr Lovel as a pleasant companion in a postchaise, and did not mean to guarantee any bills which he might con­ tract while residing at Fairport. The young gentleman’s figure and manners, not to mention a well-furnished trunk, which soon arrived by sea, to his address at Fairport, probably went as far in his favour as the limited recommendation of his fellow-traveller.

Chapter Three He had a fouth o’ auld nick-nackets, Rusty airn caps, and jinglin jackets, Would held the Loudons three in tackets A towmond gude; And parritch-pats, and auld saut-backets, Afore the flude.

After he had settled himself in his new apartments at Fairport, Mr Lovel bethought him of paying the requested visit to his fellow-travel­ ler. He did not make it earlier, because, with all the old gentleman’s good humour and information, there had sometimes glanced forth in his language and manners towards him an air of superiority, which his companion considered as being fully beyond what the difference of age warranted. He therefore waited the arrival of his baggage from Edinburgh, that he might arrange his dress according to the fashion of the day, and make his exterior correspondent to the rank in society which he supposed or felt himself entitled to hold. It was the fifth day after his arrival, that, having made the necessary enquiries concerning the road, he went forth to pay his respects at Monkbarns. A footpath leading over a heathy hill, and through two or three meadows, conducted him to this mansion, which stood upon the opposite side of the hill aforesaid, and commanded a fine prospect of the bay and shipping. Secluded from the town by the rising ground,

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which also screened it from the north-west wind, the house had a solitary and sheltered appearance. The exterior had little to recom­ mend it. It was an irregular old-fashioned building, some part of which had belonged to a grange, or solitary farm-house, inhabited by the bailiff, or steward, of the monastery, when the place was in posses­ sion of the monks. It was here that the community stored up the grain, which they received as ground-rent from their vassals; for, with the prudence belonging to their order, all their conventual revenues were made payable in kind, and hence, as the present proprietor loved to tell, came the name of Monkbarns. To the remains of the bailiff's house, the succeeding lay inhabitants had made various additions in proportion to the accommodation required by their families; and, as this was done with an equal contempt of convenience within and architectural regularity without, the whole bore the appearance of a hamlet which had suddenly stood still when in the act of leading down one of Amphion’s, or Orpheus’s, country dances. It was surrounded by tall clipped hedges of yew and holly, some of which still exhibited the skill of the topiarian artist,* and presented curious arm-chairs, towers, and the figures of Saint George and the dragon. The taste of Mr Oldbuck did not disturb these monuments of an art now unknown, and he was the less tempted so to do, as he must necessarily have broken the heart of the old gardener. One tall embowering holly was, however, sacred from the shears; and, on a garden seat beneath its shade, Lovel beheld his old friend with spectacles on nose, and pouch on side, busily employed in perusing the London Chronicle, soothed by the summer breeze through the rustling leaves, and the distant dash of the waves as they rippled upon the sand. Mr Oldbuck immediately rose, and advanced to greet his travelling acquaintance with a hearty shake of the hand. “By my faith,” said he, “I began to think you had changed your mind, and found the stupid people of Fairport so tiresome, that you judged them unworthy ofyour talents, and had taken French leave, as my old friend and brother antiquary, Mac-Cribb did, when he went off with one of my Syrian medals.” “I hope, my good sir, I should have fallen under no such imputa­ tion.” “Quite as bad, let me tell you, if you had stolen yourself away without giving me the pleasure of seeing you again. I had rather you had taken my copper Otho himself. But come, let me shew you the way into my sanctum sanctorum, my cell I may call it, for, except two idle hussies of womankind, (by this contemptuous phrase, borrowed from *Ars Topiaria, the art of clipping yew-trees and hedges into fantastic figures. A Latin poem, entitled Ars Topiaria, contains a curious account of the process.

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his brother antiquary, the cynic Anthony a Wood, Mr Oldbuck was used to denote the fair sex in general, and his sister and niece in particular,) that, on some idle pretext of relationship, have established themselves in my premises, I live here as much a cœnobite as my predecessor, John o’ the Girnell, whose grave I will shew you by and bye.” Thus speaking, the old gentleman shewed the way through a low door; but, before entrance, suddenly stopt short to point out some vestiges of what he called an inscription, and, shaking his head as he pronounced it totally illegible, “Ah! if you but knew, Mr Lovel, the time and trouble that these mouldering traces of letters have cost me! No mother ever travailed so for a child—and all to no purpose— although I am all but positive that these two last marks imply the figures, or letters, LV, and may give us a good guess at the real date of the building, since we know aliunde that it was founded by Abbot Waldimir about the middle of the fourteenth century—and, I profess that centre ornament might be made out by better eyes than mine.” “I think,” answered Lovel, willing to humour the old man, “it has something the appearance of a mitre.” “I protest you are right! you are right! it never struck me before— see what it is to have young eyes—a mitre, a mitre—it corresponds in every respect.” The resemblance was not much nearer than that of Polonius’s cloud to a whale, or an owzel; it was sufficient, however, to put the Antiquary’s brains to work. “A mitre, my dear sir,” continued he, as he shewed the way through a labyrinth of inconvenient and dark pas­ sages, and accompanied his disquisition with certain necessary cau­ tions to his guest—“A mitre, my dear sir, will suit our abbot as well as a bishop—he was a mitred abbot, and at the very top of the roll—take care of these three steps—I know Mac-Cribb denies this, but it is as certain as that he took away my Antigonus, no leave asked—you’ll see the name of the Abbot of Trotcosey, Abbas Trottocosiensis, at the head of the rolls of parliament in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries— there is very little light here, and these cursed womankind always leave their tubs in the passage—now take care of the corner, ascend twelve steps and ye are safe.” Mr Oldbuck had, by this time, attained the top of the winding stair which led to his own apartment, and opening a door, and pushing aside a piece of tapestry with which it was covered, his first exclama­ tion was, “What are you about here, you sluts?” A dirty bare-footed chambermaid threw down her duster, detected in the heinous fact of putting the sanctum sanctorum to rights, and fled out of an opposite door from the face of her incensed master. A genteel-looking young

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woman, who was superintending the operation, stood her ground, but with some timidity. “Indeed, uncle, your room was not fit to be seen, and I just came to see that Jenny laid every thing down where she took it up.” “And how dare you, or Jenny either, presume to meddle with my private matters? (Mr Oldbuck hated putting to rights as much as Dr Orkborne or any other professed student.) Go sew your sampler, you monkey, and do not let me find you here again, as you value your little ears.—I assure you, Mr Lovel, that the last inroad of these pretended friends to cleanliness was almost as fatal to my collection as Hudi­ bras’s visit was to that of Sidrophel, and I have ever since missed My copperplate, with almanacks Engraved upon’t, and other knacks; My moon-dial, with Napier’s bones, And several constellation stones; My flea, my morpeon, and punaise, I purchased for my proper ease.

And so forth, as old Butler has it.” The young lady, after curtesying to Lovel, had taken the opportun­ ity to make her escape during this enumeration of losses. “You’ll be poisoned here with the volumes of dust they have raised,” continued the Antiquary, “but I assure you the dust was very ancient, peaceful, quiet dust, about an hour ago, and would have remained so for a hundred years, had not these gypsies disturbed it, as they do every thing in the world.” It was, indeed, some time before Lovel could, through the thick atmosphere, perceive in what sort of den his friend had constructed his retreat. It was a lofty room of middling size, but obscurely lighted by high narrow latticed windows. One end was entirely occupied by book-shelves, greatly too limited in space for the number of volumes placed upon them, which were, therefore, drawn up in ranks of two and three files deep, while numberless others littered the floor and the tables, amid a chaos of maps, engravings, scraps of parch­ ment, bundles of papers, pieces of old armour, swords, dirks, helmets, and Highland targets. Behind Mr Oldbuck’s seat, (which was an ancient leathern-covered easy-chair, worn smooth by constant use,) was a huge oaken cabinet, decorated at each corner with Dutch cher­ ubs, having their little duck-wings displayed, and great jolter-headed visages placed between them. The top of this cabinet was crammed with busts, and Roman lamps and paterae, intermingled with one or two bronze figures. The walls of the apartment were partly clothed with grim old tapestry, representing the memorable story of Sir Gawaine’s wedding, in which full justice was done to the ugliness of

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the Lothely Lady; although, to judge from his own looks, the gentle knight had less reason to be disgusted with the match on account of disparity of outward favour, than the romancer has given us to under­ stand. The rest of the room was pannelled, or wainscotted, with black oak, against which hung two or three portraits in armour, being char­ acters in Scottish history, favourites of Mr Oldbuck, and as many in tie-wigs and laced coats, staring representatives of his own ancestors. A large old-fashioned oaken table was covered with a profusion of papers, parchments, books, and nondescript trinkets and gewgaws, which seemed to have little to recommend them, besides rust and the antiquity which it indicates. In the midst of this wreck of ancient books and utensils, with a gravity equal to Marius among the ruins of Carth­ age sat a large black cat, which, to a superstitious eye, might have presented the genius loci, or tutelar daemon of the apartment. The floor, as well as the table and chairs, was overflowed by the same mare magnum of miscellaneous trumpery, where it would have been as impossible to find any individual article wanted, as to put it to any use when discovered. Amid this medley, it was no easy matter to find one’s way to a chair, without stumbling over a prostrate folio, or the still more awkward mischance of overturning some piece of Roman or ancient British pottery. And, when the chair was attained, it had to be disencum­ bered, with a careful hand, of engravings which might have received damage, and of antique spurs and buckles, which would certainly have occasioned it to any sudden occupant. Of this, the Antiquary made Lovel particularly aware, adding, that his friend, the Rev. Doctor Heavystern from the Low Countries, had sustained much injury by sitting down suddenly and incautiously on three ancient calthrops, or craw-taes, which had been lately dug up in the bog near Bannockburn, and which, dispersed by Robert Bruce to lacerate the feet of the English chargers, came thus in process of time to endamage the sitting part of a learned professor of Utrecht. Having at length fairly settled himself, and being nothing loth to make enquiry concerning the strange objects around him, which his host was equally ready, as far as possible, to explain, Lovel was intro­ duced to a large club, or bludgeon, with an iron spike at the end of it, which, it seems, had been lately found in a field on the Monkbarns property, adjacent to an old burying-ground. It had mightily the air of such a stick as the Highland reapers walk with on their annual peregrinations from their mountains. But Mr Oldbuck was strongly tempted to believe, that, as its shape was singular, it might have been one of the clubs with which the monks armed their peasants in lieu of more martial weapons, whence, he observed, the villains were called

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Colve-carles, or Kolb-kerls, that is, Clavigeri, or club-bearers. For the truth of this custom, he quoted the chronicle of Antwerp and that of St Martin, against which authorities Lovel had nothing to oppose, having never heard of them till that moment. Mr Oldbuck next exhibited thumb-screws, which had given the Covenanters of former days the cramp in their joints, and a collar with the name of a fellow convicted of theft, whose services, as the inscrip­ tion bore, had been adjudged to a neighbouring baron, in lieu of the modern Scottish punishment, which, as Oldbuck said, sends such culprits to enrich England by their labour, and themselves by their dexterity. Many and various were the other curiosities which he shewed; but it was chiefly upon his books that he prided himself, repeating, with a complacent air, as he led the way to the crowded and dusty shelves, the verses of old Chaucer— “For he would rather have at his bed-head, A twenty books, clothed in black or red, Of Aristotle, or his philosophy, Than robes rich, rebeck, or saltery.”

This pithy motto he delivered, shaking his head, and giving each guttural the true Anglo-Saxon enunciation, which is now forgotten in the southern parts of this realm. The collection was, indeed, a curious one, and might well be envied by an amateur. Yet it was not collected at the enormous prices of modern times, which are sufficient to have appalled the most deter­ mined, as well as earliest bibliomaniac upon record, whom we take to have been none else than the renowned Don Quixote de la Mancha, as, among other slight indications of an infirm understanding, he is stated, by his veracious historian, Cid Hamet Benengeli, to have exchanged fields and farms for folios and quartos of chivalry. In this species of exploit, the good knight-errant has been imitated by lords, knights, and squires of our own day, though we have not yet heard of any that has mistaken an inn for a castle, or laid lance in rest against a windmill. Mr Oldbuck did not follow such collectors in this excess; but, taking a pleasure in the personal labour of forming his library, saved his purse at the extent of his time and toil. He was no encourager of that ingenious race of peripatetic middlemen, who, trafficking between the obscure keeper of a stall and the eager ama­ teur, make their profit at once of the ignorance of the former, and the dear-bought skill and taste of the latter. When such were mentioned in his hearing, he seldom failed to point out how necessary it was to arrest the object of your curiosity in its first transit, and to tell his favourite story of Snuffy Davy and Caxton’s Game at Chess.—“Davy Wilson,” he said, “commonly called Snuffy Davy, from his inveterate

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addiction to black rappee, was the very prince of scouts for searching blind alleys, cellars, and stalls, for rare volumes. He had the scent of a slow-hound, sir, and the snap of a bull-dog. He could detect an old black-letter ballad among the leaves of a law-paper, and find an editio princeps under the mask of a school Corderius. Snuffy Davy bought the ‘Game at Chess, 1474,’ the first book ever printed in England, from a stall in Holland, for about two groschen, or twopence of our money. He sold it to Osborne for twenty pounds, and as many books as came to twenty pounds more. Osborne resold this inimitable wind­ fall to Dr Askew for sixty guineas. At Dr Askew’s sale,” continued the old gentleman, kindling as he spoke, “this inestimable treasure blazed forth in its full value, and was purchased by royalty itself, for one hundred and seventy pounds! Could a copy now occur, Lord only knows,” he ejaculated, with a deep sigh and uplifted hands, “Lord only knows what would be its ransom; and yet it was originally secured, by skill and research, for the easy equivalent of twopence sterling. Happy, thrice happy, Snuffy Davy! and blessed were the times when thy industry could be so rewarded! “Even I, sir,” he went on, “though far inferior in industry, and discernment, and presence of mind, to that great man, can shew you a few, a very few things, which I have collected, not by force of money, as any wealthy man might,—although, as my friend Lucian says, he might chance to throw away his coin only to illustrate his ignorance,— but gained in a manner that shews I know something of the matter. See this bundle of ballads, not one of them later than 1700, and some of them an hundred years older. I wheedled an old woman out of these, who loved them better than her psalm-book—tobacco, sir, snuff, and the Complete Syren, were the equivalent! For that mutil­ ated copy of the Complaynt of Scotland, I sat out the drinking of two dozen bottles of strong ale with the late learned proprietor, who, in gratitude, bequeathed it to me by his last will. These little Elzevirs are the memoranda and trophies of many a walk by night and morning through the Cowgate, the Canongate, the Bow, Saint Mary’s Wynd,— wherever, in fine, there were to be found brokers and trokers, those miscellaneous dealers in things rare and curious. How often have I stood haggling upon a halfpenny, least, by a too ready acquiescence in the dealer’s first price, he should be led to suspect the value I set upon the article! —how have I trembled, lest some passing stranger should chop in between me and the prize, and regarded each poor student of divinity that stopped to turn over the books at the stall, as a rival ama­ teur, or prowling bookseller in disguise!—And then, Mr Lovel, the sly satisfaction with which one pays the consideration and pockets the article, affecting a cold indifference while our hand is trembling with

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pleasure!—Then to dazzle the eyes of our wealthier and emulous rivals by shewing them such treasures as this (displaying a little black smoked book about the size of a primmer)—to enjoy their surprise and envy, shrouding meanwhile under a veil of mysterious conscious­ ness our own superior knowledge and dexterity—these, my young friend, these are the white moments of life, that repay the toil, and pains, and sedulous attention, which our profession, above all others, so peculiarly demands!” Lovel was not a little amused at hearing the old gentleman run on in this manner, and, however incapable of entering into the full merits of what he beheld, he admired, as much as could have been expected, the various treasures which Oldbuck exhibited. Here were editions valued as being the first, and there stood those scarce less regarded as being the last and best—Here was a book valued because it had the author’s final improvements, and there another which (strange to tell!) was in request because it wanted them. One was precious because it was a folio, another because it was a duodecimo; some because they were tall, some because they were short; the merit of this lay in the title-page, of that in the arrangement of letters in the word Finis. There was, it seemed, no peculiar distinction, however trifling or minute, which might not give value to a volume, providing the indispensable quality of scarcity, or rare occurrence, was attached to it. Not the least fascinating was the original broadside—the Dying Speech, Bloody Murder, or Wonderful Wonder of Wonders, in its original tattered guise, as it was hawked through the streets, and sold for the cheap and easy price of one penny, though now worth the weight of that penny in gold. On these the Antiquary dilated with transport, and read, with a rapturous voice, the elaborate titles, which bore the same proportion to the contents that the painted signs with­ out a showman’s booth do to the animals within. Mr Oldbuck, for example, piqued himself especially in possessing an unique broadside, entitled and called ‘Strange and wonderful News from ChippingNorton, in the County of Oxon, of certain dreadful Apparitions which were seen in the Air on the 28th of July, 1610, at Half an Hour after Nine o’Clock at Night, and continued till Eleven, in which Time was seen Appearances of several flaming Swords, strange Motions of the superior Orbs, with the unusual Sparkling of the Stars, with their dreadful Continuations: With the Account of the Opening of the Heavens, and strange Appearances therein disclosing themselves, with several other prodigious Circumstances not heard of in any Age, to the great Amazement of the Beholders, as it was communicated in a Letter to one Mr Colley, living in West Smithfield, and attested by

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Thomas Brown, Elizabeth Greenaway, and Anne Gutheridge, who were Spectators of the dreadful Apparitions—And if any one would be further satisfied of the Truth of this Relation, let them repair to Mr Nightingale’s, at the Bear Inn, in West Smithfield, and they may be satisfied.’ “You laugh at much of this,” said the proprietor of the collection, “and I forgive you. I do acknowledge that the charms on which we doat are not so obvious to the eyes of youth as those of a fair lady; but you will grow wiser, and see more justly, when you come to wear spec­ tacles. Yet stay, I have one piece of antiquity which you, perhaps, will prize more highly.” So saying, Mr Oldbuck unlocked a drawer, and took out a bundle of keys, then pulled aside a piece of the tapestry which concealed the door of a small closet, into which he descended by four stone steps, and, after some tinkling among bottles and cans, produced two longstalked wine-glasses with bell mouths, such as are seen in Teniers’ pieces, and a small bottle of what he called rich racy canary, with a little bit of diet-cake, on a small silver server of exquisite old work­ manship. “I will say nothing of the server,” he remarked, “though it is said to have been wrought by the old mad Florentine, Benvenuto Cellini. But, Mr Lovel, our ancestors drank sack—you, who admire the drama, know where that’s to be found.—Here’s success to your exertions at Fairport, sir!” “And to you, sir, and an ample increase to your treasures, with no more trouble on your part than is just necessary to make the acquisi­ tions valuable.” After a libation so suitable to the amusement in which they had been engaged, Lovel arose to take his leave, and Mr Oldbuck pre­ pared to give him his company a part of the way, and show him something worthy of his curiosity on his return to Fairport.

Chapter Four The pawky auld carle came ower the lea, Wi’ mony good-e’ens and good-morrows to me, Saying, Kind sir, for your courtesy, Will ye lodge a silly poor man? The Gaberlunzie Man

Our two friends moved through a little orchard, where the aged apple-trees, well loaded with fruit, showed, as is usual in the neigh­ bourhood of monastic buildings, that the days of the monks were not always spent in indolence, but often dedicated to horticulture and gardening. Mr Oldbuck failed not to make Lovel remark, that the

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planters of those days were possessed of the modern secret of pre­ venting the roots of fruit-trees from penetrating the till, and compel­ ling them to spread in a lateral direction, by placing paving-stones beneath the trees when first planted, so as to interpose between their fibres and the sub-soil. “This old fellow,” he said, “which was blown down last summer, and still, though half-reclined on the ground, is covered with fruit, has been, as you may see, accommodated with such a barrier, between his roots and the unkindly till. That other tree has a story: the fruit is called the Abbot’s Apple; the lady of a neighbouring baron was so fond of it, that she would often pay a visit to Monkbarns, to have the pleasure of gathering it from the tree. The husband, a jealous man belike, suspected that a taste so nearly resembling that of Mother Eve prognosticated a similar fall. As the honour of a noble family is concerned, I will say no more on the subject, only that the lands of Lochard and Cringlecut still pay a fine of six bolls of barley annually, to atone the guilt of their audacious owner, who intruded himself and his worldly suspicions upon the seclusion of the Abbot and his penitent. Admire this little belfry rising above the ivy-mantled porch—there was here a hospitium, hospitale, or hospitamentum, (for it is written all these various ways in the old writings and evidents,) in which the monks received pilgrims—I know our minister has said, in the Statistical Account, that the hospitium was situated either on the lands of Haltweary, or upon those of Halfstarvet; but he is incorrect, Mr Lovel—that is the gate called still the Palmer’s Port, and my gardener found many hewn stones, when he was trenching the ground for winter cellery, several of which I have sent as specimens to my learned friends, and to the various antiquarian societies, of which I am an unworthy member. But I will say no more at present; I reserve something for another visit, and we have an object of real curiosity before us.” While he was thus speaking, he led the way briskly through one or two rich pasture meadows to an open heath or common, and so to the top of a gentle eminence. “Here,” he said, “Mr Lovel, is a truly remarkable spot.” “It commands a fine view,” said his companion, looking around him. “True: but it is not for the prospect I brought you hither; do you see nothing else remarkable?—nothing on the surface of the ground?” “Why, yes; I do see something like a ditch indistinctly marked.” “Indistinctly?—pardon me, sir, but the indistinctness must be in your own powers of vision—nothing can be more plainly traced—a proper agger or vallum, with its corresponding ditch or fossa. Indis­ tinctly? Why, heaven help you, the lassie, my niece, as light-headed a

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goose as womankind affords, saw the trace of the ditch at once. Indistinct? Why, the great station at Ardoch, or that at Burnswark in Annandale, may be clearer doubtless, because they are stative forts, whereas this was only an occasional encampment. Indistinct? Why, you must suppose that fools, boors, and ideots will plough up the land, and, like beasts and ignorant savages, have thereby obliterated two sides of the square, and gravely injured the third—But ye see, your­ self, the fourth side is quite entire!” Lovel endeavoured to apologize, and to explain away his ill-timed phrase, and pleaded his inexperience. But he was not at once quite successful. His first expression had come too frankly and naturally not to alarm the Antiquary, and he could not easily get over the shock it had given him. “My dear sir,” continued the senior, “your eyes are not inexperi­ enced; you know a ditch from level ground, I presume, when you see them? Indistinct? Why, the very common people, the very least boy that can herd a cow, calls it the Kaim of Kinprunes, and if that does not imply an ancient camp, I am ignorant what does.” Lovel having again acquiesced, and at length lulled to sleep the irritated and suspicious vanity of the Antiquary, he proceeded in his task of cicerone. “You must know,” he said, “our Scottish antiquaries have been greatly divided about the local situation of the final conflict between Agricola and the Caledonians—some contend for Ardoch in Strathallan, some for Innerpeffrey, some for the Raedykes in the Mearns, and some are for carrying the scene of action as far north as Blair in Athole. Now, after all this discussion,” continued the old gentleman, with one of his slyest and most complacent looks, “what would you think, Mr Lovel,—I say, what would you think,—if the memorable scene of conflict should happen to be on this very spot called the Kaim of Kinprunes, the property of the obscure and humble individual who now speaks to you?”—Then, having paused a little, to suffer his guest to digest a communication so important, he resumed his disquisition in a higher tone. “Yes, my good friend, I am indeed greatly deceived if this place does not correspond with all the marks of that celebrated place of action. It was near to the Grampian mountains—lo! yonder they are, mixing and contending with the sky on the skirts of the horizon!—it was in conspectu classis,—in sight of the Roman fleet; and would any admiral, Roman or British, wish a fairer bay to ride in than that on your right hand? It is astonishing how blind we professed antiquaries sometimes are; Sir Robert Sibbald, Sanders Gordon, General Roy, Dr Stukeley, why, it escaped all of them.—I was unwilling to say a word about it till I had secured the ground, for it belonged to auld Johnie Howie, a bonnet-laird here hard by, and

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many a communing we had before he and I could agree. At length—I am almost ashamed to say it—but I even brought my mind to give acre for acre of my good corn-land for this barren spot. But then it was a national concern; and when the scene of so celebrated an event be­ came my own I was overpaid.—Whose patriotism would not grow warmer, as old Johnson says, on the plains of Marathon? I began to trench the ground, to see what might be discovered; and the third day, sir, we found a stone, which I have transplanted to Monkbarns, in order to have the sculpture taken off with plaister of Paris; it bears a sacrificing vessel, and the letters A.D.L.L. which may stand, without much violence, for Agricola Dicavit Libens Lubens” “Certainly, sir; for the Dutch antiquaries claim Caligula as the founder of a light-house, on the sole authority of the letters C.C.P.F., which they interpret Caius Caligula Pharum Fecit.” “True, and it has ever been received as a sound exposition. I see we shall make something of you, even before you wear spectacles, not­ withstanding you thought the traces of this beautiful camp indistinct when you first observed them.” “In time, sir, and by good instruction”—— “You will become more apt.—I doubt it not. You shall peruse, upon your next visit to Monkbarns, my trivial Essay upon Castrametation, with some particular Remarks upon the Vestiges of Ancient Fortifica­ tions lately discovered by the Author at the Kaim of Kinprunes. I think I have pointed out the infallible touchstone of supposed antiquity. I premise a few general rules on that point, on the nature, namely, of the evidence to be received in such cases. Meanwhile be pleased to observe, for example, that I could press into my service Claudian’s famous line, Ilie Caledoniis posuit qui castra pruinis.

For pruinis, though interpreted to mean hoarfrosts, to which I own we are somewhat subject in this north-eastern sea-coast, may also signify a locality, namely, Prunes; the Castra Pruinisposita would therefore be the Kaim of Kinprunes. But I waive this, for I am sensible it might be laid hold of by cavillers as carrying down my Castra to the time of Theodosius, sent by Valentinian into Britain as late as the year 367, or thereby. No, my good friend, I appeal to people’s eye-sight—is not here the Decuman gate? and there, but for the ravage of the horrid plough, as a learned friend calls it, would be the Praetorian gate.—On the left hand you may see some slight vestiges of the porta sinistra, and, on the right, one side of the porta dextra well nigh entire—Here, then, let us take our stand, on this tumulus, exhibiting the foundation of ruined buildings,—the central point—the Prætorium, doubtless, of

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the camp. From this place, now scarce to be distinguished, but by its slight elevation and its greener turf, from the rest of the fortification, we may suppose Agricola to have looked forth on the immense army of Caledonians, occupying the declivities of yon opposite hill, the infan­ try rising rank over rank as the form of ground displayed their array to its utmost advantage; the cavalry and covinarii, by which I understand the charioteers—another guise of folks from your Bond-street fourin-hand men, I trow—scouring the more level space below— ——See, then, Lovel—See—— See that huge battle moving from the mountains, Their gilt coats shine like dragon scales;—their march Like a rough tumbling storm—See them, and view them, And then see Rome no more!——

Yes, my dear friend, from this stance it is probable,—nay, it is nearly certain, that Julius Agricola beheld what our Beaumont has so admir­ ably described!—From this very Prætorium”—— A voice from behind interrupted his ecstatic description—“Præ­ torian here, Prætorian there, I mind the bigging o’t.” Both at once turned round, Lovel with surprise, and Oldbuck with mingled surprise and indignation, at so uncivil an interruption. An auditor had stolen upon them, unseen and unheard, amid the energy of the Antiquary’s enthusiastic declamation, and the attentive civility of Lovel. He had the exterior appearance of a mendicant.—A slouched hat of huge dimensions; a long white beard, which mingled with his grizzled hair; an aged, but strongly marked and expressive countenance, hardened, by climate and exposure, to a right brick-dust complexion; a long blue gown, with a pewter badge on the right arm; two or three wallets, or bags, slung across his shoulder, for holding the different kinds of meal, when he received his charity in kind from those who were but a degree richer than himself,—all these marked at once a beggar by profession, and one of that privileged class which are called in Scotland the King’s Bedesmen, or, vulgarly, Blue-gowns. “What is that you say, Edie?” said Oldbuck, hoping, perhaps, that his ears had betrayed their duty; “What were you speaking about?” “About this bit bourock, your honour,” answered the undaunted Edie; “I mind the bigging o’t.” “The devil you do! Why, you old fool, it was here before you were born, and will be after you are hanged, man!” “Hanged or drowned, here or awa, dead or alive, I mind the bigging o’t.” “You—you—” said the Antiquary, stammering between confusion and anger, “you strolling vagabond, what the devil do you know about it?”

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“Why I just ken this about it, Monkbarns, and what profit have I for telling ye a lie—I just ken this about it, that about twenty years syne, I, and a whin hallen-shakers like mysell, and the mason-lads that built the lang dyke that gaes down the loaning, and twa or three neighbour herds maybe, just set to wark, and built this bit thing here that ye ca’ the—the—Prætorian, and a’ just for a bield at auld Aiken Drum’s bridal, and a bit blithe gae-down we had in some sair rainy weather. Mair by token, Monkbarns; if ye howk up the bourock, as ye seem to have begun, ye’ll find, if ye hae not found it already, a stane that ane o’ the mason-callants cut a ladle on to have a bourd at the bridegroom, and he put four letters on’t, that’s A.D.L.L.—Aiken Drum’s Lang Ladle—for Aiken was ane o’ the kale-suppers o’ Fife.” “This,” thought Lovel to himself, “is a famous counterpart to the story of Keip on this syde.” He then ventured to steal a glance at our Antiquary, but quickly withdrew it in sheer compassion. For, gentle Reader, if thou hast ever beheld the visage of a damsel of sixteen, whose romance of true love has been blown up by some untimely discovery, or of a child of ten years, whose castle of cards has been blown down by a malicious companion, I can safely aver to you, that Jonathan Oldbuck of Monkbarns looked neither more wise nor less disconcerted. “There is some mistake about this,” he said, abruptly turning away from the mendicant. “De’il a bit on my side o’ the wa’,” answered the sturdy beggar, “I never deal in mistakes, they aye bring mischances.—Now, Monk­ barns, that young gentleman, that’s wi’ your honour, thinks little of a carle like me, and yet, I’ll wager, I’ll tell him whar he was yestreen at the gloamin, only he maybe wadna like to hear’t spoken o’ in com­ pany.” Lovel’s soul rushed to his cheeks with the vivid blush of two-andtwenty. “Never mind the old rogue,” said Mr Oldbuck, “don’t suppose I think the worse of you for your profession; they are only prejudiced fools and coxcombs that do so. You remember what old Tully says in his oration, proArchiapoeta, concerning one of your confraternity— Quis nostrum tam animo agresti acduro fuit—ut—ut—I forget the Latin —the meaning is, which of us was so rude and barbarous as to remain unmoved at the death of the great Roscius, whose advanced age was so far from preparing us for his death, that we rather hoped one so graceful, so excellent in his art, ought to be exempted from the com­ mon lot of mortality. So the Prince of Orators spoke of the stage and its professors.” The words of the old man fell upon Lovel’s ears, but without

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conveying any precise idea to his mind, which was then occupied in thinking by what means the old beggar, who still continued to regard him with a countenance provokingly sly and intelligent, had contrived to thrust himself into any knowledge of his affairs. He put his hand in his pocket as the readiest mode of intimating his desire of secrecy, and securing the concurrence of the person whom he addressed; and while he bestowed him an alms, the amount of which rather bore proportion to his fears than to his charity, looked at him with a marked expression, which the mendicant, a physiognomist by pro­ fession, seemed perfectly to understand.—“Never mind me, sir—I am no tale-piot—But there are mair een in the world than mine,” answered he, as he pocketed Lovel’s bounty, but in a tone to be heard by him alone, and with an expression which amply filled up what was left unspoken. Then turning to Oldbuck—“I am awa’ to the manse, your honour. Has your honour ony word there, or to Sir Arthur, for I’ll come in by Knockwinnock Castle again e’en?” Oldbuck started as from a dream; and, in a hurried tone, where vexation strove with a wish to conceal it, paying, at the same time, a tribute to Edie’s smooth, greasy, unlined hat, he said, “Go down, go down to Monkbarns—let them give you some dinner—or stay; if you do go to the manse, or to Knockwinnock, ye need say nothing about that foolish story of yours.” “Who, I?—Lord bless your honour, naebody sall ken a word about it frae me, mair than if the bit bourock had been there since Noah’s flood. But, Lord, they tell me your honour has gien Johnie Howie acre for acre of the laigh crofts for this heathery knowe! Now, if he has really imposed the bourock on ye for an ancient wark, it’s my real opinion the bargain will never haud gude, ifyou would just bring down your heart to try it at the law, and say he had beguiled ye.” “Provoking scoundrel,” muttered the indignant Antiquary between his teeth, “I’ll have the hangman’s lash and his back acquainted for this,”—and then in a louder tone,—“Never mind, Edie—it is all a mistake.” “Troth, I am thinking sae,” continued his tormentor, who seemed to have pleasure in rubbing the galled wound, “troth, I aye thought sae; and it’s no sae lang since I said to Luckie Gemmels, ‘Never think you, Luckie,’ said I, ‘that his honour, Monkbarns, would hae done sic a daft-like thing, as to gie grund weel worth fifty shillings an acre, for a mailing that would be dear o’ a pund Scots—na, na,’ quo’ I, ‘depend upon’t the laird’s been imposed upon wi’ that wily do-little devil, Johnie Howie.’ ‘But Lord had a care o’ us, sirs, how can that be,’ quo’ she again, ‘when the laird’s sae book-leared, there’s no the like o’ him in the country side, and Johnie Howie has hardly sense aneugh to ca’

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the cows out o’ his kale-yard?’ ‘Aweel, aweel,’ quo’ I, ‘but ye’ll hear he’s circumvented him with some of his auld warld stories,’—for ye ken, laird, yon other time about the bodle, that ye thought was an auld coin”—— “Go to the devil,”—said Oldbuck; and then in a more mild tone, as one that was conscious his reputation lay at the mercy of his antagon­ ist, he added—“Awa with you down to Monkbarns, and when I come back, I’ll send ye a bottle of ale to the kitchen.” “Heaven reward your honour!” This was uttered with the true mendicant whine, as, setting his pike-staff before him, he began to move in the direction of Monkbarns—“But did your honour,” turning round, “ever get back the siller ye gae to the travelling packman for the bodle?” “Curse thee! go about thy business!” “Aweel, aweel, sir, God bless your honour!—I hope ye’ll ding Johnie Howie yet, and that I’ll live to see it.” And so saying, the old beggar moved off, relieving Mr Oldbuck of recollections which were any thing rather than agreeable. “Who is this familiar old gentleman?” said Lovel, when the men­ dicant was out of hearing. “O, one of the plagues of the country—I have been always against poor-rates and a work-house—I think I’ll vote for them now, to have that scoundrel shut up. O, your old-remembered guest of a beggar becomes as well acquainted with you as he is with his dish—as intim­ ate as one of the beasts familiar to man which signify love, and with which his own trade is especially conversant. Who is he!—why, he has gone the vole—has been soldier, ballad-singer, travelling tinker, and is now a beggar. He is spoiled by our foolish gentry, who laugh at his jokes, and rehearse Edie Ochiltree’s good things as regularly as Joe Miller’s.” “He uses freedom apparently, which is the soul of wit.” “O aye, freedom enough; he generally invents some damned im­ probable lie or another to provoke you, like that nonsense he talked just now—not that I’ll publish my tract till I have examined the thing to the bottom.” “In England,” said Lovel, “such a mendicant would get a speedy check.” “Yes, your churchwardens and their dog-whips would make slen­ der allowance for his vein of humour. But here, curse him, he is a sort of privileged nuisance—one of the last specimens of the old-fash­ ioned Scottish mendicant, who kept his rounds within a particular space, and was the news-carrier, the minstrel, and sometimes the his­ torian of the district. That rascal, now, knows more old ballads and

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traditions than any other man in this and the four next parishes. And after all,” continued he, softening as he went on describing Edie’s good gifts, “the dog has some humour. He has borne his hard fate with unbroken spirits, and it’s cruel to deny him the comfort of a laugh at his betters. The pleasure of having quizzed me, as you gay folks would call it, will be meat and drink to him for a day or two. But I must go back and look after him, or he will spread his d—d nonsensical story over half the country.” So saying, our heroes parted, Mr Oldbuck to return to his hospitium at Monkbarns, and Lovel to pursue his way to Fairport, where he arrived without farther adventure.

Chapter Five Launcelot Gobbo. Mark me now: Now will I raise the waters. Merchant of Venice

The theatre at Fairport had opened, but no Mr Lovel appeared upon the boards, nor was there any thing in the habits or deportment of the young gentleman so named, which authorized Mr Oldbuck’s conjecture that his fellow-traveller was a candidate for the public favour. Regular were the Antiquary’s enquiries at an old-fashioned barber, who dressed the only three wigs in the parish, which, in defiance of taxes and times, were still subjected to the operation of powdering and frizzling, and who for that purpose divided his time among the three employers whom fashion had yet left him—regular, I say, were Mr Oldbuck’s enquiries at this personage concerning the news of the little theatre at Fairport, expecting every day to hear of Mr Lovel’s appearance, on which occasion the old gentleman had deter­ mined to put himself to charges in honour of his young friend, and not only to go to the play himself, but to carry his womankind along with him. But old Jacob Caxon conveyed no information which warranted his taking so decisive a step as that of securing a box. He brought information, on the contrary, that there was a young man residing at Fairport, of whom the town (by which he meant all the gossips, who, having no business of their own, fill up their leisure moments by attending to that of other people) could make nothing. He sought no society, but rather avoided that, which the apparent gentleness of his manners, and some degree of curiosity, induced many to offer him. Nothing could be more regular, or less resembling an adventurer, than his mode of living, which was simple, but so completely well arranged, that all who had any transactions with him were loud in their approbation.

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“These are not the virtues of a stage-struck hero,” thought Oldbuck to himself; and, however habitually pertinacious in his opinions, he must have been compelled to abandon that which he had formed in the present instance, but for a part of Caxon’s communication. “The young gentleman,” he said, “was sometimes heard speaking to himsel, and rampauging about in his room, just as if he was ane o’ the player folk.” Nothing, however, excepting this single circumstance, occurred to confirm Mr Oldbuck’s supposition, and it remained a high and doubt­ ful question, what a well-informed young man, without friends, con­ nections, or employment of any kind, could have to do as a resident at Fairport. Neither port-wine nor whist had apparently any charms for him. He declined dining with the mess of the volunteer cohort, which had been lately embodied, and shunned sharing in the convivialities of either of the two parties which then divided Fairport, as they did more important places. He was too little of an aristocrat to join the club of Loyal True Blues, and too little of a democrat to fraternize with an affiliated society of the soi disant Friends of the People, which the borough had also the happiness of possessing. A coffee-room was his detestation; and I grieve to say that he had as few sympathies with a tea-table. In short, since the name was fashionable in novel-writing, and that is a great while agone, there was never a Master Lovel of whom so little positive was known, and who was so universally de­ scribed by negatives. One negative, however, was important—nobody knew any harm of Mr Lovel. Indeed, had such existed, it would have been speedily made public, for the natural desire of speaking evil of our neighbour could in his case have been checked by no feelings of sympathy for a being so unsocial. Upon one account alone he fell somewhat under suspicion. As he made free use of his pencil in his solitary walks, and had drawn several views of the harbour, in which the signal-tower, and even the four-gun battery, were introduced, some zealous friend of the public sent abroad a whisper, that this mysterious stranger must certainly be a French spy. The Sheriff paid his respects to Mr Lovel accordingly, but in the interview which followed, it would seem that he entirely removed that magistrate’s suspicions, since he not only suffered him to remain undisturbed in his retirement, but, it was credibly reported, sent him two invitations to dinner-parties, both which were civilly declined. But what the nature of the explanation was, the magistrate kept a profound secret, not only from the public at large, but from his Substitute, his clerk, his wife, and his two daughters, who formed his privy council upon all questions of official duty. All these particulars being faithfully reported by Mr Caxon to his

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patron at Monkbarns, tended much to raise Lovel in the opinion of his former fellow-traveller. “A decent sensible lad,” said he to him­ self, “who scorns to enter into the fooleries and nonsense of these ideot people at Fairport.—I must do something for him—I must give him a dinner—and I will invite Sir Arthur to come to Monkbarns to meet him—I must consult my womankind.” Accordingly, such consultation having been previously held, a spe­ cial messenger, being no other than Caxon himself, was ordered to prepare for a walk to Knockwinnock castle with a letter, “For the honoured Sir Arthur Wardour, of Knockwinnock, Bart.” The con­ tents ran thus:

“Dear Sir Arthur, “On Tuesday the 17 current stilo novo, I hold a cænobitical sym­ posion at Monkbarns, and pray you to assist thereat, at four o’clock precisely. If my fair enemy, Miss Isabel, can and will honour us by accompanying you, my womankind will be but too proud to have the aid of such an auxiliary in the cause of resistance to awful rule and right supremacy. If not, I will send the womankind to the manse for the day. I have a young acquaintance to make known to you, who is touched with some strain of a better spirit than belongs to these giddypaced times—reveres his elders, and has a pretty notion of the classics —and, as such a youth must have a natural contempt for the people about Fairport, I wish to shew him some rational as well as worshipful society. I am, dear Sir Arthur, &c. &c. &c.” “Fly with this letter, Caxon,” said the senior, holding out his mis­ sive, signatum atque sigillatum, “fly to Knockwinnock, and bring me back an answer. Go as fast as if the town-council were met, and waiting for the provost, and the provost was waiting for his newpowdered wig.” “Ah! sir,” answered the messenger, with a deep sigh, “thae days hae lang gane bye. De’il a wig has a provost of Fairport worn sin’ auld Provost Jervie’s time—and he had a quean of a servant-lass that dressed it hersell, wi’ the doup o’ a candle and the dredging-box. But I hae seen the day, Monkbarns, when the town-council of Fairport wad hae as soon wanted their town-clerk, or their gill o’ brandy ower-head after the haddo’s, as they wad hae wanted ilk ane a weel-favoured, sonsy, decent periwig on his pow. Hegh, sirs! nae wonder the com­ mons will be discontent and rise against the law, when they see magis­ trates, and baillies, and deacons, and the provost himsell, wi’ heads as bald and as bare as ane o’ my blocks.” “And as well furnished within, Caxon; but away with you—you

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have an excellent view of public affairs, and, I dare say, have touched the cause of our popular discontent as closely as the provost could have done himself. But away with you, Caxon.” And off went Caxon upon his walk of three miles— He hobbled—but his heart was good; Could he go faster than he could?—

While he is engaged in his journey and return, it may not be imper­ tinent to inform the reader to whose mansion he was bearing his embassy. We have said that Mr Oldbuck kept little company with the sur­ rounding gentlemen, excepting with one person only. This was Sir Arthur Wardour, a baronet of ancient descent, and of a large but embarrassed fortune. His father, Sir Anthony, had been a Jacobite, and had displayed all the enthusiasm of that party, while it could be served with words only. No man squeezed the orange with more significant gesture; no one could more dextrously intimate a danger­ ous health without coming under the penal statute; and, above all, none drunk success to the cause more deeply and devoutly. But, upon the approach of the Highland army in 1745, it would appear that the worthy baronet’s zeal became a little more moderate just when its warmth was of most consequence. He talked much, indeed, of taking the field for the rights of Scotland and Charles Stuart, but his demi­ pique saddle would suit only one of his horses, and that horse could by no means be brought to stand fire. Perhaps the worshipful owner sympathized in the scruples of this sagacious quadruped, and began to think, that what was so much dreaded by the horse could not be very wholesome for the rider. At any rate, while Sir Anthony Wardour talked, and drank, and hesitated, the sturdy provost of Fairport (who, as we before noticed, was the father of our Antiquary) sallied from his ancient burgh, heading a body of whig-burghers, and seized at once, in the name of George II, upon the castle of Knockwinnock, and on the four carriage-horses, and person of the proprietor. Sir Anthony was shortly after sent off to the Tower of London by a secretary of state’s warrant, and with him went his son, Arthur, then a youth. But as nothing appeared like an overt act of treason, both father and son were soon set at liberty to return to their old mansion of Knockwin­ nock, drink healths five fathoms deep, and talk of their sufferings in the royal cause. This became so much a matter of habit with Sir Arthur, that, even after his father’s death, the non-juring chaplain used to pray regularly for the restoration of the rightful sovereign, for the downfall of the usurper, and for deliverance from their cruel and blood-thirsty enemies, although all idea of serious opposition to the house of Hanover had long mouldered away; and this treasonable

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liturgy was kept up rather as a matter of form than as conveying any distinct meaning. So much was this the case, that, about the year 1770, upon a disputed election occurring in the county, the worthy knight fairly gulped down the oaths of abjuration and allegiance, in order to serve a candidate in whom he was interested;—thus renoun­ cing the heir for whose restoration he weekly petitioned Heaven, and acknowledging the usurper, whose dethronement he had never ceased to pray for. And to add to this melancholy instance of human inconsistence, Sir Arthur continued to pray for the house of Stuart even after the family had been extinct, and when, in truth, though in his theoretical loyalty he was pleased to regard them as alive, yet, in all actual service and practical exertion, he was a most zealous and devoted subject of George III. In other respects, Sir Arthur Wardour lived like most country gen­ tlemen in Scotland—hunted and fished—gave and received dinners —attended races and county meetings—was a deputy-lieutenant and a trustee upon turnpike acts. But, in his more advanced years, as he became too lazy or unwieldy for field-sports, he supplied them by now and then reading Scotch history; and, having gradually acquired a taste for antiquities, though neither very deep nor very correct, he became a crony of his neighbour, Mr Oldbuck of Monkbarns, and a joint labourer with him in his antiquarian pursuits. There were, however, points of difference between these two humourists, which sometimes occasioned discord. The faith of Sir Arthur, as an antiquary, was boundless, and Mr Oldbuck (notwith­ standing the affair of the Prætorium at the Kaim of Kinprunes) was much more scrupulous in receiving legends as current and authentic coin. Sir Arthur would have deemed himself guilty of the crime of leze-majesty had he doubted the existence of any single individual of that formidable bead-roll of one hundred and four kings of Scotland, received by Boethius, and rendered classical by Buchanan, in virtue of whom James VI. claimed to rule his ancient kingdom, and whose portraits still frown grimly upon the walls of the gallery of Holyrood. Now Oldbuck, a shrewd and suspicious man, and no respecter of divine hereditary right, was apt to cavil at this sacred list, and to affirm, that the procession of the posterity of Fergus through the pages of Scottish history, was as vain and unsubstantial as the gleamy pageant of the descendants of Banquo through the cavern of Hecate. Another tender topic, was the good fame of Queen Mary, of which the knight was a most chivalrous assertor, while the esquire impugned it in spite both of her beauty and her misfortunes. When, unhappily, they fell upon yet later times, motives of discord occurred in almost every page of history. Oldbuck was upon principle a staunch presby­

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terian, a ruling elder of the Kirk, a friend to revolution principles and protestant succession, while Sir Arthur was the very reverse of all this. They agreed, it is true, in dutiful love and allegiance to the sovereign who now holds the throne, but this was their only point of union. It therefore often happened, that bickerings hot broke out between them, in which Oldbuck was not always able to suppress his caustic humour, while it would sometimes occur to the baronet, that this descendant of a German printer, whose sires had “sought the base fellowship of paltry burghers,” forgot himself, and took an unlicensed freedom of debate, considering the rank and ancient descent of his antagonist. This, the old feud of the coach-horses, and the seizure of his manor-place and tower of strength by Mr Oldbuck’s father, would rush upon his mind, and inflame at once his cheeks and his argu­ ments. And, lastly, as Mr Oldbuck thought his worthy friend and compeer was, in some respects, little better than a fool, he was apt to come more near communicating to him that unfavourable opinion, than the rules of modern politeness warrant. In such cases, they often parted in deep dudgeon, and with something like a resolution to forbear each other’s company in future; But with the morning calm reflection came.

And as each was sensible that the society of the other had become, through habit, essential to his comfort, the breach was speedily made up between them. On such occasions, Oldbuck, considering that the baronet’s pettishness resembled that of a child, usually shewed his superior sense by compassionately making the first advances to recon­ ciliation. But it once or twice happened, that the aristocratic pride of the far-descended knight took a flight too offensive to the feelings of the son of the typographer. In these cases, the breach between these two originals might have been immortal, but for the kind exertions and interposition of the baronet’s daughter, Miss Isabella Wardour, who, with a son, now absent upon foreign and military service, formed his whole surviving family. She was well aware how necessary Mr Old­ buck was to her father’s amusement and comfort, and seldom failed to interpose with effect, when the offices of a mediator between them was rendered necessary, by the caustic shrewdness of the one, or the assumed superiority of the other. Under Isabella’s mild influence, the wrongs of Queen Mary were forgotten by her father, and Mr Oldbuck forgave the blasphemy which reviled the memory of King William. However, as she used in general to take her father’s part playfully in these disputes, Oldbuck was wont to call Isabella his fair enemy, though in fact he made more account of her than any other of her sex, of whom, as we have seen, he was no admirer.

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There existed another connection betwixt these worthies, which had alternately a repelling and an attractive influence upon their in­ timacy. Sir Arthur always wished to borrow; Mr Oldbuck was not always willing to lend. Mr Oldbuck, per contra, always wished to be repaid with regularity; Sir Arthur was not always, nor indeed often, prepared to gratify this reasonable desire; and, in accomplishing an arrangement between tendencies so opposite, little miffs would occa­ sionally take place. Still there was a spirit of mutual accommodation upon the whole, and they dragged on like dogs in couples, with some difficulty and occasional snarling, but without absolutely coming to a stand-still or throttling each other. Some little disagreement, such as we have mentioned, arising out of business, or politics, had divided the houses of Knockwinnock and Monkbarns, when the emissary of the latter arrived to discharge his errand. In his ancient Gothic parlour, whose windows on one side looked out upon the restless ocean, and, on the other, upon the long straight avenue, was the baronet seated, now turning over the leaves of a folio, now casting a weary glance where the sun quivered upon the dark-green foliage and smooth trunks of the large and branching limes, with which the avenue was planted. At length, sight of joy! a moving object is seen, and it gives rise to the usual enquiries, Who is it? and what can be his errand? The old whitish grey coat, the hob­ bling gait, the hat, half-slouched, half-cocked, announced the forlorn maker of periwigs, and left for investigation only the second query. This was soon solved by a servant entering the parlour,—“A letter from Monkbarns, Sir Arthur.” Sir Arthur took the epistle with a due assumption of consequential dignity. “Take the old man into the kitchen, and let him get some refresh­ ment,” said the young lady, whose compassionate eye had remarked his thin grey hair and wearied gait. “Mr Oldbuck, my love, invites us to dinner upon Tuesday 17th,” said the baronet, pausing; “he really seems to forget that he has not of late conducted himself so civilly towards me as might have been expected.” “Dear papa, you have so many advantages over poor Mr Oldbuck, that no wonder it should put him a little out of humour, but I know he has much respect for your person and your conversation; nothing would give him more pain than to be wanting in any real attention.” “True, true, Isabella; and one must allow for the original descent: something of the German boorishness still flows in the blood; some­ thing of the whiggish and perverse opposition to established rank and privilege. You may observe that he never has any advantage of me in

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dispute, unless when he avails himself of a sort of pettifogging intim­ acy with dates, names, and trifling matters of fact, a tiresome and frivolous accuracy of memory which is entirely owing to his mechan­ ical descent.” “He must find it convenient in historical investigation, I should think, sir?” “It leads to an uncivil and positive mode of disputing; and nothing seems more unreasonable than to hear him impugn even Bellenden’s rare translation of Hector Boece, which I have the satisfaction to possess, and which is a black-letter folio of great value, upon the authority of some old scrap of parchment which he has saved from its deserved destiny of being cut up into tailors’ measures. And, besides, that habit of minute and troublesome accuracy leads to a mercantile manner of doing business, which ought to be beneath a landed propri­ etor, whose family has stood two or three generations—I question if there’s a dealer’s clerk in Fairport that can sum an account of interest better than Monkbarns.” “But you’ll accept his invitation, sir?” “Why, ye—yes—we have no other engagement on hand, I think. Who can the young man be he talks of? he seldom picks up new acquaintance; and he has no relation that I ever heard of.” “Probably some relation of his brother-in-law, Captain Mac­ Intyre.” “Very possible; yes, we will accept; the MacIntyres are of a very ancient Highland family. You may answer his card in the affirmative, Isabella; I believe I have no leisure to be Dear Sir-ingmyself.” So this important matter being adjusted, Miss Wardour intimated “her own and Sir Arthur’s compliments, and that they would have the honour of waiting upon Mr Oldbuck. Miss Wardour takes this oppor­ tunity to renew her hostility with Mr Oldbuck, on account of his late long absence from Knockwinnock, where his visits give so much pleasure.” With this placebo she concluded her note, with which old Caxon, now refreshed in limbs and wind, set out on his return to the Antiquary’s mansion.

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Chapter Six Moth. By Woden, God of Saxons, From whence comes Wensday; that is Wodensday, Truth is a thing that I will ever keep Unto thylke day in which I creep into My sepulcre–– Cartwright’s Ordinary

Our young friend, Lovel, who had received a corresponding invita­ tion, punctual to the hour of appointment arrived at Monkbarns about five minutes before four o’clock upon the 17 July. The day had been remarkably sultry, and large drops of rain had occasionally fallen, though the threatened showers had as yet passed away. Mr Oldbuck received him at the Palmer’s-port in his complete brown suit, grey silk stockings, and wig powdered with all the skill of the veteran Caxon, who, having smelled out the dinner, had taken care not to finish his job till the hour of eating approached. “You are welcome to my symposion, Mr Lovel; and now let me introduce you to my Clogdogdo’s, as Tom Otter calls them; my un­ lucky and good-for-nothing womankind—malæ bestiæ, Mr Lovel.” “I shall be disappointed, sir, if I do not find the ladies very un­ deserving of your satire.” “Tilley-valley, Mr Lovel,—which, by the way, one commentator derives from titivillitium, and another from talley-ho—but tilleyvalley, I say, a truce with your politeness. You will find them true samples of womankind—But here they be, Mr Lovel. I present to you, in due order, my most discreet sister Griselda, who disdains the simplicity, as well as patience, annexed to the poor old name of Griz­ zel; and my most exquisite niece Maria, whose mother was called Mary, and sometimes Molly.” The elder lady rustled in silks and satins, and bore upon her head a structure resembling the fashion in the Ladies’ Memorandum-book for the year 1770—a superb piece of architecture—not much less than a modern Gothic castle, of which the curls might present the turrets, the black pins the chevaux defrize, and the lappets the banners. The face, which, like that of the ancient statues of Vesta, was thus crowned with towers, was large and long, and peaked at nose and chin, and bore, in other respects, such a ludicrous resemblance to the physiognomy of Mr Jonathan Oldbuck, that Lovel, had they not appeared at once, like Sebastian and Viola in the last scene of‘Twelfth Night,’ might have supposed that the figure before him was his old friend masquerading in female attire. An antique flowered silk gown

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graced the extraordinary person to whom belonged this unparalleled tête, which her brother was wont to say was fitter for a turband to Mahound or Termagant, than a head-gear for a reasonable creature, or Christian gentlewoman. Two long and bony arms were terminated at the elbows by triple blonde ruffles, and, being folded saltire-ways in front of her person, and decorated with long gloves of a bright ver­ milion colour, had no bad resemblance to a pair of gigantic lobsters. High-heeled shoes, and a short silk cloak, thrown in easy negligence over her shoulders, completed the exterior ofMiss Griselda Oldbuck. Her niece, the same whom Lovel had seen transiently during his first visit, was a pretty young woman, genteelly dressed according to the fashion of the day, with an air of espieglerie which became her very well, and which was perhaps derived from the caustic humour pecu­ liar to her uncle’s family, though softened by transmission. Mr Lovel paid his respects to both ladies, and was answered by the elder with the prolonged curtesy of 1760, drawn from the righteous period, When folks conceived a grace Of half an hour’s space, And rejoiced in a Friday’s capon,

and by the younger with a modern reverence, which, like the festive benediction of a modern divine, was of much shorter duration. While this salutation was exchanging, Sir Arthur, with his fair daughter hanging upon his arm, having dismissed his chariot, ap­ peared at the garden door, and in all due form paid his respects to the ladies. “Sir Arthur,” said the Antiquary, “and you, my fair foe, let me make known to you my young friend Mr Lovel, a gentleman who, during the scarlet-fever which is epidemic at present in this our island, has the virtue and decency to appear in a coat of a civil complexion. You see, however, that the fashionable colour has mustered in his cheeks which appears not in his garments. Sir Arthur, let me present to you a young gentleman, whom your farther knowledge shall find grave, wise, courtly, and scholar-like, well seen, deeply read, and thoroughly grounded in all the hidden mysteries of the green-room and stage, from the days of Davie Lindsay down to those of Dibdin—he blushes again, which is a sign of grace.” “My brother,” said Miss Griselda, addressing Lovel, “has an humorous way of expressing himself, sir—nobody thinks ony thing of what Monkbarns says—so I beg you will not be so confused for the matter of his nonsense—but you must have had such a warm walk beneath this broiling sun—would you take ony thing?—a glass of balm-wine ?”

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Ere Lovel could answer, the Antiquary interposed. “Aroint thee, witch! wouldst thou poison my guests with thy infernal decoctions ? Doest thou not remember how it fared with the clergyman whom you seduced to partake of that deceitful beverage?” “O fye, fye, brother—Sir Arthur, did you ever hear the like!—he must have every thing his own way, or he will invent such stories––– But there goes Jenny to ring the old bell to tell us that the dinner is ready.” Rigid in his economy, Mr Oldbuck kept no male-servant. This he disguised, under the pretext that the masculine sex was too noble to be employed in those acts of personal servitude, which, in all early periods of society, were uniformly imposed on the female. “Why,” would he say, “did the boy, Tam Rintherout, whom, at my wise sister’s instigation, I, with equal wisdom, took upon trial—why did he pilfer apples, take birds’ nests, break glasses, and ultimately steal my spec­ tacles, except that he felt that noble emulation which swells in the bosom of the masculine sex, which has conducted him to Flanders with a musket on his shoulder, and doubtless will promote him to a glorious halbard, or even to the gallows? And why does this girl, his full sister, Jenny Rintherout, move in the same vocation with safe and noiseless step—shod, or unshod—soft as the pace of a cat, and docile as a spaniel—Why? but because she is in her vocation. Let them minister to us, Sir Arthur,—let them minister, I say—it’s the only thing they are fit for. All ancient legislators, from Lycurgus to Mahommed, corruptly called Mahomet, agree in putting them in their proper and subordinate rank, and it is only the crazy heads of our old chivalrous ancestors that erected their Dulcineas into despotic prin­ cesses.” Miss Wardour protested loudly against this ungallant doctrine; but the bell now rung for dinner. “Let me do all the offices of fair courtesy to so fair an antagonist,” said the old gentleman, offering his arm. “I remember, Miss War­ dour, Mahommed (vulgarly Mahomet) had some hesitation about the mode of summoning his Moslemah to prayer. He rejected bells as used by Christians, trumpets as the summons of the Guebres, and finally adopted the human voice. I have had equally doubt concerning my dinner-call. Gongs, now in frequent use, seemed a new-fangled and heathenish invention, and the voice of the menial womankind I rejected as equally shrill and dissonant; wherefore, contrary to the said Mahommed, or Mahomet, I have resumed the bell. It has a local propriety, since it was the conventual signal for spreading the repast in their refectory, and it has this advantage over the tongue of my sister’s prime minister, Jenny, that, though not quite so loud and shrill, it

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ceases ringing the instant you drop the bell-rope; whereas we know, by sad experience, that any attempt to silence Jenny, only wakes the sympathetic chime of Miss Oldbuck and Mary MacIntyre to join in chorus.” With this discourse he led the way to his dining-parlour, which Lovel had not yet seen; it was wainscotted, and contained some curi­ ous paintings. The dining-table was attended by Jenny; but an old superintendant, a sort of female butler, stood by the side-board, and underwent the burthen of bearing several reproofs from Mr Oldbuck, and inuendos, not so much marked, but not less cutting, from his sister. The dinner was such as suited a professed antiquary, comprehend­ ing many savoury specimens of Scottish viands, now disused at the tables of those who affect elegance. There was the relishing Solan goose, whose smell is so powerful that he is never cooked within doors. Blood-raw he proved to be on this occasion, so that Oldbuck half-threatened to heave the greasy sea-fowl at the head of the negli­ gent housekeeper who acted as priestess in presenting this odorifer­ ous offering. But, by goodhap, she had been most fortunate in the hotch-potch, which was unanimously pronounced to be inimitable. “I knew we should succeed here,” said Oldbuck exultingly, “for Davie Dibble, the gardener, (an old bachelor like myself) takes care the rascally women did not dishonour our vegetables. And here is fish and sauce, and crappit-heads—I acknowledge our womankind excel in that dish—it procures them the pleasure of scolding, for half an hour at least, twice a-week, with auld Maggy Meiklebackit, our fish-wife. The chicken-pie, Mr Lovel, is done after a receipt bequeathed to me by my departed grandmother of happy memory—and if you will ven­ ture on a glass of wine, you will find it worthy of one who professes the maxim of King Alphonso of Castile—Old wood to burn—old books to read—old wine to drink—and old friends, Sir Arthur—aye, Mr Lovel, and young friends too, to converse with.” When dinner was over, and the decanters placed on the table, Mr Oldbuck proposed the king’s health in a bumper, which was readily acceded to both by Lovel and the baronet, the jacobitism of the latter being now a sort of speculative opinion merely,—the shadow of a shade. “And what news do you bring us from Edinburgh, Monkbarns,” said Sir Arthur; “how wags the world in Auld Reekie ?” “Mad, Sir Arthur, mad—irretrievably frantic—far beyond dipping in the sea, shaving the crown, or drinking hellebore. The worst sort of frenzy, a military frenzy, hath possessed man, woman, and child.” “And high time, I think,” said Miss Wardour, “when we are

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threatened with invasion from abroad, and insurrection at home.” “O, I did not doubt you would join the scarlet host against me— women, like turkeys, are always subdued by a red rag—But what says Sir Arthur, whose dreams are of standing armies and German oppres­ sion?” “Why, I say, Mr Oldbuck, that, so far as I am capable of judging, we ought to resist cum toto corpore regni, as the phrase is—unless I have altogether forgotten my Latin—an enemy who come to propose to us a whiggish sort of government, a republican system, and who are aided and abetted by a sort of fanatics of the worst kind in our own bowels. I have taken some measures, I assure you, such as become my rank in the community; for I have directed the constables to take up that old scoundrelly beggar, Edie Ochiltree, for spreading disaffection against church and state through the whole parish. He said plainly to old Caxon, that Willie Howie’s Kilmarnock cowl covered more sense than all the three wigs in the parish—I think it is easy to make out that inuendo—But the rogue shall be taught better manners.” “O no, my dear papa,” exclaimed Miss Wardour, “not old Edie, that we have known so long—I assure you no constable shall have my good graces that executes such a warrant.” “Aye, there it goes,” said the Antiquary; “you, to be a staunch tory, Sir Arthur, have nourished a fine sprig of whiggery in your bosom— Why, Miss Wardour is alone sufficient to controul a whole quarter­ session—a quarter-session ? aye, a general assembly or convocation to boot—a Boadicea, she—an Amazon, a Zenobia.” “And yet, with all my courage, Mr Oldbuck, I am glad to hear our people are getting under arms.” “Under arms, Lord love thee! didst thou ever read the history of Sister Margaret, which flowed from a head, that, though now old and somedele grey, has more sense and political intelligence than you find now-a-days in a whole synod? Doest thou remember the Nurse’s dream in that exquisite work, which she recounts in such agony to Hubble Bubble?—When she would have taken up a piece of broad cloth in her vision, lo! it exploded like a great iron cannon. When she put out her hand to save a pirn, it perked up in her face in the form of a pistol. My own vision in Edinburgh has been something similar—I called to consult my lawyer; he was clothed in a dragoon’s dress, belted and casqued, and about to mount a charger, which his writing­ clerk (habited as a sharp-shooter) walked to and fro before his door— I went to scold my agent for having sent me to advise with a madman; he had stuck into his head the plume, which in more sober days he wielded between his fingers, and figured as an artillery-officer. My mercer had his spontoon in his hand, as if he measured his cloth by

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that implement instead of a legitimate yard. The banker’s clerk, who was directed to sum my cash-account, blundered it three times, being disordered by the recollection of his military tellings-off at the morn­ ing drill. I was ill, and sent for a surgeon— He came—but valour so had fired his eye, And such a faulchion glitter’d on his thigh, That, by the gods, with such a load of steel, I thought he came to murder, not to heal.

I had recourse to a physician, but he also was practising a more wholesale mode of slaughter than that which his profession has been supposed at all times to open to him. And now, since I have returned here, even our wise neighbours of Fairport have caught the same valiant humour. I hate a gun like a hurt wild-duck—I detest a drum like a quaker;—and they thunder and rattle out yon­ der upon the town’s common, that every volley and roll goes to my very heart.” “Dear brother, dinna speak that gate o’ the gentlemen volunteers— I am sure they have a most becoming uniform—Weel I wot they have been wet to the very skin twice last week—I met them marching in, terribly droukit, and mony a sair hoast was amang them—And the trouble they take claims our gratitude.” “And I am sure,” said Miss MacIntyre, “that my uncle sent twenty guineas to help out their equipments.” “It was to buy liquorice and sugar-candy,” said the cynic, “to en­ courage the trade of the place, and to refresh the throats of the officers who had bawled themselves hoarse in the service of their country.” “Take care, Monkbarns; we shall set you down among the black­ nebs by and bye.” “No, Sir Arthur, a tame grumbler I—I only claim the privilege of croaking in my own corner here, without uniting my throat to the grand chorus of the marsh—Ni quito Rey, ni pongo Rey—I neither make king nor mar king, as Sancho says, but pray heartily for our own sovereign, pay scot and lot, and grumble at the exciseman—But here comes the ewe-milk cheese in good time; it is a better digestive than politics.” After the ladies had left the apartment, the landlord and Sir Arthur entered into several exquisite discussions, in which the younger guest, either on account of the abstruse erudition which they involved, or for some other reason, took but a slender share, till at length he was suddenly started out of a profound reverie by an unexpected appeal to his judgment. “I will stand by what Mr Lovel says; he was born in the north of England, and may know the very spot.”

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Sir Arthur thought it unlikely that so young a gentleman should have paid much attention to matters of that sort. “I am avised of the contrary,” said Oldbuck—“How say you, Mr Lovel?—speak up for your own credit, man.” Lovel was obliged to confess himself in the ridiculous situation of one, alike ignorant of the subject of conversation and controversy which has engaged the whole company for an hour. “Lord help the lad, his head has been wool-gathering!—I thought how it would be when the womankind were admitted—no getting a word of sense out of a young fellow for six hours after. Why, man, there was once a people called the Piks”—— “More properly Picts” interrupted the baronet. “I say the Pikar, Pihar, Piochtar, Piaghter, or Peughtar” vociferated Oldbuck; “they spoke a Gothic dialect”—— “Genuine Celtic,” again asseverated the knight. “Gothic! Gothic, I’ll go to death upon it!” counter-asseverated the squire. “Why, gentlemen, I conceive that is a dispute which may be easily settled by philologists, if there are any remains of the language.” “There is but one word,” said the baronet, “but, in spite of Mr Oldbuck’s pertinacity, it is decisive of the question.” “Yes, in my favour,” said Oldbuck; “Mr Lovel, you shall be judge —I have the learned Pinkerton on my side.” “I, on mine, the indefatigable and erudite Chalmers.” “Gordon comes into my opinion.” “Sir Robert Sibbald holds mine.” “Innes is with me!” vociferated Oldbuck. “Ritson has no doubts!” shouted the baronet. “Truly, gentlemen,” said Lovel, “before you muster your forces and overwhelm me with authorities, I should like to know the word in dispute.” “Penval” said both the disputants at once. “Which signifies caput valli” said Oldbuck. “The head of the wall,” echoed Sir Arthur. There was a deep pause. “It is rather a narrow foundation to build a hypothesis upon,” observed the arbiter. “Not a whit, not a whit,” said Oldbuck; “men fight best in a narrow ring—an inch is as good as a mile for a home-thrust.” “It is decidedly Celtic,” said the baronet; “every hill in the High­ lands begins with Ben.” “But what say you to Val, Sir Arthur—is it not decidedly the Saxon wall?”

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“It is the Roman vallum” said Sir Arthur, “the Picts borrowed that part of the word.” “No such thing; if they borrowed any thing, it must have been your Ben, which they might have from the neighbouring Britons of Strath Clwyd.” “The Piks, or Picts,” said Lovel, “must have been singularly poor in dialect, since in the only remaining word of their vocabulary, and that consisting only of two syllables, they have been confessedly obliged to borrow one of them from another language; and methinks, gentle­ men, with submission, the controversy is not unlike that which the two knights fought, concerning the shield that had one side white and the other black. Each of you claim one-half of the word, and seem to resign the other. But what strikes me most, is the poverty of the language which has left so slight vestiges behind it.” “You are in an error,” said Sir Arthur, “it was a copious language, and they were a great and powerful people—built two steeples; one at Brechin, one at Abernethy. The Pictish maidens of the blood-royal were kept at Edinburgh Castle, thence called Castrum Puellarum” “A childish legend,” said Oldbuck, “invented to give consequence to trumpery womankind. It was called the Maiden Castle, quasi lucus a non lucendo, because it resisted every attack, and women never do.” “There is a list of the Pictish kings, well authenticated, from Cren­ theminach-cryme (the date of whose reign is somewhat uncertain) down to Drusterstone, whose death concluded their dynasty. Half of them have the Celtic patronymic Mac prefixed—Mac, id est, filius— What do you say to that, Mr Oldbuck ? There’s Drust Mackmorachin, Trynel Maclachlin, (first of that ancient clan, as it may be judged,) and Gormach MacDhonail, Alpin Mackmetegus, Drust Macktal­ largam, (here he was interrupted by a fit of coughing,) ugh, ugh, ugh —Golarge Macchan—ugh—ugh—Macchanan—ugh—Macchana­ nail—Kenneth—ugh—ugh—Macferedith—Eachan Macfungus— and twenty more, decidedly Celtic names, that I could repeat if this damned cough would let me.” “Take a glass of wine, Sir Arthur, and drink down that bead-roll of unbaptized jargon, that would choak the devil—why, that last fellow has the only intelligible name you have repeated—they are all of the tribe of Macfungus—mushroom monarchs every one of them; sprung up from the fumes of conceit, folly, and falsehood, fermenting in the brains of some mad Highland seannachie.” “I am surprised to hear you, Mr Oldbuck; you know, or ought to know, that the list of these potentates was copied, by Henry Maule of Melgum, from the Chronicles of Loch-Leven and Saint Andrews, and put forth by him in his short but satisfactory history of the Picts,

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printed by Robert Freebairn of Edinburgh, and sold by him at his shop in the Parliament-close, in the year of God, seventeen hundred and five, or six, I am not precisely certain which—but I have a copy at home that stands next my twelvemo copy of the Scots Acts, and ranges on the shelfwith them very well. What say you to that, Mr Oldbuck ?” “I laugh at Harry Maule and his history,” answered Oldbuck, “and thereby comply with his request, of giving it entertainment according to its merits.” “Do not laugh at a better man than yourself,” said Sir Arthur, somewhat scornfully. “I do not conceive I do, Sir Arthur, in laughing either at him or his”—— “Henry Maule of Melgum was a gentleman, Mr Oldbuck.” “I presume he had no advantage of me in that particular,” replied the Antiquary, somewhat tartly. “Permit me, Mr Oldbuck—he was a gentleman of high family and ancient descent, and therefore”—— “The descendant of a Westphalian printer should speak of him with deference ?—Such may be your opinion, Sir Arthur—it is not mine— I conceive that my descent from that painful and industrious typo­ grapher, Wolfbrand Oldenbuck, who, in the month of December, 1493, under the patronage, as the colophon tells us, of those worthy burgo-masters Sebaldus Scheyter and Sebastian Kammermaister, accomplished the printing of the great Chronicle of Nuremberg—I conceive, I say, that my descent from that great restorer of learning is more creditable to me as a man of letters, than if I had numbered in my genealogy all the brawling, bullet-headed, iron-fisted, old Gothic barons since the days of Crentheminach-cryme—not one of whom, I suppose, could write their own name.” “If you mean the observation as a sneer at my ancestry,” said the knight, with an assumption of dignified superiority and composure, “I have the pleasure to inform you, that the name of my ancestor, Game­ lyn de Guardover, Miles, is written fairly with his own hand in the earliest copy of the Ragman-roll.” “Which only serves to shew that he was one of the earliest who set the mean example of submitting to Edward I. What have you to say for the stainless loyalty of your family, Sir Arthur, after such a backsliding as that?” “It’s enough, sir,” said Sir Arthur, starting up fiercely, and pushing back his chair, “I shall hereafter take care how I honour with my company, one who shews himself so ungrateful for my condescen­ sion.” “In that you will do as you find most agreeable, Sir Arthur; I hope,

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that, as I was not aware of the extent of the obligation which you have done me, by visiting my poor house, I may be excused for not having carried my gratitude to the extent of servility.” “Mighty well—mighty well—Mr Oldbuck—I wish you a good evening—Mr a—a—a—Shovel—I wish you a very good evening.” Out of the parlour door flounced the incensed Sir Arthur, as if the spirit of the whole Round Table inflamed his single bosom, and traversed with long strides the labyrinth of passages which conducted to the drawing-room. “Did you ever see such an old tup-headed ass?” said Oldbuck, briefly apostrophizing Lovel; “but I must not let him go in this madlike way neither.” So saying, he pushed off after the retreating baronet, whom he traced by the clang of several doors which he opened in search of the apartment for tea, and slammed with force behind him at every disap­ pointment. “You’ll do yourself a mischief, Sir Arthur,” roared the Antiquary; “Qui ambulat in tenebris, nescit quo vadat—you’ll tumble down the back-stair.” Sir Arthur had now got involved in darkness, of which the sedative effect is well known to nurses and governesses who have to deal with petted children. It retarded the pace of the irritated baronet, if it did not abate his resentment, and Mr Oldbuck, better acquainted with the locale, got up with him as he had got his hand upon the handle of the drawing-room door. “Stay a minute, Sir Arthur,” said Oldbuck, opposing his abrupt entrance; “don’t be quite so hasty, my good old friend—I was a little too rude with you about Sir Gamelyn—Why, he is an old acquaintance of mine, man, and a favourite—he kept com­ pany with Bruce and Wallace—and, I’ll be sworn on a black-letter Bible, only subscribed the Ragman-roll with the legitimate and justifiable intention of circumventing the false Southron—’Twas right Scottish craft, my good knight—hundreds did it—come, come, forget and forgive—confess we have given the young fellow here a right to think us two testy old fools.” “Speak for yourself, Mr Jonathan Oldbuck,” said Sir Arthur, with much majesty. “A well, a well—a wilful man must have his way.” With that the door opened, and into the drawing room marched the tall gaunt form of Sir Arthur, followed by Lovel and Mr Oldbuck, the countenances of all three a little discomposed. “I have been waiting for you, sir,” said Miss Wardour, “to propose we should walk forward to meet the carriage, as the evening is so fine.” Sir Arthur readily assented to this proposal, which suited the angry mood in which he found himself; and having, agreeably to the

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established custom in cases of pet, refused the refreshment of tea and coffee, he tucked his daughter under his arm; and, after taking a ceremonious leave of the ladies, and a very dry one of Oldbuck—off he marched. “I think Sir Arthur has got the black dog on his back again,” said Miss Oldbuck. “Black dog!—black devil!—he’s more absurd than womankind— What say you, Lovel?—Why, the lad’s gone too.” “He took his leave, uncle, while Miss Wardour was putting on her things; but I don’t think you observed him.” “The devil’s in the people. This is all one gets by fussing and bustling, and putting one’s self out of one’s way in order to give dinners, besides all the charges they are put to.—O Seged, Emperor of Ethiopia!” said he, taking up a cup of tea in the one hand, and a volume of the Rambler in the other,—for it was his regular custom to read while he was eating or drinking in presence of his sister, and was a practice which served at once to evince his contempt for the society of womankind, and his resolution to lose no moment of instruction,—“O Seged, Emperor of Ethiopia! well hast thou spoken. No man should presume to say this shall be a day of happi­ ness.” Oldbuck proceeded in his studies for the best part of an hour, uninterrupted by the ladies, who each, in profound silence, pursued some female employment. At length, a light and modest tap was heard at the parlour door. “Is that you, Caxon?—come in.” The old man opened the door, and, thrusting in his meagre face, thatched with thin grey locks, and one sleeve of his white coat, said in a subdued and mysterious tone of voice, “I was wanting to speak to you, sir.” “Come in then, you old fool, and say what you have got to say.” “It’ll maybe frighten the leddies.” “Frighten? What do you mean?—never mind the leddies—have you seen another ghaist at the Humlock-know?” “Na, sir; it’s no a ghaist this turn—but I’m no easy in my mind.” “Did you ever hear of any body that was?” answered Oldbuck; “what tide has an old battered powder-pluff like you to be easier in your mind more than all the rest of the world besides?” “It’s no for mysel, sir; but it threatens an awfu’ night; and Sir Arthur, and Miss Wardour, poor thing”––– “Why, man, they must have met the carriage at the head of the loaning, or thereabouts; they must be home long ago.” “Na, sir; they didna gang the road be the turnpike to meet the carriage—they gaed by the sands.”

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The word operated like electricity on Oldbuck. “The sands! im­ possible !” “Ou, sir, that’s what I said to the gardener, but he says he saw them turn down be the Mussel-craig—in troth, says I to him, an that be the case, Davie, I am misdoubting”––– “An almanack! an almanack!” said Oldbuck, starting up in great alarm—“not that bauble!” flinging away a little pocket almanack which his niece offered—“Great God!—my poor dear Miss Isabella! —fetch me instantly the Fairport Almanack.”—It was brought, con­ sulted, and added greatly to his agitation. “I’ll go myself—call the gardener and ploughman—bid them bring ropes and ladders—bid them raise more help as they come along—Keep the top of the cliffs, and halloo down to them—I’ll go myself.” “What is the matter?” said Miss Oldbuck and Miss MacIntyre. “The tide!—the tide!” answered the alarmed Antiquary. “Had not Jenny better—but no, I’ll run myself,” said the younger lady, partaking in all her uncle’s terrors—“I’ll run myself to Saunders Meiklebackit, and make him get out his boat.” “Thank you, my dear, that’s the wisest word has been spoken yet— run! run!—to go by the sands!” seizing his hat and cane; “was there ever such madness heard of!”

Chapter Seven ———Pleased awhile to view The watery waste, a prospect wild and new; The now receding waters give them space, On either side, the growing shores to trace; And then, returning, they contract the scene, Till small and smaller grows the walk between.

The information of Davie Dibble, which had spread such a general alarm at Monkbarns, proved to be strictly correct. Sir Arthur and his daughter had set out, according to their first proposal, to return to Knockwinnock by the turnpike-road; but, when they reached the head of the loaning, as it was called, or great lane, which on one side made a sort of avenue to the house of Monkbarns, they discerned, a little way before them, Lovel, who seemed to linger on the way as if to give him an opportunity to join them. Miss Wardour immediately proposed to her father that they should take another direction; and, as the weather was fine, walk home upon the sands, which, stretching below a picturesque ridge of rocks, afforded at almost all times a pleasanter passage between Knockwinnock and Monkbarns than the high-road.

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Sir Arthur acquiesced willingly. “It would be unpleasant,” he said, “to be joined by that young fellow, whom Mr Oldbuck had taken the freedom to introduce them to.” And his old-fashioned politeness had none of the ease of the present day, which permits you, if you have a mind, to cut the person you have associated with for a week, the instant you feel, or suppose yourself, in a situation which makes it disagree­ able to own him. Sir Arthur only stipulated, that a little ragged boy, for the guerdon of one penny sterling, should run to meet his coachman, and turn his equipage back to Knockwinnock. When this was arranged, and the emissary dismissed, the knight and his daughter left the high-road, and, following a wandering path among sandy hillocks, partly grown over with furze and the long grass called bent, soon attained the side of the ocean. The tide was by no means so far out as they had computed, but this gave no alarm: there were seldom ten days in the year when it approached so near the cliffs as not to leave a dry passage. But, nevertheless, at periods of spring­ tide, or even when the ordinary flood was accelerated by high winds, this road was altogether covered with the sea; and tradition recorded several fatal accidents which had happened upon such occasions. Still, such dangers were considered as remote and improbable; and rather served, with other legends, to amuse the hamlet fire-side, than to prevent any one from going between Knockwinnock and Monk­ barns by the sands. As Sir Arthur and Miss Wardour paced along, enjoying the pleas­ ant footing afforded by the cool moist hard sand, Miss Wardour could not help observing, that the last tide had risen considerably above the usual water-mark. Sir Arthur made the same observation, but without its occurring to either of them to be alarmed at the circumstance. The sun was now resting his huge disk upon the edge of the level ocean, and gilded the accumulation of towering clouds, through which he had travelled the livelong day, and which now assembled on all sides like misfortunes and disasters around a sinking empire and falling monarch. Still, however, his dying splendour gave a sombre magnifi­ cence to the massive congregation of vapours, forming out of their unsubstantial gloom the show of pyramids and towers, some touched with gold, some with purple, some with a hue of deep and dark red. The distant sea, stretched beneath this varied and gorgeous canopy, lay almost portentously still, reflecting back the dazzling and level beams of the descending luminary, and the splendid colouring of the clouds amidst which he was setting. Nearer to the beach, the tide rippled onward in waves of sparkling silver, that imperceptibly, yet rapidly, gained upon the sand. With a mind employed in admiration of the romantic scene, or

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perhaps upon some more agitating topic, Miss Wardour advanced in silence by her father’s side, whose recently offended dignity did not stoop to open any conversation. Following the windings of the beach, they passed one projecting point or head-land of rock after another, and now found themselves under a huge and continued extent of the precipices by which that iron-bound coast is in most places defended. Long projecting reefs of rock, extending under water, and only evin­ cing their existence by here and there a peak entirely bare, or by the breakers which foamed over those that were partially covered, ren­ dered Knockwinnock bay dreaded by pilots and ship-masters. The crags which rose between the beach and the main land, to the height of two or three hundred feet, afforded in their crevices shelter for un­ numbered sea-fowl, in situations seemingly secured by their dizzy height from the rapacity of man. Many of these wild tribes, with the instinct which sends them to seek the land before a storm arises, were now winging towards their nests with the shrill and dissonant clang which announces disquietude and fear. The disk of the sun became almost totally obscured ere he had altogether sunk below the horizon, and an early and lurid shade of darkness blotted the serene twilight of a summer evening. The wind began next to arise, but its wild and moaning sound was heard for some time, and its effects became visible on the bosom of the sea, before the gale was felt at land. The mass of waters, now dark and threatening, began to lift itself in larger ridges, and sink in deeper furrows, forming waves that rose high in foam upon the breakers, or burst upon the beach with a sound resem­ bling distant thunder. Appalled by this sudden change of weather, Miss Wardour drew close to her father, and held his arm fast. “I wish,” at length she said, but almost in a whisper, as if ashamed to express her increasing apprehension, “I wish we had kept the road we intended, or waited at Monkbarns for the carriage.” Sir Arthur looked round, but did not see, or would not acknow­ ledge, any signs of immediate storm. They would reach Knockwin­ nock, he said, long before the tempest began. But the speed with which he walked, and with which Isabella could hardly keep pace, indicated a feeling that some exertion was necessary to accomplish his consolatory prediction. They were now near the centre of a deep but narrow bay, or recess, formed by two projecting capes of high and inaccessible rock, which shot out into the sea like the horns of a crescent; and neither durst communicate the apprehension which each began to entertain, that, from the unusually rapid advance of the tide, they might be deprived of the power of proceeding by doubling the promontory which lay

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before them, or of retreating by the road which had brought them thither. As they thus pressed forward, longing doubtless to exchange the easy curving line, which the sinuosities of the bay compelled them to adopt, for a straighter and more expeditious path, though less con­ formable to the line of beauty, Sir Arthur observed a human figure on the beach advancing to meet them. “Thank God,” he exclaimed, “we shall get round Halket-head! that fellow must have passed it;” thus giving vent to the feeling of hope, though he had suppressed that of apprehension. “Thank God indeed!” echoed his daughter half audibly, half in­ ternally, as expressing the gratitude which she strongly felt. The figure which advanced to meet them made many signs, which the haze of the atmosphere, now disturbed by wind and by a drizzling rain, prevented them from seeing or comprehending distinctly. Some time before they met, Sir Arthur could recognize the old blue-gowned beggar, Edie Ochiltree. It is said that even the brute creation lay aside their animosities and antipathies when pressed by an instant and common danger. The beach under Halket-head, rapidly diminishing in extent by the encroachments of a spring-tide and a north-west wind, was in like manner a neutral field, where even a justice of peace and a strolling mendicant might meet upon terms of mutual forbear­ ance. “Turn back! turn back!” exclaimed the vagrant; “why did ye not turn when I waved to you ?” “We thought,” replied Sir Arthur in great agitation, “we thought we could get round Halket-head.” “Halket-head ? the tide will be running on Halket-head by this time like the Fall of Fyers!—it was a’ I could do to get round it twenty minutes syne—it was coming in three feet abreast. We will maybe get back by Bally-burgh Ness Point yet. The Lord help us, it’s our only chance. We can but try.” “My God, my child!” “My father, my dear father!” exclaimed the parent and daughter, as, fear lending them strength and speed, they turned to retrace their steps, and endeavour to double the point, the projection of which formed the northern extremity of the bay. “I heard ye were here, frae the bit callant ye sent to meet your carriage,” said the beggar, as he trudged stoutly on a step or two behind Miss Wardour, “and I couldna bide to think o’ the dainty young leddy’s peril, that has aye been kind to ilka forlorn heart that came near her. Sae I lookit at the lift and the rin o’ the tide, till I settled it that if I could get down time aneugh to gie you warning, we wad do weel yet—but I doubt, I doubt I have been beguiled!—for what mortal

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e’e ever saw sic a race as the tide is rinnin’ e’en now?—See yonder the Ratton’s Skerry—he aye held his neb abune the water in my day—but he’s aneath it now.” Sir Arthur cast a look in the direction in which the old man pointed. A huge rock, which in general, even in spring-tides, displayed a hulk like the keel of a large vessel, was now quite under water, and its place only indicated by the boiling and breaking of the eddying waves which encountered its submarine resistance. “Mak haste, mak haste, my bonny leddy,” continued the old man, “mak haste, and we may do yet!—take haud o’ my arm—an auld and frail arm it’s now, but it’s been in as sair stress as this is yet. Tak haud o’ my arm, my winsome leddy! D’ye see yon wee black speck amang the wallowing waves yonder ?—this morning it was as high as the mast o’ a brigg—it’s sma’ aneugh now—but, while I see as muckle black about it as the crown o’ my hat, I winna believe but we’ll get round the Bally-burgh Ness for a’ that’s come and gane yet.” Isabel, in silence, accepted from the old man the assistance which Sir Arthur was less able to afford her. The waves had now encroached so much upon the beach, that the firm and smooth footing which they had hitherto had upon the sand must be exchanged for a rougher path close to the foot of the precipice, and in some places even raised along its lowest ledge. It would have been utterly impossible for Sir Arthur Wardour or his daughter to have found their way along these shelves without the guidance and encouragement of the beggar, who had been there before in high tides, though never, as he acknowledged, “in sae awsome a night as this.” It was indeed a dreadful evening. The howling of the storm mingled with the shrieks of the sea-fowl, and sounded like the dirge of the three devoted beings, who, pent between two of the most magnificent, yet most dreadful objects of nature—a raging tide and an insurmount­ able precipice—toiled along their painful and dangerous path, often lashed by the spray of some giant billow, which threw itself higher on the beach than those which had preceded it. Each minute did their enemy gain ground perceptibly upon them. Still, however, loth to relinquish the last hope of life, they bent their eyes on the black rock pointed out by Ochiltree. It was yet distinctly visible among the breakers, and continued to be so, until they came to a turn of their precarious path where an intervening projection of rock hid it from their sight. Deprived of the view of the beacon on which they had relied, here then they experienced the double agony of suspense and terror. They struggled forward however; but, when they arrived at the point from which they ought to have seen the crag, it was no longer visible. The signal of safety was lost among a thousand white breakers,

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which, dashing upon the point of the promontory, rose in prodigious sheets of snowy foam as high as the mast of a first-rate man-of-war, against the dark brow of the lofty precipice. The countenance of the old man fell. Isabella gave a faint shriek, and, “God have mercy upon us!” which her guide solemnly uttered, was piteously echoed by Sir Arthur—“My child!—my child!—to die such a death!”— “My father!—my father!” his daughter exclaimed, clinging to him, “and you, too, who have lost your own life in endeavouring to save ours!”— “That’s not worth the counting,” said the old man. “I hae lived to be weary o’ life; and here or yonder—at the back o’ a dyke—in a wreath o’ snaw—or in the wame o’ a wave—what signifies how the auld gaberlunzie dies!” “Good man,” said Sir Arthur, “can you think of nothing?—of no help ?—I’ll make you rich—I’ll give you a farm—I’ll”—– “Our riches will be soon equal,” said the beggar, looking out upon the strife of waters—“they are sae already; for I hae nae land, and you would give your fair bounds and barony for a square yard of rock that would be dry for twal hours.” While they exchanged these words, they paused upon the highest ledge of rock to which they could attain; for it seemed that any further attempt to move forward could only serve to anticipate their fate. Here then they were to await the certain though slow progress of the raging element, something in the situation of the martyrs of the early church, who, exposed by heathen tyrants to be slain by wild beasts, were compelled for a time to witness the impatience and rage by which the animals were agitated, while awaiting the signal for undoing their grates and letting them loose upon the victims. Yet even this fearful pause gave Isabella time to collect the powers of a mind naturally strong and courageous, and which rallied itself at this terrible juncture. “Must we yield life,” she said, “without a struggle?—is there no path, however dreadful, by which we could climb the crag—or at least attain some height above the tide, where we could remain till morning, or till help comes ? They must be aware of our situation, and will raise the country to relieve us.” Sir Arthur, who heard, but scarce comprehended, his daughter’s question, turned, nevertheless, instinctively and eagerly to the old man, as if their lives were in his gift. Ochiltree paused. “I was a bauld craigsman,” he said, “ance in my life, and mony a kittywake’s and lungie’s nest hae I harried up amang thae very black rocks; but it’s lang, lang syne, and nae mortal could speel them without a rope—and if I had ane, my ee-sight, and my foot-step, and my hand-grip, hae a’

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failed mony a day sin-syne—and then how could I save you ?—But there was a path here ance, though maybe if we could see it ye wad rather bide where we are——His name be praised!” he suddenly ejaculated, “there’s ane coming down the craig e’en now!”—Then, exalting his voice, he hollowed out to the daring adventurer such instructions as his former practice, and the remembrance of local circumstances, suddenly forced upon his mind:—“Ye’re right—ye’re right—that gate, that gate—fasten the rape weel round Crummie’shorn, that’s the muckle black stane—cast twa plies round it—that’s it —now, weize yoursel a wee easel-ward—a wee mair yet to that ither stane—we ca’d it the Cat’s-lug—there used to be the root o’ an aik­ tree there—that will do!—canny now, lad—canny now—tak tent and tak time—Lord bless ye, tak time.—Vera weel!—Now ye maun get to Bessy’s Apron—that’s the muckle braid flat blue stane—and than I think, wi’ your help and the tow thegither, we’ll be able to get up the young leddy and Sir Arthur.” The adventurer, following the directions of old Edie, flung him down the end of the rope, which he secured around Miss Wardour, wrapping her previously in his own blue gown, to preserve her as much as possible from injury. Then, availing himself of the rope, which was made fast at the other end, he began to ascend the face of the crag—a most precarious and dizzy undertaking, which, however, after one or two perilous escapes, placed him safe on the broad flat stone beside our friend Lovel. Their joint strength was able to raise Isabella to the place of safety which they had attained. It was full time, for Sir Arthur and she had already been lashed by one or two huge waves, and by clinging to the rock had, with some difficulty, saved themselves from being swept away by their reflux. Lovel then des­ cended in order to assist Sir Arthur, around whom he adjusted the rope: and again mounting to their place of refuge, with the assistance of old Ochiltree, and such aid as Sir Arthur himself could give, he raised him beyond the reach of the billows. The sense of reprieve from approaching and apparently inevitable death, had its usual effect. The father and daughter threw themselves into each other’s arms, kissed and wept for joy, although their escape was connected with the prospect of passing a tempestuous night upon a precipitous ledge of rock, which scarce afforded footing for the four shivering beings, who now, like the sea-fowl around them, clung there in hopes of some shelter from the devouring element which raged beneath. The spray of the billows, which attained in fearful succession the foot of the precipice, overflowing the beach on which they had so lately stood, flew as high as their place of temporary refuge; and the stunning sound with which they dashed against the rocks beneath,

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seemed as if they still demanded the fugitives in accents of thunder as their destined prey. It was a summer night doubtless; yet the probabil­ ity was slender, that a frame so delicate as that of Miss Wardour should survive till morning the drenching of the spray; and the dash­ ing of the rain, which now burst in full violence, accompanied with deep and heavy gusts of wind, added to the constrained and perilous circumstances of their situation. “The lassie—the poor sweet lassie,” said the old man, “mony sic a night have I weathered at hame and abroad—but, God guide us, how can she ever win through it!” His apprehension was communicated in smothered accents to Lovel; for, with the sort of free-masonry by which bold and ready spirits correspond in moments of danger, and become almost intuit­ ively known to each other, they had established a mutual confidence. “I’ll climb up the cliff again,” said Lovel, “there’s day-light enough left to see my footing; I’ll climb up and call for more assistance.” “Do so, do so, for heaven’s sake!” said Sir Arthur eagerly. “Are ye mad?” said the mendicant; “Francie o’ Fowlsheugh, and he was the best craigsman that ever speel’d heugh, (mair by token, he brake his neck upon the Dunbuy of Slaines,) wadna hae ventured upon the Halket-head craigs after sun-down—It’s God’s grace, and a great wonder besides, that ye are not in the middle o’ that roaring sea wi’ what ye hae done already—I didna think there was the man left alive would hae come down the craigs as ye did—I question an I could hae done it mysel, at this hour and in this weather, in the youngest and yaldest of my strength—But to venture up again—it’s a mere an’ it’s a clear tempting o’ Providence.” “I have no fear,” answered Lovel; “I marked all the stations per­ fectly as I came down—and there is still light enough left to see them quite well—I am sure I can do it with perfect safety—Stay here, my good friend, by Sir Arthur and the young lady.” “De’il be in my feet then,” answered the bedesman sturdily; “Ifye gang, I’ll gang too; for, between us twa, we’ll hae mair than wark aneugh to get to the tap o’ the heugh.” “No, no—stay you here and attend to Miss Wardour—you see Sir Arthur is quite exhausted.” “Stay yoursel then, an I’ll gae,” said the old man; “let death spare the green corn and take the ripe.” “Stay both of you, I charge you,” said Isabella, faintly, “I am well— and can spend the night very well here—I feel quite refreshed;” so saying, her voice failed her and she sunk down, and would have fallen from the crag, had she not been supported by Lovel and Ochiltree, who placed her in a posture half sitting, half reclining beside her

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father, who, exhausted by fatigue of body and mind so extreme and unusual, had already sat down on the stone in a sort of stupor. “It is impossible to leave them,” said Lovel—“What is to be done ? —hark! hark!—did I not hear a hollo ?” “The shriegh of a Tammie Norie,” answered Ochiltree, “I ken the skirl weel.” “No, by Heaven,” replied Lovel, “it was a human voice!” A distant hail was repeated, the sound plainly distinguishable among the various elemental noises, and the sea-mews’ clang with which they were surrounded. The mendicant and Lovel exerted their voices in a loud halloo, the former waving Miss Wardour’s handker­ chief on the end of his staff to make them conspicuous from above. Though the shouts were repeated, it was some time before they came in exact response to their own, leaving the unfortunate sufferers un­ certain whether, in the darkening twilight and increasing storm, they could render the persons who apparently were traversing the verge of the precipice to bring them assistance, sensible of the place in which they had found refuge. At length their halloo was regularly and dis­ tinctly answered, and their courage confirmed, by the assurance that they were within hearing, if not within reach, of friendly assistance.

Chapter Eight There is a cliff, whose high and bending head Looks fearfully on the confined deep; Bring me but to the very brim of it, And I’ll repair the misery thou dost bear. King Lear

Theshout of human voices from above was soon augmented, and the gleam of torches mingled with those lights of evening which still remained amidst the darkness of the storm. Some attempt was made to hold communication between the assistants above, and the suf­ ferers beneath, who were still clinging to their precarious place of safety; but the howling of the tempest limited their intercourse to cries, as inarticulate as those of the winged denizens of the crag, which shrieked in chorus, alarmed by the reiterated sound of human voices, where they had seldom been heard. On the verge of the precipice an anxious group had now assembled. Oldbuck was the foremost and most earnest, pressing forward with unwonted desperation to the very brink of the crag, and extending his head (his hat and wig secured by a handkerchief under his chin) over the dizzy height, with an air of determination which made his more timorous assistants tremble.

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“Hand a care, hand a care, Monkbarns!” cried Caxon, clinging to the skirts of his patron, and withholding him from danger as far as his strength permitted—“God sake, hand a care!—Sir Arthur’s drowned already, and an ye fa’ ower the cleugh too, there will be but ae wig left in the parish, and that’s the minister’s.” “Mind the peak there,” cried Meiklebackit, an old fisherman and smuggler—“mind the peak—Steenie—Steenie Wilkes—bring up the tackle—I’se warrant we’ll sune heave them on board, Monkbarns, wad ye but stand out o’ the gate.” “I see them,” said Oldbuck, “I see them—low down on that flat stone—Hillo-hilloa, hilli-ho-a!” “I see them mysel weel aneugh,” said Meiklebackit, “they are sit­ ting down yonder like hoodie-craws in a mist; but d’ye think ye’ll help them wi’ skirling that gate like an auld skart before a flaw o’ weather? —Steenie, lad, bring up the mast—Odd, I’se hae them up as we used to bouse up the kegs o’ gin and brandy lang syne—Get up the pick­ axe, make a step for the mast—Make the chair fast with the rattlin— haul taught and belay.” The fishers had brought with them the mast of a boat, and as half of the country fellows about had now appeared, either out of zeal or curiosity, it was soon sunk in the ground, and sufficiently secured. A yard, across the upright mast, and a rope stretched along it, and reeved through a block at each end, formed an extempore crane, which afforded the means of lowering an arm-chair, well secured and fast­ ened, down to the flat shelf on which the sufferers had roosted. Their joy at hearing the preparations going on for their deliverance was considerably qualified, when they beheld the precarious vehicle, by means of which they were to be exalted to upper air. It swung about a yard free of the spot which they occupied, obeying each impulse of the tempest, the empty air all around it, and depending upon the security of a rope, which, in the increasing darkness, had dwindled to an almost imperceptible thread. Besides the hazard of committing a human being to the vacant atmosphere in such a slight means of conveyance, there was the fearful danger of the chair and its occupant being dashed, either by the wind or the vibrations of the cord, against the rugged face of the precipice. But to diminish the risk as much as possible, the experienced seamen had let down with the chair another line, which, being attached to it, and held by the persons beneath, might serve, by way of gy, as Meiklebackit expressed it, to render its ascent in some measure steady and regular. Still, to commit one’s self in such a vehicle, through a howling tempest of wind and rain, with a beetling precipice above, and a raging abyss below, required that courage which despair alone can inspire. Yet wild as the sounds and

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sights of danger were, both above, beneath, and around, and doubtful and dangerous as the mode of escaping appeared to be, Lovel and Ochiltree agreed, after a moment’s consultation, and after the former, by a sudden and strong pull, had, at his own imminent risk, ascer­ tained the security of the rope, that it would be best to secure Miss Wardour in the chair, and trust to the tenderness and care of those above for her being safely craned up to the top of the crag. “Let my father go first,” exclaimed Isabella; “for God’s sake, my friends, place him first in safety.” “It cannnot be, Miss Wardour,” said Lovel; “your life must be first secured—the rope which bears your weight may”—— “I will not listen to a reason so selfish.” “But ye maun listen to it, my bonny lassie,” said Ochiltree, “for a’ our lives depend on it—besides, when ye get on the tap o’ the heugh yonder, ye can gie them a round guess o’ what’s ganging on in this Patmos o’ ours—and Sir Arthur’s dung far bye that, as I am thinking. ” Struck with the truth of this reasoning, she exclaimed, “True, most true; I am ready and willing to undertake the first risk—What shall I say to our friends above ?” “Just to look that their tackle does not graze on the face o’ the craig, and to let the chair down, and draw it up hoolly and fairly—we will halloo when we are ready.” With the sedulous attention of a parent to a child, Lovel bound Miss Wardour with his handkerchief, neckcloth, and the mendicant’s leathern belt, to the back and arms of the chair, ascertaining accur­ ately the security of each knot, while Ochiltree kept Sir Arthur quiet. “What are ye doing wi’ my bairn?—What are ye doing?—She shall not be separated from me—Isabel, stay with me, I command you.” “Lordsake, Sir Arthur, haud your tongue, and be thankful to God that there’s wiser folk than you to manage this job,” cried the beggar, worn out by the unreasonable exclamations of the poor baronet. “Farewell, my father,” murmured Isabel—“farewell my—my friends,” and, shutting her eyes, as Edie’s experience recommended, she gave the signal to Lovel, and he to those who were above. She rose, while the chair in which she sate was kept steady by the line which Lovel managed beneath. With a beating heart he watched the flutter of her white dress, until the vehicle was on a level with the brink of the precipice. “Canny now, lads, canny now!” exclaimed old Meiklebackit, who acted as commodore; “swerve the yard a bit—Now—there she sits safe on dry land!” A loud shout announced the successful experiment to her fellowsufferers beneath, who replied with a ready and cheerful hallow.

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Monkbarns, in his extacy of joy, stripped his great-coat to wrap up the young lady, and would have pulled off his coat and waistcoat for the same purpose, had he not been withheld by the cautious Caxon. “Hand a care o’ us, your honour will be killed wi’ the hoast—ye’ll no get out o’ your night-cowl this fortnight—and that will suit us unco ill. —Na, na—there’s the chariot down bye, let twa o’ the folk carry the young lady there.” “You’re right,” said the Antiquary, re-adjusting the sleeves and collar of his coat, “you are right, Caxon; this is a naughty night to swim in—Miss Wardour, let me convey you to the chariot.” “Not for worlds, till I see my father safe.” In a few distinct words, evincing how much her resolution had surmounted even the mortal fear of so agitating a hazard, she ex­ plained the nature of the situation beneath, and the wishes of Lovel and Ochiltree. “Right, right, that’s right too—I should like to see the son of Sir Gamelyn de Guardover on dry-land myself—I have a notion he would sign the abjuration oath, and the Ragman-roll to boot, and acknow­ ledge Queen Mary to be nothing better than she should be, to get along-side my bottle of old port that he ran away and left scarce begun —But he’s safe now, and here a comes—(for the chair was again lowered, and Sir Arthur made fast in it, without much consciousness on his own part)—here a comes—rouse away my boys—canny wi’ him—a pedigree of a hundred links is hanging on a twalpenny tow— the whole barony of Knockwinnock depends on three plies of hemp— respicefinem, respice funem—look to your end—look to a rope’s end.— Welcome, welcome, my good old friend, to firm land, though I cannot say to warm land or to dry land—a cord for ever against fifty fathom of water, though not in the sense of the base proverb—a fico for the phrase—better sus. perfunem, than sus. per coll.” While Mr Oldbuck ran on in this way, Sir Arthur was safely wrapped in the close embraces of his daughter, who, assuming the authority which the circumstances demanded, ordered some of the assistants to convey him to the chariot, promising to follow in a few minutes. She lingered on the cliff, holding an old countryman’s arm, to witness probably the safety of those whose dangers she had shared. “What have we here?” said Oldbuck, as the vehicle once more ascended, “what patched and weather-beaten matter is this ?”—then, as the torches illumined the rough face and grey hairs of old Ochiltree, —“What! is it thou ?—come, old Mocker, I must needs be friends with thee—but who the devil makes up your party besides ?” “Ane that’s weel worth ony twa o’ us, Monkbarns—it’s the young stranger lad they ca’ Lovel—and he’s behaved this blessed night, as if

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he had three lives to rely on, and was willing to waste them a’ rather than endanger ither folks—Ca’ hooly, sirs, as ye wad win an auld man’s blessing!—mind there’s naebody below now to haud the gy— Hae a care o’ the Cat’s-lug-corner—Bide weel aff Crummie’s-horn!” “Have a care, indeed,” echoed Oldbuck; “What! is it my rara avis —my black swan—my phoenix of companions in a post-chaise?— take care of him, Meiklebackit.” “As mickle care as if he were a greybeard o’ brandy; and I canna take mair if his hair were like John Harlowe’s—Yo ho, my hearts, bowse away wi’ him!” Lovel did, in fact, run a much greater risk than any of his pre­ cursors. His weight was not sufficient to render his ascent steady amid such a storm of wind, and he swung like an agitated pendulum at the mortal risk of being dashed against the rocks. But he was young, bold, and active, and, with the assistance of the beggar’s stout piked staff, which he had retained by advice of the proprietor, contrived to bear himself from the face of the precipice, and the yet more hazardous projecting cliffs which varied its surface. Tossed in empty space, like an idle and unsubstantial feather, with a motion that agitated the brain at once with fear and with dizziness, he retained his alertness of exer­ tion and presence of mind; and it was not until he was safely grounded upon the summit of the cliff, that he felt temporary and giddy sickness. As he recovered from a sort of half swoon, he cast his eyes eagerly around. The object which they would most willingly have sought, was already in the act of vanishing. Her white garment was just discernible as she followed on the path which her father had taken. She had lingered till she saw the last of their company rescued from danger, and until she had been assured by the coarse voice of Meiklebackit, that “the callant had come off wi’ unbrizzed banes, and that he was but in a kind of dwam.” But Lovel was not aware that she had expressed in his fate even this degree of interest, which, though nothing more than was due to a stranger who had assisted her in such an hour of peril, he would have gladly purchased by braving even more imminent danger than he had that evening been exposed to. The beggar she had already commanded to come to Knockwinnock that night. He made an ex­ cuse,—“Then to-morrow let me see you.” The old man promised to obey. Oldbuck thrust something into his hand—Ochiltree looked at it by the torch-light, and returned it— “Na, na! I never tak gowd—besides, Monkbarns, ye wad be, maybe, rueing it the morn;” then turning to the group of fishermen and peasants,—“Now, sirs, whae will gie me a supper and some clean pease-strae ?” “I, and I, and I,” answered many a ready voice.

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“Aweel, since sae it is, and I can only sleep in ae barn at anes, I’ll gang down wi’ Saunders Meiklebackit—he has aye a soup o’ some­ thing comfortable about his bigging—and, bairns, I’ll maybe live to pit ilka ane o’ ye in mind some ither night that ye hae promised me quarters and my awmous.” And away he went with the fisherman. Oldbuck laid the hand of strong possession on Lovel—“De’il a stride ye’s go to Fairport this night, young man—you must go home with me to Monkbarns.—Why, man, you have been a hero—a perfect Sir William Wallace by all accounts.—Come, my good lad, take hold of my arm—I am not a prime support in such a wind—but Caxon shall help us out—here, you old ideot, come on the other side of me—And how the de’il gat you down to that infernal Bessie’s-apron, as they called it?—Bess, said they—why, curse her, she has spread out that vile pennon or banner of womankind, like all the rest of her sex, to allure her votaries to death and headlong ruin.” “I have been pretty well accustomed to climbing, and I have long observed fowlers practise that pass down the cliff.” “But how, in the name of all that is wonderful, came you to discover the danger of the petted baronet and his far more deserving daughter?” “I saw them from the verge of the precipice.” “From the verge!—umph—And what possessed you, dumosapen­ dere procul de rupe ?—though dumosa is not the appropriate epithet— what the de’il, man, tempted ye to the verge of the craig?” “Why—I like to see the gathering and growling of a coming storm —or, in your own classical language, Mr Oldbuck, suave est mari magno—and so forth—but here we reach the turn to Fairport. I must wish you good night.” “Not a step, not a pace, not an inch, not a shathmont, as I may say; the meaning of which word has puzzled many that think themselves antiquaries. I am clear we should read salmon-length for shathmonfslength. You are aware that the space allotted for the passage of a salmon through a dam, dike, or wier, by statute, is the length within which a full-grown pig can turn himself round—now I have a scheme to prove, that, as terrestrial objects were thus appealed to for ascer­ taining submarine measurement, so it must be supposed that the productions of the water were established as gages of the extent of land.—Shathmont—Salmont—you see the close alliance of the sounds; dropping out two h's and a t, and assuming an l, makes the sole difference—I wish to Heaven no antiquarian derivation had de­ manded heavier concessions.” “But, my dear sir, I really must go home—I am wet to the skin.” “Shalt have my night-gown, man, and slippers, and catch the anti­

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quarian fever as men do the plague, by wearing infected garments— nay, I know what you would be at—you are afraid to put the old bachelor to charges. But is there not the remnant of that glorious chicken-pie—which, meo arbitrio, is better cold than hot—and that bottle of my oldest port, out of which the silly brain-sick baronet (whom I cannot pardon, since he has escaped breaking his neck,) had just taken one glass, when his infirm noddle went a wool-gathering after Gamelyn de Guardover?” So saying, he dragged Lovel forwards, till the Palmer’s-port of Monkbarns received them. Never, perhaps, had it admitted two ped­ estrians more needing rest, for Monkbarns’ fatigue had been in a degree very contrary to his usual habits, and his more young and robust companion had that evening undergone agitation of mind which had harassed and wearied him even more than his extraordin­ ary exertions of body.

Chapter Nine “Be brave,” she cried, “you yet may be our guest. Our haunted room was ever held the best; If, then, your valour can the fright sustain Of rustling curtains, and the clinking chain; If your courageous tongue have power to talk, When round your bed the horrid ghost shall walk; If you dare ask it why it leaves its tomb, I’ll see your sheets well air’d, and show the room.” True Story

They reached the room in which they had dined, and were clamor­ ously welcomed by Miss Oldbuck. “Where’s the younger womankind?” said the Antiquary. “Indeed, brother, amang a’ the steery, Maria wadna be guided by me—she set away to the Halket-craig-head—I wonder ye didna see her.” “Eh!—what—what’s that you say, sister?—did the girl go out in a night like this to the Halket-head ?—Good God! the misery o’ the night is not ended yet!” “But ye winna wait, Monkbarns—ye are sae imperative and impa­ tient”–– — “Tittle-tattle, woman,” said the impatient and agitated Antiquary, “where is my dear Mary?” “Just where ye suld be yoursel, Monkbarns—upstairs, and in her warm bed.” “I could have sworn it,” said Oldbuck, laughing, but obviously much relieved, “I could have sworn it—the lazy monkey did not care if

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we were all drowned together—Why did you say she went out?” “But ye wadna wait to hear out my tale, Monkbarns—she gaed out, and she came in again with the gardener sae sune as she saw that nane o’ ye were clodded ower the craig, and that Miss Wardour was safe in the chariot—she was hame a quarter of an hour syne, for it’s now ganging ten—Sair droukit was she, poor thing, sae I e’en put a glass o’ sherry in her water-gruel.” “Right, Grizzel, right—let womankind alone for coddling each other. But hear ye, my venerable sister—Start not, woman, at the word venerable; it implies many praiseworthy qualities besides age; though that too is honourable, albeit it is the last quality for which womankind would wish to be honoured—But perpend my words; let Lovel and I have forthwith the reliques of the chicken-pie and the reversion of the port.” “The chicken-pie—the port—ou dear! brother—there was but a whin banes—and scarce a drap o’ the wine.” The Antiquary’s countenance became clouded, though he was too well-bred to give way, in the presence of a stranger, to his displeased surprise at the disappearance of the viands on which he had reckoned with absolute certainty. But his sister understood these looks of ire. “Ou dear! Monkbarns, what’s the use of making a wark?” “I make no wark, as you call it, woman.” “But what’s the use o’ looking sae glum and glunch about a pickle banes ?—an ye will hae the truth, ye maun ken the minister came in, worthy man—sair distressed he was, nae doubt, about your precaar­ ious sitiation, as he caa’d it, (for ye ken how weel he’s gifted wi’ words) and here he wad bide till he could hear wi’ certainty how the matter was likely to gang wi’ ye a’—He said fine things on the duty of resignation to Providence’s will, worthy man! that did he.” Oldbuck replied, catching the same tone, “Worthy man!—he cared not how soon Monkbarns had devolved on an heir female, I’ve a notion—and while he was occupied in this Christian office of con­ solation against impending evil, I reckon that the chicken-pie and my good port disappeared?” “Dear, brother, how can ye speak o’ sic frivolities, when ye have had sic an escape frae the craig?” “Better than my supper has had frae the minister’s craig, Grizzie— it’s all discussed, I suppose ?” “Hout, Monkbarns, ye speak as if there was nae mair meat in the house—wad ye not have had me offer the honest man some slight refreshment after his walk frae the manse ?” Oldbuck half-whistled, half-hummed, the end of the old Scottish ditty,

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O, first they eated the white puddings, And then they eated the black, O, And thought the gudeman unto himsell, The de’il clink down wi’ that, O.

His sister hastened to silence his murmurs, by producing some of the reliques of the dinner. He spoke of a bottle of wine, but recom­ mended in preference a glass of brandy, which was really excellent. As no entreaties could prevail on Lovel to indue the velvet night-cap and branched morning-gown of his host, Oldbuck, who pretended to a little knowledge of the medical art, insisted on his going to bed as soon as possible, and proposed to dispatch a messenger (the indefatigable Caxon) to Fairport early in the morning, to procure him a change of clothes. This was the first intimation Miss Oldbuck received that the young stranger was to be their guest for the night; and such was the surprise with which she was struck by a proposal so uncommon, that, had the superincumbent weight of her head-dress, such as we have before described, been less preponderant, her grey locks must have started up on end, and heaved it from its position. “Lord haud a care o’ us!” exclaimed the astounded maiden. “What’s the matter now, Grizzel?” “Wad ye just speak a moment, Monkbarns ?” “Speak!—What should I speak about?—I want to get to my bed— and this poor young fellow—let a bed be made ready for him in­ stantly.” “A bed?—The Lord preserve us,” again ejaculated Grizzel. “Why, what’s the matter now? are there not beds and rooms enow in the house ? Was it not an ancient hospitium, in which I am warranted to say, beds were nightly made down for a score of pilgrims?” “O dear, Monkbarns! wha kens what they might do langsyne ?—but in our time—beds—aye, troth, there’s beds enow sic as they are—and rooms enow too—but ye ken yoursel the beds hae na been sleepit in, Lord kens the time, nor the rooms aired.—If I had kend, Mary and me might hae gane down to the manse—Miss Beckie is aye fond to see us (and sae is the minister, brother)—but now, gude safe us!”—— “Is there not the Green Room, Grizzel?” “Troth is there, and it is in decent order too, though naebody has slept there since Dr Heavystern, and”—— “And what?” “And what! I’m sure ye ken yoursel what a night he had—ye wadna expose the young gentleman to the like o’ that, wad ye ?” Lovel interfered upon hearing this altercation, and protested he would far rather walk home than put them to the least inconvenience

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—that the exercise would be of service to him—that he knew the road perfectly, by night or day, to Fairport—that the storm was abating, and so forth; adding all that civility could suggest as an excuse for escaping from a hospitality which seemed more inconvenient to his host than he could possibly have anticipated. But the howling of the wind, and pattering of the rain against the windows, with a knowledge of the preceding fatigues of the evening, must have prohibited Oldbuck, even had he entertained less regard for his young friend than he really felt, from permitting him to depart. Besides, he was piqued in honour to shew that he himself was not governed by womankind—“Sit ye down, sit ye down, sit ye down, man,” he reiterated; “an ye part so, I would I might never draw cork again, and here comes out one from a prime bottle of—strong ale—right anno domini—none of your Wassia Quassia decoctions, but brewed of Monkbarns barley—John of the Girnell never drew a better flaggon to entertain a wandering minstrel, or palmer with the freshest news from Palestine.—And to remove from your mind the slightest wish to depart, know, that if you do so, your character as a gallant knight is gone for ever—Why, ’tis an adventure, man, to sleep in the Green Room at Monkbarns—Sister, pray see it got ready—And, although the bold adventurer, Heavy­ stern, dreed pain and dolour in that charmed apartment, it is no reason why a gallant knight like you, nearly twice as tall, and not half so heavy, should not encounter and break the spell.” “What! a haunted apartment I suppose?” “To be sure, to be sure—every mansion in this country of the slightest antiquity has its ghost and its haunted-chamber, and you must not suppose us worse off than our neighbours. They are going, indeed, somewhat out of fashion. I have seen the day when, if you had doubted the reality of the ghost in an old manor-house, you ran the risk of being made a ghost yourself, as Hamlet says—Yes, if you had challenged the existence of Redcowl in the castle of Glenstyrim, old Sir Peter Pepperbrand would have had ye out to his court-yard, made you betake yourself to your weapon, and if your trick of fence were not the better, would have sticked you like a paddock, on his own baronial middenstead. I once narrowly escaped such an affray—But I humbled myself and apologized to Redcowl; for, even in my younger days, I was no friend to the monomachia, or duel, and would rather walk with Sir Priest than with Sir Knight, I care not who knows so much of my valour—thank God I am old now, and can indulge my irritabilities without the necessity of supporting them by cold steel.” Here Miss Oldbuck re-entered with a singularly sage expression of countenance. “Mr Lovel’s bed’s ready, brother—clean sheets—weel air’d—a spunk of fire in the chimney—I am sure, Mr Lovel,

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(addressing him,) it’s no for the trouble—And I hope ye will have a gude night’s rest—But—” “You are resolved to do what you can to prevent it.” “Me?—I am sure I hae said naething, Monkbarns.” “My dear madam,” said Lovel, “allow me to ask you the meaning of your obliging anxiety on my account?” “Ou, Monkbarns does not like to hear o’ it—but he kens himsel that room has an ill name—It’s weel minded that it was there auld Rab Tull the town-clerk was sleeping when he had that marvellous com­ munication about the grand law-plea between us and the feuars at the Mussel-craig. It had cost a hantle siller, Mr Lovel; for law-pleas were no carried on without siller lang syne mair than they are now—and the Monkbarns of that day—our gudesire, Mr Lovel, as I said before— was like to be waured afore the Session for want of a paper—Monk­ barns there kens weel what paper it was, but I’se warrant he’ll no help me out wi’ my tale—but it was a paper of great significance to the plea, and we were to be waured for want o’t. Weel, the cause was to come on before the Fifteen—in presence, as they ca’t—and auld Rab Tull, the town-clerk, came ower to mak a last search for the paper that was wanting, before our gude-sire gaed into Edinburgh to look after his plea—so there was little time to come and gang on—He was but a doited snuffy body, Rab, as I hae heard—But than he was the town­ clerk of Fairport, and the Monkbarns heritors aye employed him in their law business to keep up their connection wi’ the burgh, ye ken.” “Sister Grizzel, this is abominable,” interrupted Oldbuck; “I vow to Heaven ye might have raised the ghosts of every abbot of Trotcosey since the days of Waldimir, in the time you have been detailing the introduction to this single spectre—Learn to be succinct in your narrative—Imitate the concise style of old Aubrey, an experienced ghost-seer, who entered his memoranda on these subjects in a terse business-like manner, exempli gratia—‘At Cirencester, 5th March, 1670, was an apparition—Being demanded whether good spirit or bad, made no answer, but instantly disappeared with a curious perfume, and a most melodious twang.’—Vide his Miscellanies, p. eightieth, as well as I can remember, and near the middle of the page.” “O, Monkbarns, man! do ye think every body as book-learned as yoursel?—but ye like to gar folk look like fools—ye can do that to Sir Arthur, and the minister his very sell.” “Nature has been before-hand with me, Grizzel, both in these instances, and in another which shall be nameless;—but take a glass of ale, Grizzel, and proceed with your story, for it waxes late.” “Jenny’s just warming your bed, Monkbarns, and ye maun e’en wait till she’s done.—Weel, I was at the search that our gude-sire,

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Monkbarns that then was, made wi’ auld Rab Tull’s assistance;—but ne’er be licket could they find that was to their purpose—and sae after they had touzled mony a leather poke-full o’ papers, the town-clerk had his drap punch at e’en to wash the dust out of his throat—we never were glass-breakers in this house, Mr Lovel—but the bodie had got sic a trick of sippling and tippling wi’ the baillies and deacons when they met (which was amaist ilka night) on things concerning the common gude o’ the burgh, that he couldna weel sleep without it— But his punch he gat, and to bed he gaed—And in the middle o’ the night he gat a fearfu’ wakening!—he was never just himsel after it, and he was strucken wi’ the dead palsy that vera day four years—He thought, Mr Lovel, that he heard the curtains o’ his bed fussil, and out he lookit, fancying, puir man, it might have been the cat—But he saw —God hae a care o’ us, it gars my flesh aye creep, though I hae tauld the tale twenty times—he saw a weel-fa’ard auld gentleman standing be his bedside, in the moonlight, in a queer-fashioned dress, wi’ mony a button and a band-string about it, and that part o’ his garments, which it does not become a leddy to particulareeze, was baith side and wide, and as mony plie o’t as of ony Hamburgh skipper’s—He had a beard too, and whiskers turned upwards on his upper-lip, as lang as Baudrons’s—and mony mair particulars there were that Rab Tull tauld o’, but they are forgotten now—it is an auld story—Aweel, Rab was a just-living man—for a country writer—and he was less fear’d than maybe might just hae been expected—and he asked in the name o’ goodness what the apparition wanted—And the spirit answered in an unknown tongue.—Than Rab said he tried him wi’ Erse, for he came in his youth frae the Braes of Glenlivat—but it wadna do— Aweel, in this strait, he bethought him of the twa or three words o’ Latin that he used in making out the town’s deeds, and he had nae sooner tried the spirit wi’ that, than out came sic a blatter o’ Latin about his lugs, that poor Rab Tull, wha was nae great scholar, was clean owerwhelmed. Odd, but he was a bauld body, and he minded the Latin name for the deed that he was wanting. It was something about a cart I fancy, for the ghaist cried aye Carter, carter”—— “Carta, you transformer of language,” cried Oldbuck; “if my an­ cestor had learned no other language in the other world, at least he would not forget the latinity for which he was so famous while in this.” “Weel, weel, carta be it than, but they ca’d it carter that tell’d me the story—It cried aye carta, if sae be that it was carta, and made a sign to Rab to follow it—Rab Tull keepit a Highland heart, and bang’d out o’ bed, and till some o’ his readiest claiths—and he did follow the thing up stairs and down stairs to the place we ca’ the high dow-cot, (a sort of a little tower in the corner of the auld house, where there was a

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rickle o’ useless boxes and trunks,) and there the ghaist gae Rab a kick wi’ the tae foot, and a kick wi’ the tother, to that very auld east-country tabernacle of a cabinet that my brother has standing beside his library table, and than disappeared like a fuff o’ tobacco, leaving Rab in a very pitiful condition.” “Tenues secessit in auras” quoth Oldbuck, “Marry, sir, mansit odor— But, sure enough, the deed was there found in a drawer of this forgot­ ten repository, which contained many other curious old papers, now properly labelled and arranged, and which seem to have belonged to my ancestor, the first possessor of Monkbarns. The deed, thus strangely recovered, was the original Charter of Erection of the Abbey, Abbey Lands, and so forth, of Trotcosey, comprehending Monkbarns and others into a Lordship of Regality in favour of the first Earl of Glengibber, a favourite ofJames the Sixth. It’s subscribed by the king at Westminster, the seventeenth day of January, A. D. one thousand six hundred and twelve—thirteen. It’s not worth while to repeat the witnesses’ names.” “I would rather,” said Lovel, with awakened curiosity, “I would rather hear your opinion of the way in which the deed was discov­ ered.” “Why, if I wanted a patron for my legend, I could find no less a one than Saint Augustin, who tells the story of a deceased person appear­ ing to his son, when sued for a debt which had been paid, and direct­ ing him where to find the discharge. But I rather opine with Lord Bacon, who says that imagination is much akin to miracle-working faith. There was always some idle story of the room being haunted by the spirit of Aldobrand Oldenbuck, my great-great-great-grandfather —it’s a shame to the English language that we have not a less clumsy way of expressing relationship, of which we have occasion to think and speak so frequently—he was a foreigner, and wore his national dress, of which tradition had preserved an accurate description; and indeed there is a print of him, supposed to be by Reginald Elstracke, pulling the press with his own hand, as it works off the sheets of his scarce edition of the Augsburg Confession. He was a chymist, as well as a good mechanic, and either of these qualities in this country was at that time sufficient to constitute a white witch at least. This superstitious old fellow had heard all this, and probably believed it, and in his sleep the image and idea of my ancestor recalled that of his cabinet, which, with the grateful attention to antiquities and the memory of our an­ cestors not unusually met with, had been pushed into the pigeon­ house to be out of the way—Add a quantum sufficit of exaggeration, and you have a key to the whole mystery.” “Oh, brother, brother! But Dr Heavystern, brother? whose sleep

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was so sore broken, that he declared he wadna pass anither night in the Green Room to get all Monkbarns, so that Mary and I were forced to yield our”—— “Why, Grizzel, the doctor is a good, honest, pudding-headed Ger­ man, of much merit in his own way, but fond of the mystical, like many of his countrymen. You and he had a traffic the whole evening, in which you received tales of Mesmer, Schropfer, Cagliostro, and other modern pretenders to the mystery of raising spirits, discovering hid­ den treasure, and so forth, in exchange for your legends of the green bed-chamber—and considering that the Illustrissimus ate a pound and a half of Scotch collops to supper, smoked six pipes, and drank ale and brandy in proportion, I am not surprised at his having a fit of the night-mare—But every thing I presume is now ready. Permit me to light you to your apartment, Mr Lovel—I am sure you have need of it —and I trust my ancestor is too sensible of the duties of hospitality to interfere with the repose which you have so well merited by your manly and gallant behaviour.” So saying, the Antiquary took up a bed-room candlestick of massive silver and antique form, which, he observed, was wrought out of the silver found in the mines of the Harz mountains, and had been the property of the very personage who had supplied them with a subject for conversation. And having so said, he led the way through many a dusky and winding passage, now ascending and anon descending again, until he came to the apartment destined for his young guest.

Chapter Ten When midnight o’er the moonless skies Her pall of transient death has spread, When mortals sleep, when spectres rise, And none are wakeful but the dead; No bloodless shape my way pursues, No sheeted ghost my couch annoys, Visions more sad my fancy views,— Visions of long-departed joys. W. R. Spenser

When they reached the Green Room, as it was called, Oldbuck placed the candle on the toilet-table, before a huge mirror with a black japanned frame, surrounded by dressing-boxes of the same, and looked around him with something of a disturbed expression of countenance. “I am seldom in this apartment,” he said, “and never without yielding to a melancholy feeling—not, of course, on account of the childish nonsense that Grizzel was telling you—but owing to circumstances of an early and unhappy attachment. It is at such

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moments as these, Mr Lovel, that we feel the changes of time—the same objects are before us—those inanimate things which we have gazed on in wayward infancy and impetuous youth, in anxious and scheming manhood—they are permanent and the same—but when we look upon them in cold unfeeling old age—can we, changed in our temper, our pursuits, our feelings, changed in our form, our limbs, and our strength, can we be ourselves called the same ?—or do we not rather look back with a sort of wonder upon our former selves, as beings separate and distinct from what we now are ? The philosopher, who appealed from Philip inflamed with wine to Philip in his hours of sobriety, did not chuse a judge so different, as if he had appealed from Philip in his youth to Philip in his old age. I cannot but be touched with the feeling so beautifully expressed in a poem which I have heard repeated :* My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirr’d, For the same sound is in my ears Which in these days I heard. Thus fares it still in our decay; And yet the wiser mind Mourns less for what time takes away, Than what he leaves behind.

Well, time cures every wound, and though the scar may remain and occasionally ache, yet the earlier agony of its recent infliction is felt no more.”—So saying, he shook Lovel cordially by the hand, wished him good night, and took his leave. Step after step Lovel could trace his host’s retreat along the various passages, and each door which he closed behind him fell with a sound more dead and distant. The guest, thus separated from the living world, took up the candle and surveyed the apartment. The fire blazed cheerfully. Mrs Grizzel’s attention had left some fresh wood, should he chuse to continue it, and the apartment had a comfortable, though not a lively, appearance. It was hung with tapestry, which the looms of Arras had produced in the sixteenth century, and which the learned typographer, so often mentioned, had brought with him as a sample of the arts of the continent. The subject was a hunting-piece; and as the leafy boughs of the forest-trees, branching over the tapestry, formed the predominant colour, the apartment had thence acquired its name of the green chamber. Grim figures, in the old Flemish dress, with slashed doublets, covered with ribbands, short cloaks, and trunk­ hose, were engaged in holding grey-hounds or stag-hounds in the leash, or in cheering them upon the objects of their game. Others, * Probably Wordsworth’s Lyrical Ballads had not as yet been published.

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with boar-spears, swords, and old-fashioned guns, were attacking stags or boar whom they had brought to bay. The branches of the woven forest were crowded with fowls of various kinds, each depicted with its proper plumage. It seemed as if the prolific and rich invention of old Chaucer had animated the Flemish artist with its profusion, and Oldbuck had accordingly caused the following verses, from that an­ cient and excellent poet, to be embroidered, in Gothic letters, in a sort of border which he had added to the tapestry:— Lo! here be oakis grete, streight as a lime, Under the which the grass, so fresh of line, Be’th newly sprung—at eight foot or nine. Everich tree well from his fellow grew, With branches broad laden with leaves new, That sprongen out against the sonné sheene, Some golden red, and some a glad bright green.

And in another canton was the following similar legend: And many an hart, and many an hind, Was both before me and behind. Of fawns, sownders, bucks, and does, Was full the wood, and many roes, And many squirrells that ysate High on the trees and nuts ate.

The bed was of dark and faded green, wrought to correspond with the tapestry, but by a more modern and less skilful hand. The large and heavy stuff-bottomed chairs, with black ebony backs, were em­ broidered upon the same pattern, and a lofty mirror, over the antique chimney-piece, corresponded in its mounting with that on the oldfashioned toilet. “I have heard,” thought Lovel, as he took a cursory view of the room and its furniture, “that ghosts often chose the best room in the man­ sion to which they attached themselves, and I cannot disapprove of the taste of the disembodied printer of the Augsburg Confession.” But he found it so difficult to fix his mind upon the stories which had been told him of an apartment, with which they seemed so singularly to corres­ pond, that he almost regretted the absence of those agitated feelings, half fear half curiosity, which sympathize with the old legends of awe and wonder, from which the anxious reality of his own hopeless pas­ sion at present detached him. Ah! cruel maid, how hast thou changed The temper of my mind! My heart, by thee from all estranged, Becomes like thee unkind.

He endeavoured to conjure up something like the emotions which would, at another time, have been congenial to his situation, but his heart had no room for these vagaries of the imagination. The recol­

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lection of Miss Wardour, determined not to acknowledge him when compelled to endure his society, and evincing her purpose to escape from it, would have alone occupied his imagination exclusively.—But with this were united recollections more agitating if less painful—her hair-breadth scape—the fortunate assistance which he had been able to render her—Yet, what was his requital ?—She left the cliffwhile his fate was yet doubtful—while it was uncertain whether her preserver had not lost the life which he had exposed for her so freely.—Surely gratitude, at least, called for some little interest in his fate—But no, she could not be selfish or unjust—it was no part of her nature. She only desired to shut the door against hope, and, even in compassion to him, to extinguish a passion which she could never return. But this lover-like mode of reasoning was not likely to reconcile him to his fate, since the more amiable his imagination presented Miss Wardour, the more inconsolable he felt that he should be rendered by the extinction of his hopes. He was, indeed, conscious of possessing the power of removing her prejudices on some points; but, even in extremity, he determined to keep the original determination which he had formed, of ascertaining that she desired an explanation ere he intruded one upon her. And turn the matter as he would, he could not regard his suit as desperate. There was something of embarrassment as well as of grave surprise in her look when Oldbuck presented him, and, perhaps, upon second thoughts, the one was assumed to cover the other. He would not relinquish a pursuit which had already cost him such pains. Plans, suiting the romantic temper of the brain that entertained them, chaced each other through his head, thick and irregular as the motes in the sun-beam, and, long after he had laid himself to rest, continued to prevent the repose which he greatly needed. Then, wearied by the uncertainty and difficulties with which each scheme appeared to be attended, he bent up his mind to the strong effort of shaking his love “like dew-drops from the lion’s mane,” and resuming those studies and that career of life which his unrequited affection had so long and so fruitlessly interrupted. In this last resolution, he endeavoured to fortify himself by every argument which pride, as well as reason, could suggest. “She shall not suppose,” he said, “that, presuming on an accidental service to her or to her father, I am desirous to intrude myself upon that notice, to which, personally, she considered me as having no title. I will see her no more. I will return to the land which, if it affords none fairer, has at least many as fair, and less haughty than Miss Wardour. To-morrow I will bid adieu to these northern shores, and to her who is as cold and relentless as her climate.” When he had for some time brooded over this sturdy resolution, exhausted nature at length gave way, and,

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despite of wrath, doubt, and anxiety, he sunk into slumber. It is seldom that sleep, after such violent agitation, is either sound or refreshing. Lovel’s was disturbed by a thousand baseless and confused visions. He was a bird—he was a fish—or he flew like the one, and swam like the other,—qualities which would have been very essential to his safety a few hours before. Then Miss Wardour was a syren, or a bird of Paradise; her father a triton, or sea-gull; and Oldbuck altern­ ately a porpoise and a cormorant. These agreeable imaginations were varied by all the usual vagaries of a feverish dream; the air refused to bear the visionary, the water seemed to burn him—the rocks felt like down-pillows as he was dashed against them—whatever he under­ took failed in some strange and unexpected manner—and whatever attracted his attention, underwent, as he attempted to investigate it, some wild and wonderful metamorphosis, while his mind continued all the while in some degree conscious of the delusion, from which it in vain struggled to free itselfby awaking—feverish symptoms all, with which those who are haunted by the night-hag, whom the learned call Ephialtes, are but too well acquainted. At length these crude phantas­ mata arranged themselves into something more regular, if indeed the imagination of Lovel, after he awoke, (for it was by no means the faculty in which his mind was least rich) did not gradually, insensibly, and unintentionally, arrange in better order the scene, of which his sleep presented, it may be, a less distinct outline. Or it is possible that his feverish agitation may have assisted him in forming the vision. Leaving this discussion to the learned, we will say, that, after a succession of wild images, such as we have above described, our hero, for such we must acknowledge him, so far regained a consciousness of locality as to remember where he was, and the whole furniture of the green chamber was depicted to his slumbering eye. And here, once more, let me protest, that if there is so much old-fashioned faith left among this shrewd and sceptic generation, as to suppose that what follows was an impression conveyed rather by the eye than by the imagination, I do not impugn their doctrine. He was then, or imagined himself, broad awake in the green chamber, gazing upon the flickering and occasional flame which the unconsumed remnants of the faggot sent forth, as, one by one, they fell down upon the red embers, into which the principal part of the boughs to which they belonged had already crumbled away. Insensibly the legend of Aldobrand Olden­ buck, and his mysterious visits to the inmates of this chamber, awoke in his mind, and with it, as we often feel in dreams, an anxious and fearful expectation, which seldom fails instantly to summon up before our mind’s eye the object of our fear. Brighter sparkles of light flashed from the chimney with such intense brilliancy, as to enlighten all the

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room. The tapestry waved wildly on the wall, till its dusky forms seemed to become animated. The hunters blew their horns—the stag seemed to fly—the boar to resist—and the hounds to assail the one and pursue the other; the cry of deer, mangled by throttling dogs— the shouts of men, and the clatter of horses’ hoofs, seemed at once to surround him—while every group pursued, with all the fury of the chace, the employment in which the artist had represented them as engaged. Lovel looked on this strange scene devoid ofwonder, (which seldom intrudes itself upon the sleeping fancy,) but with an anxious sensation of awful fear. At length an individual figure among the tissued huntsmen, as he gazed upon him more fixedly, seemed to leave the arras and to approach the bed of the slumberer. As he drew near, his figure appeared to alter. His hunting-horn became a brazen clasped volume; his hunting-cap changed to such a furred head-gear as graces the burgo-masters of Rembrandt; his Flemish garb re­ mained, but his features, no longer agitated with the fury of the chace, were changed to such a state of awful and stern composure, as might best pourtray the first proprietor of Monkbarns, such as he had been described to Lovel by his descendants in the course of the preceding evening. As this metamorphosis took place, the hubbub among the other personages in the arras disappeared from the imagination of the dreamer, which was now exclusively bent on the single figure before him. Lovel strove to interrogate this awful person in the form of exorcism proper for the occasion, but his tongue, as is usual in fright­ ful dreams, refused its office, and clung, palsied, to the roof of his mouth. Aldobrand held up his finger, as if to impose silence upon the guest who had intruded on his apartment, and began deliberately to unclasp the venerable volume which occupied his left hand. When it was unfolded, he turned over the leaves hastily for a short space, and then raising his figure to its full dimensions, and holding the book aloft in his left hand, pointed to a passage in the page which he thus displayed. Although the language was unknown to our dreamer, his eye and attention were both strongly caught by the line which the figure seemed thus to press upon his notice, the words of which appeared to blaze with a supernatural light, and remained rivetted upon his memory. As the vision shut his volume, a strain of delightful music seemed to fill the apartment—Lovel started, and became com­ pletely awake. The music, however, was still in his ears, nor ceased till he could distinctly follow the measure of an old Scottish tune. He sate up in bed, and endeavoured to clear his brain of the phantoms which had perturbed it during this weary night. The beams of the morning sun streamed through the half-closed shutters, and admitted a distinct light into the apartment. He looked round upon

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the hangings, but the mixed groups of silken and worsted huntsmen were as stationary as tenter-hooks could make them, and only trembled slightly as the early breeze, which found its way through an open crevice of the latticed window, glided along their surface. Lovel leapt out of bed, and, wrapping himself in a morning-gown, that had been considerately laid by his bed-side, stepped towards the window, which commanded a view of the sea, the roar of whose billows an­ nounced it still disquieted by the storm of the preceding evening, although the morning was fair and serene. The window of a turret, which projected at an angle with the wall, and thus came to be very near Lovel’s apartment, was half open, and from that quarter he heard again resound the same music which had probably broken short his dream. With its visionary character it had lost much of its charms—it was now nothing more than an air on the harpsichord, tolerably well performed—such is the caprice of imagination as affecting the fine arts. A female voice sung, with some taste and great simplicity, some­ thing between a song and a hymn, in words to the following effect:— “Why sit’st thou by that ruin’d hall, Thou aged carle so stern and grey? Dost thou its former pride recal, Or ponder how it pass’d away?”—

“Know’st thou not me!” the Deep Voice cried; “So long enjoy’d, so oft misused— Alternate, in thy fickle pride, Desired, neglected, and accused ? “Before my breath, like blazing flax, Man and his marvels pass away; And changing empires wane and wax, Are founded, flourish, and decay. “Redeem mine hours—the space is brief— While in my glass the sand-grains shiver, And measureless thy joy or grief, When Time and thou shalt part for ever!”

While the verses were yet singing, Lovel had returned to his bed; the train of ideas which they awakened was romantic and pleasing, such as his soul delighted in, and, willingly adjourning, till more broad day, the doubtful task of determining on his future line of conduct, he abandoned himself to the pleasant languor inspired by the music, and fell into a sound and refreshing sleep, from which he was only awak­ ened at a late hour by old Caxon, who came creeping into the room to render the offices of a valet-de-chambre. “I hae brushed your coat, sir,” said the old man, when he perceived Lovel was awake, “the callant brought it frae Fairport this morning,

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for that ye had on yesterday is scantly feasibly dry, though it’s been a’ night at the kitchen fire—and I hae cleaned your shoon—I doubt ye’ll no be wanting me to tie your hair, for a’ (with a gentle sigh) the young gentlemen hae crops now—but I hae the curling-tangs here to gie it a bit turn ower the brow, if ye like, before ye gae down to the leddies.” Lovel, who was by this time once more on his legs, declined the old man’s professional offices, but accompanied the refusal with such a douceur as completely sweetened Caxon’s mortification. “It’s a pity he disna get his hair tied and pouthered,” said the ancientfrizeur, when he had got once more into the kitchen, in which, on one pretence or other, he spent three parts of his idle time—that is to say, of his whole time—“it’s a great pity, for he’s a comely young gentleman.” “Hout awa’, ye auld gowk,” said Jenny Rintherout, “would ye creesh his bonny brown hair wi’ your nasty ulyie, and than moust it like the auld minister’s wig?—ye’ll be for your breakfast, I’se warrant?— hae, there’s a soup parridge for ye—it will set ye better to be slaistering at them and the lapper-milk than middling wi’ Mr Lovel’s head—Ye wad spoil the maist natural and beautifuest head o’ hair in a’ Fairport, baith burgh and county.” The poor barber sighed over the disrespect into which his art had so universally fallen, but Jenny was a person too important to offend by contradiction; so sitting quietly down in the kitchen, he digested at once his humiliation, and the contents of a bicker which held a Scotch pint of substantial oatmeal porridge.

Chapter Eleven Sometimes he thinks that Heaven this vision sent, And order’d all the pageants as they went; Sometimes that only ’twas wild Fancy’s play,— The loose and scatter’d reliques of the day.

We must now request our readers to adjourn to the breakfast­ parlour of Mr Oldbuck, who, despising the modern slops of tea and coffee, was substantially regaling himself, more majorum, with cold roast-beef, and a glass of a sort of beverage called Mum, a species of fat ale, brewed from wheat and bitter herbs, of which the present generation only know the name by its occurrence in revenue acts of parliament, coupled with cyder, perry, and other exciseable commod­ ities. Lovel, who was seduced to taste it, with difficulty refrained from pronouncing it detestable, but did refrain, as he saw he should otherwise give great offence to his host, who had the liquor annually

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prepared with peculiar care, according to the approved receipt be­ queathed to him by the so-often-mentioned Aldobrand Oldenbuck. The hospitality of the ladies offered Lovel a breakfast more suited to modern taste, and while he was engaged in doing justice to it, he was assailed by indirect enquiries concerning the manner in which he had passed the night. “We canna compliment Mr Lovel on his looks this morning, brother—but he winna condescend on ony ground of disturbance he has had in the night-time—I am certain he looks very pale, and when he came here he was as fresh as a rose.” “Why, sister, consider this rose of yours has been knocked about by sea and wind all yesterday evening as if he had been a bunch of kelp or tangle, and how the devil would you have him retain his colour?” “I certainly do still feel somewhat fatigued,” said Lovel, “notwith­ standing the excellent accommodations with which your hospitality supplied me.” “Ah, sir!” said Miss Oldbuck, looking at him with a knowing smile, or what was meant to be one, “ye’ll not allow of ony inconvenience, out o’ civility to us.” “Really, madam, I had no disturbance, for I cannot term such the music with which some kind fairy favoured me.” “I doubted Mary wad waken ye wi’ her screeching; she didna ken I had left open a chink o’ your window, for, forbye the ghaist, the Green Room doesna vent weel in a high wind—But, I am judging, ye heard mair than Mary’s lilts yestreen—weel, men are hardy creatures, they can gae through wi’ a’ thing—I am sure had I been to undergo ony thing of that nature,—that’s to say that’s beyond nature—I would hae skreigh’d out at once, and raised the house, be the consequence what likes—and, I dare say, the minister wad hae done as mickle, and sae I hae tald him—I ken naebody but my brother, Monkbarns himsel, wad gae through the like o’t, if, indeed, it binna you, Mr Lovel.” “A man of Mr Oldbuck’s learning, madam, would not be exposed to the inconvenience sustained by the Highland gentleman you men­ tioned last night.” “Aye! aye! ye understand now where the difficulty lies—language ? he has ways o’ his ain wad banish a’ thae sort o’ wirricows as far as the hindermost parts of Gideon, (meaning possibly Midian,) as Mr Blat­ tergowl says—only ane wadna be uncivil to ane’s forbear though he be a ghaist—I am sure I will try that receipt of yours, brother, that ye showed me in a book, if ony body is to sleep in that room again, though, I think, in Christian charity, ye should rather fit up the matted-room—it’s a wee damp and dark, to be sure, but then we hae sae seldom occasion for a spare bed.”

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“No, no, sister; dampness and darkness are worse than spectres— ours are spirits of light—and I would rather have you try the spell.” “I will do that blythely, Monkbarns, an’ I had the ingredients, as my cookery-book ca’s them—There was vervain and dill—I mind that— Davie Dibble will ken about them, though, maybe, he’ll gie them Latin names—and pepper-corn, we hae walth o’ them, for”—— “Hypericon, thou foolish woman!” thundered Oldbuck, “d’ye sup­ pose you’re making a haggis—or do you think that a spirit, though he be formed of air, can be expelled by a receipt against wind ?—This wise Grizzel of mine, Mr Lovel, recollects (with what accuracy you may judge) a charm which I once mentioned to her, and which, happening to hit her superstitious noddle, she remembers better than any thing tending to an useful purpose I may chance to have said for this ten years—But many an old woman besides herself’—— “Auld woman! Monkbarns,” said Miss Oldbuck, roused some­ thing above her usual submissive tone, “ye really are less than civil to me. “Not more than just, Grizzel; however, I include in the same class many a sounding name, from Jamblichus down to Aubrey, who have wasted their time in devising imaginary remedies for non-existent diseases—But I hope, my young friend, that, charmed or uncharmed —secured by the potency of Hypericon, With vervain and with dill, That hinder witches of their will,

or left disarmed and defenceless to the inroads of the invisible world, you will give another night to the terrors of the haunted apartment, and another day to your faithful and feal friends.” “I heartily wish I could, but”—— “Nay, but me no buts—I have set my heart upon it.” “I am greatly obliged, my dear sir, but”—— “Look ye there, now—but again!—I hate but. I know no form of expression in which he can appear, that is amiable, excepting as a butt of sack—But is to me a more detestable combination of letters than no itself—No is a surly, honest fellow, speaks his mind rough and round at once—But is a sneaking, evasive, half-bred, exceptions sort of a conjunction, which comes to pull away the cup just when it is at your lips— ———it does allay The good precedent—fie upon but yet! But yet is as a jailor to bring forth Some monstrous malefactor.”

“Well, then,” answered Lovel, whose motions were really undeter­ mined at the moment, “you shall not connect the recollection of my

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name with so churlish a particle—I must soon think of leaving Fair­ port I am afraid—and I will, since you are good enough to wish it, take this opportunity of spending another day here.” “And you shall be rewarded, my boy—First you shall see John o’ the Girnell’s grave, and then we’ll walk gently along the sands, the state of the tide being first ascertained, (for we will have no more Peter Wil­ kins adventures, no more Glum and Gawrie work) as far as Knock­ winnock Castle, and enquire after the old knight and my fair foe— which will be but barely civil, and then”—— “I beg pardon, my dear sir; but, perhaps, you had better adjourn your visit till to-morrow—I am a stranger, you know.” “And are, therefore, the more bound to shew civility, I should suppose—But I beg your pardon for mentioning a word that perhaps belongs only to a collector of antiquities—I am one of the old school, When courtiers gallop’d o’er four counties The ball’s fair partner to behold, And humbly hope she caught no cold.”

“Why, if—if—if you thought it would be expected—but I believe I had better stay.” “Nay, nay, my good friend, I am not so old-fashioned as to press you to what is disagreeable, neither—it is sufficient that I see there is some remora, some cause of delay, some mid impediment which I have no title to enquire into.—Or you are still something tired perhaps—I warrant I find means to entertain your intellects without fatiguing your limbs—I am no friend to violent exertion myself—a walk in the garden once a day is exercise enough for any thinking being—none but a fool or a fox-hunter would require more.—Well, what shall we set about?—my Essay on Castrametation—but I have that in petto for our afternoon cordial—or I will shew you the controversy upon Ossian’s Poems between Mac-Cribb and me—I hold with the acute Orcadian—he with the defenders of the authenticity—The contro­ versy began in smooth, oily, lady-like terms, but is now waxing more sour and eager as we get on—it already partakes somewhat of old Scaliger’s style.—I fear the rogue will get some scent of that story of Ochiltree’s—but, at worst, I have a hard repartee for him on the affair of the abstracted Antigonus—I will shew you his last epistle, and the scroll of my answer—egad, it is a trimmer.” So saying, the Antiquary opened a drawer, and began rummaging among a quantity of miscellaneous papers, ancient and modern. But it was the misfortune of this learned gentleman, as it may be that of many learned and unlearned, that he frequently experienced on such occasions, what Harlequin calls l'embaras des richesses—in other words, the abundance of his collection often prevented him from

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finding the article he sought for. “Curse the papers!—I believe,” said Oldbuck, as he shuffled them to and fro,—“I believe that they make themselves wings like grasshoppers, and fly away bodily—but here, in the meanwhile, look at that little treasure.” So saying, he put into his hands a case made of oak, fenced at the corner with silver roses and studs—“Prithee, undo this button,” said he, as he observed Lovel fumbling at the clasp;—he did so, the lid opened, and discovered a thin quarto, curiously bound in black shagreen—“There, Mr Lovel— there is the work I mentioned to you last night—the rare quarto of the Augsburg Confession, the foundation at once and the bulwark of the Reformation, drawn up by the learned and venerable Melancthon, defended by the Elector of Saxony, and the other valiant hearts who stood up for their faith even against the front of a powerful and victorious emperor, and imprinted by the scarcely less venerable and praiseworthy Aldobrand Oldenbuck, my happy progenitor, during the yet more tyrannical attempts of Philip II. to suppress at once civil and religious liberty. Yes, sir—for printing this work, that eminent man was expelled from his ungrateful country, and driven to establish his household gods even here at Monkbarns among the ruins of papal superstition and domination. Look upon his venerable effigies, Mr Lovel, and respect the honourable occupation in which it presents him, as labouring personally at the press for the diffusion of Christian and political knowledge—And see here his favourite motto, express­ ive of his independence and self-reliance, which scorned to owe any thing to patronage, that was not earned by desert—expressive also of that firmness of mind and tenacity of purpose, recommended by Hor­ ace—he was, indeed, a man who would have stood firm, had his whole printing-house, presses, fonts, forms, great and small pica, been shivered to pieces around him—Read, I say, his motto, for each printer had his motto, or device, when that illustrious art was first practised. My ancestor’s was expressed as you see in the Teutonic phrase, Kunst macht Gunst—that is, skill, or prudence, in availing ourselves of our natural talents and advantages, will compel favour and patronage, even where it is withheld, from prejudice, or ignorance.” “And that,” said Lovel, after a moment’s thoughtful silence, “that then is the meaning of these German words?” “Unquestionably—you perceive the appropriate application to a consciousness of inward worth, and of eminence in an useful and honourable art. Each printer in these days, as I have already informed you, had his device, his impresa, as I may call it, in the same manner as the doughty chivalry of the age, who frequented tilt and tournament. My ancestor boasted as much in his, as if he had displayed it over a

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conquered field of battle, though it betokened the diffusion of know­ ledge, not the effusion of blood. And yet there was a family tradi­ tion which affirmed him to have chosen it from a more romantic circumstance.” “And what is that said to have been, my good sir?” “Why, it rather encroaches on my respected predecessor’s fame for prudence and wisdom—Sed semel insanivimus omnes—every body has played the fool in their turn—it is said, my ancestor, during his apprenticeship with the descendant of old Fust, whom popular tradi­ tion hath sent to the devil, under the name of Faustus, was attracted by a paltry slip of womankind, his master’s daughter, called Bertha— They broke rings, or went through some idiotical ceremony, as is usual on such idle occasions as the plighting of a true-love troth, and Aldobrand set out on his journey through Germany, as became an honest hand-werker; for such was the custom of mechanics at that time, to make a tour through the empire, and work at their trade for a time in each of the most eminent towns, before they finally settled themselves for life. It was a wise custom; for, as such travellers were received like brethren in each town by those of their own handicraft, they were sure, in every case, to have the means either of gaining or communicating knowledge. When my ancestor returned to Nurem­ burg, he is said to have found his old master newly dead, and two or three gallant young suitors, some of them half-starved sprigs of nobil­ ity forsooth, in pursuit of the Yung-frau Bertha, whose father was understood to have bequeathed her a dowry which might weigh against sixteen armorial quarters. But Bertha, not a bad sample of womankind, had made a vow she would only marry that man who could work her father’s press. The skill, at that time, was as rare as wonderful; besides that the expedient rid her at once of most of her gentle suitors, who would have as soon wielded a conjuring wand as a composing-stick —some of the more ordinary typographers made the attempt, but none were sufficiently possessed of the mystery—But I tire you.” “By no means; pray, proceed, Mr Oldbuck; I listen with uncom­ mon interest.” “Ah! it is all folly—however—Aldobrand arrived in the ordinary dress, as we would say, of a journeyman printer—the same in which he had traversed Germany, and conversed with Luther, Melancthon, Erasmus, and other learned men, who disdained not his knowledge, and the power he possessed of diffusing it, though hid under a garb so homely. But what appeared respectable in the eyes of wisdom, reli­ gion, learning, and philosophy, seemed mean, as might readily be supposed, and disgusting, in those of silly and affected womankind,

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and Bertha refused to acknowledge her former lover in the tom doub­ let, skin cap, clouted shoes, and leathern apron of a travelling handi­ craftsman or mechanic. He claimed his privilege however of being admitted to a trial, and when the rest of the suitors had either declined the contest, or made such work as the devil could not read if his pardon depended on it, all eyes were now bent on the stranger. Aldo­ brand stepped gracefully forward, arranged the types without omis­ sion of a single letter, hyphen, or comma, imposed them without deranging a single space, and pulled off the first proof as clear and free from errors as if it had been a triple revise! All applauded the worthy successor of the immortal Faustus—the blushing maiden acknow­ ledged her error in trusting to the eye more than the intellect, and the elected bridegroom thenceforward chose for his impress or device the appropriate words, ‘Skill wins favour.’—But what is the matter with you?—you are in a brown study? Come, I told you this was but trumpery conversation for thinking people—and now I have my hand on the Ossianic controversy.” “I beg your pardon,” said Lovel; “I am going to appear very silly and changeable in your eyes, Mr Oldbuck, but you seemed to think Sir Arthur might in civility expect a call from me?” “Psha, psha, I can make your apology; and if you must leave us so soon as you say, what signifies how you stand in his honour’s good graces?—And I warn you, that the Essay on Castrametation is some­ thing prolix, and will occupy all the time we can spare after dinner, so you may lose the Ossianic controversy if we don’t dedicate this morn­ ing to it—we will go out to my ever-green bower, my sacred holly-tree yonder, and have it fronde super viridi. Sing hey-ho! hey-ho! for the green holly, Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.—

But, egad,” continued the old gentleman, “when I look closer at you, I begin to think you may be of a different opinion. Amen, with all my heart—I quarrel with no man’s hobby, if he does not run it a tilt against mine, and if he does—let him beware his eye—What say you? —in the language of the world and worldlings base, ifyou can condes­ cend to so mean a sphere, shall we stay or go?” “In the language of selfishness then, which is of course the lan­ guage of the world—let us go by all means.” “Amen, amen, quo’ the Earl Marshal,” answered Oldbuck, as he exchanged his slippers for a pair of stout walking shoes with cutikins, as he called them, of black cloth. He only interrupted the walk by a slight deviation to the tomb of John o’ the Girnell, remembered as the last bailiff of the abbey who had resided at Monkbarns. Beneath an old oak tree upon a hillock, sloping pleasantly to the south, and catching a

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distant view of the sea over two or three rich enclosures, and the Mussel-crag, lay a moss-grown stone, and, in memory of the depar­ ted worthy, it bore an inscription, of which, as Mr Oldbuck affirmed, (though many doubted) the defaced characters could be distinctly traced to the following effect:— Heir lyeth Iōn o’ ye Girnell, Erth has ye nit and heuen ye kirnell. In hys tyme ilk wyfe’s hennis clokit, Ilka gud mannis herth wi’ bairnis wes stokit, He deled a boll o’ bear in firlottis fyve, Four for ye halie kirke and ane for pure mennis wyvis.

“You see how modest the author of this sepulchral commendation was—he tells us, that honest John could make five firlots, or quarters, as you would say, out of the boll, instead of four,—that he gave the fifth to the wives of the parish, and accounted for the other four to the abbot and chapter,—that in his time the wives’ hens always laid eggs, and devil thank them, if they got one-fifth of the abbey rents; and that honest men’s hearths were never unblessed with an offspring,—an addition to the miracle, which he, as well as I, must consider as perfectly unaccountable. But come on—leave we Jock o’ the Girnell, and let us jog on to the yellow sands, where the sea, like a repulsed enemy, is now retreating from the ground on which he gave us battle last night.” Thus saying, he led the way down to the sands. Upon the links or downs close to them, were seen four or five huts inhabited by fishers, whose boats, drawn high upon the beach, lent the odoriferous vapours of pitch melting under a burning sun, to contend with those of the offals of fish and other nuisances usually collected round Scottish cottages. Undisturbed by these complicated steams of abomination, a middle-aged woman, with a face which had defied a thousand storms, sat mending a net at the door of one of the cottages. A handkerchief close bound about her head, and a coat, which had formerly been that of a man, gave her a masculine air, which was increased by her strength, uncommon stature, and harsh voice. “What are ye for the day, your honour?” she said, or rather screamed, to Oldbuck, “caller haddock, and whitings—a bannock-fluke and a cock-padle.” “How much for the bannock-fluke and cock-padle?” demanded the Antiquary. “Four white shillings and saxpence,” answered the Naiad. “Four devils and six of their imps,” retorted the Antiquary; “do ye think I am mad, Maggie?” “And div ye think,” rejoined the virago, setting her arms a-kimbo, “that my man and my sons are to gae to the sea in weather like yestreen

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and the day—sic a sea as it’s yet outbye—and get naething for their fish, and be misca’d into the bargain, Monkbarns? It’s no fish ye’re buying—it’s men’s lives.” “Well, Maggie, I’ll bid ye fair—I’ll bid ye a shilling for the fluke and the cock-padle, or sixpence separately—and if all your fish is as well paid, I think your man, as you call him, and your sons, will make a good voyage.” “De’il gin their boat were knockit against the Bell-Rock rather! it wad be the better, and bonnier voyage o’ the twa. A shilling for thae twa bonny fish! Odd, that’s ane indeed!” “Well, well, you old beldam, carry your fish up to Monkbarns, and see what my sister will give ye for’t.” “Na, na, Monkbarns, the de’il a fit—I’ll rather deal wi’ yoursel; for, though you’re near aneugh, yet Miss Grizzel has an unco closer grip —I’ll gie ye them (in a softened tone) for three-and-saxpence.” “Eighteen-pence, or nothing!” “Eighteen-pence!!!” (in a loud tone of astonishment, which de­ clined in a sort of rueful whine, when the dealer turned as if to walk away)—“Ye’ll no be for the fish than?”—(then louder, as she saw him moving off)—“I’ll gie them—and—and—and a half-a-dozen o’ par­ tans to make the sauce, for three shillings and a dram.” “Half-a-crown than, Maggie, and a dram.” “Aweel, your honour maun hae’t your ain gate, nae doubt; but a dram’s worth siller now the distillery’s no working.” “And I hope they’ll never work again in my time,” said Oldbuck. “Aye, aye—it’s easy for your honour, and the like o’ you gentle folks, to say sae, that hae stouth and routh, and fire and fending, and meat and claith, and sit dry and canny by the fire-side—But an’ ye wanted fire, and meat and dry claise, and were deeing o’ cauld, and had a sair heart, whilk is warst ava’, and had just tippence in your pouch, wadna ye be glad to buy a dram wi’t, to be eilding and claise, and a supper and heart’s ease into the bargain, till the morn’s morning?” “It’s even too true an apology, Maggie. Is your goodman off to sea this morning, after his exertions last night?” “In troth is he, Monkbarns; he was awa this morning by four o’clock, when the sea was working like barm wi’ yestreen’s wind, and the bit coble dancing in’t like a cork.” “Well, he’s an industrious fellow. Carry the fish up to Monkbarns.” “That I will—or I’ll send little Jenny, she’ll rin faster; but I’ll ca’ on Miss Grizzy for the dram mysel, and say ye sent me.” A nondescript animal, which might have passed for a mermaid, as it was paddling in a pool among the rocks, was summoned ashore by the

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shrill screams of its dam; and having been made decent, as her mother called it, which was performed by adding a short red cloak to a petti­ coat, which was at first her sole covering, and which reached scantly below her knee, the child was dismissed with the fish in a basket, and a request, on the part of Monkbarns, that they might be prepared for dinner. “It would have been long,” said Oldbuck with much selfcomplacence, “ere my womankind could have made such a reasonable bargain with that old skin-flint, though they sometimes wrangle with her for an hour together under my study window, like three sea-gulls screaming and sputtering in a gale of wind. But, come, wend we on our way to Knockwinnock.”

Chapter Twelve Beggar?—the only freeman of your commonwealth; Free above Scot-free, that observe no laws, Obey no governor, use no religion But what they draw from their own ancient custom, Or constitute themselves, yet they are no rebels. Brome

With our readers’ permission, we will outstep the slow, though sturdy pace of the Antiquary, whose halts, as he turned round to his companion at every moment to point out something remarkable in the landscape, or to enforce some favourite topic more emphatically than the exercise of walking permitted, delayed their progress consider­ ably. Notwithstanding the fatigues and dangers of the preceding even­ ing, Miss Wardour was able to rise at her usual hour, and to apply herself to her usual occupations, after she had first satisfied her anxi­ ety concerning her father’s state of health. Sir Arthur was no farther indisposed than by the effect of great agitation and unusual fatigue, but these were sufficient to induce him to keep his bed-chamber. To look back on the events of the preceding day, was, to Isabella, a very unpleasing retrospect. She owed her life, and that of her father, to the very person by whom, of all others, she wished least to be obliged, because she could hardly even express common gratitude towards him without encouraging hopes which might be injurious to them both. “Why should it be my fate to receive such benefits, and con­ ferred at so much personal risk, from one whose romantic passion I have so unceasingly laboured to discourage? Why should chance have given him this advantage over me? and why, oh why, should a half­ subdued feeling in my own bosom, in spite of my sober reason, almost rejoice that he has attained it?”

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While Miss Wardour thus taxed herself with wayward caprice, she beheld advancing down the avenue, not her younger and more dreaded preserver, but the old beggar who had made such a capital figure in the melo-drama of the preceding evening. She rung the bell for her maid-servant. “Bring the old man up­ stairs.” The servant returned in a minute or two—“He will come up at no rate, madam—he says his clouted shoes never were on a carpet in his life, and that, please God, they never shall—Must I take him into the servants’ hall?” “No; stay, I want to speak with him—Where is he?”—for she had lost sight of him as he approached the house. “Sitting in the sun on the stone-bench in the court, beside the window of the flagged parlour.” “Bid him stay there—I’ll come down to the parlour and speak with him at the window.” She came down accordingly, and found the mendicant half seated half reclining upon the bench beside the window. Edie Ochiltree, old man and beggar as he was, had apparently some internal conscious­ ness of the favourable impressions connected with his tall form, commanding features, and long white beard and hair. It used to be remarked of him, that he was seldom seen but in a posture which shewed these personal attributes to advantage. At present, as he lay half reclined, with his wrinkled yet ruddy cheek, and keen grey eye, turned up towards the sky, his staff and bag laid beside him, and a cast of homely wisdom and sarcastic irony in the expression of his countenance while he gazed for a moment around the court-yard, and then resumed his former look upward, he might have been taken by an artist as the model of an old philosopher of the Cynic school, musing upon the frivolity of mortal pursuits, and the precarious tenure of human possessions, and looking up to the source from which aught permanently good could alone be derived. The young lady, as she presented her tall and elegant figure at the open window, but divided from the court-yard by a grating, with which, according to the fashion of ancient times, the under windows of the castle were secured, gave an interest of a different kind, and might be supposed, by a romantic imagination, an imprisoned damsel communicating a tale of her durance to a palmer, in order that he might call upon the gallantry of every knight whom he should meet in his wandering, to rescue her from her oppressive thraldom. After Miss Wardour had offered, in the terms she thought would be most acceptable, those thanks which the beggar declined as far be­ yond his merit, she began to express herself in a manner which she

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supposed would speak more feelingly to his apprehension. “She did not know,” she said, “what her father intended particularly to do for their preserver, but certainly it would be something that would make him easy for life; if he chose to reside at the castle, she would give orders”–— The old man smiled, and shook his head. “I wad be baith a griev­ ance and a disgrace to your fine servants, my leddy, and I have been never a disgrace to ony body yet that I ken of.” “Sir Arthur would give strict orders”— “Ye’re very kind—I doubt na, I doubt na; but there are some things a master can command, and some he canna—I dare say he wad gar them keep hands aff me—(and troth, I think they wad hardly venture on that ony gate)—and he wad gar them gie me my sowp parridge and bit meat—But trow ye that Sir Arthur’s command could forbid the gibe o’ the tongue and the blink o’ the e’e, or make them gie me my food wi’ the look o’ kindness that gars it digest sae weel, or that he could make them forbear a’ the slights and taunts that hurt ane’s spirit mair nor downright misca’ing?—Besides, I am the idlest auld carle that ever lived; I downa be bound down to hours o’ eating and sleep­ ing ; and, to speak the honest truth, I wad be a vera bad example in ony weel-regulated family.” “Well then, Edie, what do you think of a neat cottage and a garden, and a daily dole, and nothing to do but to dig a little in your garden when you pleased yourself?” “And how often wad that be, trow ye my leddy? maybe no anes atween Candlemass and Yule—and if a’ thing were dune to my hand, as if I was Sir Arthur himsel, I could never bide the staying still in ae place, and just seeing the same joists and couples aboon my head night after night.—And then I have a queer humour o’ my ain, that sets a strolling beggar weel eneugh, whase word naebody minds—but ye ken Sir Arthur has odd sort o’ ways—and I wad be jesting or scorning at them—and ye wad be angry, and then I wad be just fit to hang mysel.” “O, you’re a licensed man—we shall give you all reasonable scope: so you had better be ruled, and remember your age.” “But I am na that sair failed yet—Odd, anes I gat a wee soupled yestreen, I was as yauld as an eel—And than what wad a’ the country about do for want o’ auld Edie Ochiltree, that brings news and country cracks frae ae farm-steading to anither, and gingerbread to the lassies, and helps the lads to mend their fiddles, and the gudewives to clout their pans, and plaits rush-swords and grenadier caps for the weans, and busks the laird’s flees, and has skill o’ cows and horse, and kens mair auld sangs and tales than a’ the barony besides, and gars ilka body

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laugh wherever he comes?—troth, my leddy, I canna lay down my vocation, it would be a public loss.” “Well, Edie, if your idea of your importance is so strong as not to be shaken by the prospect of independence”–— “Na, na, Miss—it’s because I am mair independent as I am—I beg nae mair at ae house than a meal o’ meat, or maybe but a mouthfou o’t —if it’s refused ae place, I get it at anither—sae I can be said to depend on naebody in particular, but just on the country at large.” “Well, then, only promise me that you will let me know should you ever wish to settle as you turn old, and more incapable of making your usual rounds; and, in the mean time, take this.” “Na, na, my leddy; I downa take mickle siller at anes, it’s against our rule—and—though it’s maybe no civil to be repeating the like o’ that —they say that siller’s like to be scarce wi’ Sir Arthur himsel, and that he’s run himsel out a thought wi’ his houkings and minings for lead and copper yonder.” Isabella had some anxious anticipations to the same effect, but was shocked to hear that her father’s embarrassments were such public talk; as if scandal ever failed to stoop upon so acceptable a quarry, as the failings of the good man, the decline of the powerful, or the decay of the prosperous.—Miss Wardour sighed deeply—“Well, Edie, we have enough to pay our just debts, let folks say what they will, and requiting you is one of the foremost—let me press this sum upon you.” “That I might be robbed and murdered some night between town and town? or, what’s as bad, that I might live in constant apprehension o’t?—I am no—(lowering his voice to a whisper, and looking keenly around him)—I am no that clean unprovided neither; and though I should die at the back of a dyke, they’ll find as mickle quilted in this auld blue gown as will bury me like a Christian, and gie the lads and lasses a blythe lykewake too, sae there’s the Gaberlunzie’s burial provided for, and I need nae mair.—Were the like o’ me ever to change a note, wha the de’il d’ye think wad ever be sic fules as to gie me charity after that?—it wad flee through the country like wild-fire, that auld Edie suld hae dune siccan a like thing, and then, I’se warrant, I might grane my heart out or ony body wad gie me either a bane or a bodle.” “Is there nothing then that I can do for you?” “Ou aye—I’ll aye come for my awmous as usual,—and whiles I wad be fain o’ a pickle snishing, and ye maun speak to the constable and ground-officer just to owerlook me, and maybe ye’ll gie a gude word for me to Sandie Netherstanes, the miller, that he may chain up his mickle dog—I wad na hae him to hurt the puir beast, for it just does its

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office in barking at a Gaberlunzie like me.—And there’s ae thing maybe mair, but ye’ll think it’s very bauld o’ the like o’ me to speak o’t.” “What is it, Edie?—if it respects you, it shall be done if it is in my power.” “It respects yoursel, and it is in your power, and I maun come out wi’ it—Ye are a bonny young leddy, and a gude ane, and maybe a weel-tochered ane—but dinna ye sneer awa’ the lad Lovel, as ye did awhile sinsyne on the walk beneath the Briery-bank, when I saw ye baith, and heard ye too, though ye saw na me—Be canny wi’ the lad, for he loes ye weel, and it’s to him, and no to ony thing I could have done for you, that Sir Arthur and you wan ower yestreen.” He uttered these words in a low but distinct tone of voice; and, without waiting for an answer, walked towards a low door which led to the apartments of the servants, and so entered the house. Miss Wardour remained for a moment or two in the situation in which she had heard the old man’s last extraordinary speech, leaning, namely, against the bars of the window, nor could she determine upon saying even a single word, relative to a subject so delicate, until the beggar was out of sight. It was, indeed, difficult to determine what to do. That her having had an interview and private conversation with this young and unknown stranger, should be a secret possessed by a person of the last class in which a young lady would seek a confidant, and at the mercy of one who was by profession gossip-general to the whole neighbourhood, gave her acute agony. She had no reason, indeed, to suppose that the old man would wilfully do any thing to hurt her feelings, much less to injure her; but the mere freedom of speak­ ing to her upon such a subject, shewed, as might have been expected, a total absence of delicacy; and what he might take it into his head to do or say next, that she was pretty sure so professed an admirer of liberty would not hesitate to do or say without scruple. This idea so much hurt and vexed her, that she half-wished the officious assistance of Lovel and Ochiltree had been absent upon the preceding dreadful evening. While she was in this agitation of spirits, she suddenly observed Oldbuck and Lovel entering the court. She drew instantly so far back from the window, that she could, without being seen, observe how the Antiquary paused in front of the building, and, pointing to the various scutcheons of its former owners, seemed in the act of bestowing upon Lovel much curious and erudite information, which, from the absent look of his auditor, Isabel might shrewdly guess was entirely thrown away. The necessity that she should take some resolution became instant and pressing—she rang, therefore, for a servant, and ordered him to show the visitors to the drawing-room, while she, by another

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staircase, gained her own apartment, to consider, ere she made her appearance, what line of conduct were fittest for her to pursue. The guests, agreeable to her instructions, were introduced into the room where company were usually received.

Chapter Thirteen –—The time was that I hated thee, And yet it is not that I bear thee love. Thy company, which erst was irksome to me, I will endure–— But do not look for further recompence. As You Like It

Miss Isabella Wardour’s complexion was considerably heightened, when, after the delay necessary to arrange her ideas, she presented herself in the drawing-room. “I am glad you are come, my fair foe,” said the Antiquary, greeting her with much kindness, “for I have had a most refractory, or at least negligent, auditor, in my young friend here, while I endeavoured to make him acquainted with the history of Knockwinnock castle. I think the danger of last night has mazed the poor lad. But you, Miss Isabel, why, you look as if flying through the night air had been your natural and most congenial occupation. Your colour is even better than when you honoured my hospitium yesterday—And Sir Arthur—how fares my good old friend?” “Indifferently well, Mr Oldbuck; but, I am afraid, not quite able to receive your congratulations, or to pay—to pay—Mr Lovel his thanks for his unparalleled exertions.” “I dare say not—A good down pillow for his good white head were more meet than a couch so churlish as Bessie’s Apron, plague on her!” “I had no thought of intruding,” said Lovel, looking upon the ground, and speaking with hesitation and suppressed emotion; “I did not—did not mean to intrude upon Sir Arthur or Miss Wardour the presence of one who—who must necessarily be unwelcome—as associated, I mean, with painful reflections.” “Do not think my father so unjust and ungrateful,” said Miss War­ dour. “I dare say,” she continued, participating in Lovel’s embarrass­ ment—“I dare say—I am certain—that my father would be happy to shew his gratitude—in any way—that is, which Mr Lovel could con­ sider it as proper to point out.” “Why, the deuce,” interrupted Oldbuck, “what sort of a qualifica­ tion is that?—On my word, it reminds me of our minister, who

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chusing, like a formal old fop as he is, to drink to my sister’s inclina­ tions, thought it necessary to add the saving clause, Provided, madam, they be virtuous. Come, let us have no more of this nonsense—I dare say Sir Arthur will bid us welcome upon some future day. And what news from the kingdom of subterranean darkness and airy hope?— what says the swart spirit of the mine?—has Sir Arthur had any good intelligence of his adventure lately in Glen-Withershins?” Miss Wardour shook her head—“But indifferent, I fear, Mr Old­ buck; but there lie some specimens which have lately been sent down.” “Ah! my poor dear hundred pound, which Sir Arthur persuaded me to give for a share in that hopeful scheme, would have bought a porter’s load of specimens—but let me see them.” And so saying, he sat down at the table in the recess on which the mineral productions were lying, and proceeded to examine them, grumbling and pshawing at each, which he took up and laid aside. In the mean time, Lovel, forced as it were by this secession of Oldbuck, into a sort of tête-a-tête with Miss Wardour, took an oppor­ tunity of addressing her in a low and interrupted tone of voice. “I trust Miss Wardour will impute, to circumstances almost irresistible, this intrusion of a person who has reason to think himself—so un­ acceptable a visitor.” “Mr Lovel,” answered Miss Wardour, observing the same tone of caution, “I trust you will not—I am sure you are incapable of abusing the advantages given to you by the services you have rendered us, which, as they affect my father, can never be sufficiently acknow­ ledged or repaid.—Could Mr Lovel see me without his own peace being affected—could he see me as a friend—as a sister—no man will be—and, from all I have ever heard of Mr Lovel, ought to be more welcome; but”–— Oldbuck’s anathema against the preposition but was internally echoed by Lovel—“Forgive me, if I interrupt you, Miss Wardour— you need not fear my intruding upon a subject where I have been already severely repressed—but do not add to the severity of repelling my sentiments the rigour of compelling me to disavow them.” “I am much embarrassed, Mr Lovel, by your—I would not willingly use a strong word—your romantic and hopeless pertinacity—it is for yourself I plead, that you would consider the calls which your country has upon your talents, that you will not waste, in an idle and fanciful indulgence of an ill-placed predilection, time, which, well redeemed by active exertion, should lay the foundation of future distinction—let me intreat that you would form a manly resolution”–— “It is enough, Miss Wardour; I see plainly that”–—

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“Mr Lovel, you are hurt—and, believe me, I sympathize in the pain which I inflict—but can I, in justice to myself, in fairness to you, do otherwise?—Without my father’s consent, I never will entertain an application from any one, and how totally impossible it is that he could countenance the partiality with which you honour me, you are yourself fully aware—and indeed”–— “No, Miss Wardour; do not go further—is it not enough to crush every hope in our present relative situation?—do not carry your resolutions further—why urge what would be your conduct if Sir Arthur’s objections could be removed?” “It is indeed vain, Mr Lovel, because their removal is impossible; and I only wish, as your friend, and as one who is obliged to you for her own and her father’s life, to intreat you to suppress this unfortunate attachment—to leave a country which affords no scope for your talents, and to resume the honourable line of the profession which you seem to have abandoned.” “Well, Miss Wardour, your wishes shall be obeyed—have patience with me one little month, and if, in the course of that space, I cannot shew you such reasons for continuing my residence at Fairport, as even you shall approve of, I will bid adieu to its vicinity, and, with the same breath, to all my hopes of happiness.” “Not so, Mr Lovel; many years of deserved happiness, founded on a more rational basis than your present wishes, are, I trust, before you—but it is full time to finish this conversation.—I cannot force you to adopt my advice—I cannot shut the door of my father’s house against the preserver of his life and mine—but the sooner Mr Lovel can teach his mind to submit to the inevitable disappoint­ ment of wishes which have been so rashly formed, the more highly he will rise in my esteem—and, in the meanwhile, for his sake as well as mine, he must excuse my putting an interdict upon conversa­ tion on a subject so painful.” A servant at this moment announced, that Sir Arthur desired to speak with Mr Oldbuck in his dressing-room. “Let me shew you the way,” said Miss Wardour, who apparently dreaded a continuation of her tête-a-tête with Lovel, and she con­ ducted the Antiquary accordingly to her father’s apartment. Sir Arthur, his legs swathed in flannel, was stretched on the couch. “Welcome, Mr Oldbuck,” he said; “I trust you came better off than I have done from the inclemency of yesterday evening?” “Truly, Sir Arthur, I was not so much exposed to it—I kept terra firma—you fairly committed yourself to the cold night-air in the most literal of all senses. But such adventures become a gallant knight better than a humble esquire—To rise on the wings of the night-wind

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—to dive into the bowels of the earth—What news from our subter­ ranean Good Hope? the terra incognita of Glen-Withershins?” “Nothing good as yet,” said the baronet, turning himself hastily as if stung by a pang of the gout; “but Dousterswivel does not despair.” “Does he not?” quoth Oldbuck, “I do, though, under his favour— Why, old Dr H–—n told me, when I was in Edinburgh, that we would never find copper enough, judging from the specimens I shewed him, to make a pair of sixpenny knee-buckles—and I cannot see that those on the table below differ much in quality.” “The learned doctor is not infallible, I presume?” “No; but he is one of our first chemists; and this tramping philo­ sopher of yours—this Dousterswivel, is, I have a notion, one of those learned adventurers described by Kircher, Artem habent sine arte, partem sine parte, quorum medium est mentiri, vita eorum mendi­ catum ire; that is to say, Miss Wardour”–— “It is unnecessary to translate,” said Miss Wardour; “I compre­ hend your general meaning—but I hope Mr Dousterswivel will turn out a more trust-worthy character.” “I doubt it not a little,” said the Antiquary, “and we are a foul way out if we cannot discover this infernal vein that he has prophesied about these two years.” “You have no great interest in the matter, Mr Oldbuck,” said the baronet. “Too much, too much, Sir Arthur—and yet, for the sake of my fair foe here, I would consent to lose it all so you had no more on the venture.” There was a painful silence of a few moments, for Sir Arthur was too proud to acknowledge the downfall of his golden dreams, though he could no longer disguise to himself that such was likely to be the termination of the adventure. “I understand,” he at length said, “that the young gentleman, to whose gallantry and presence of mind we were so much indebted last night, has favoured me with a visit—I am distressed that I am unable to see him, or indeed any but an old friend like you, Mr Oldbuck.” A declination of the Antiquary’s stiff backbone acknowledged the preference. “You made acquaintance with this young gentleman in Edinburgh, I suppose?” Oldbuck told the circumstances of their becoming known to each other. “Why, then my daughter is an older acquaintance of Mr Lovel than you are.” “Indeed! I was not aware of that.”

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“I met Mr Lovel,” said Isabella, slightly colouring, “when I resided this last spring with my aunt, Mrs Wilmot.” “In Yorkshire?—and what character did he bear then, or how was he engaged?” said Oldbuck,—“and why did not you recognise him when I introduced you?” Isabella answered the least difficult question, and passed over the other. “He had a commission in the army, and had, I believe, served with reputation; he was much respected, as an amiable and promising young man.” “And pray, such being the case, why did you not speak to the lad at once when you met him at my house?—I thought you had less of the paltry pride of womankind about you, Miss Wardour.” “There was a reason for it,” said Sir Arthur with dignity; “you know the opinions—prejudices, perhaps, you will call them—of our house concerning purity of birth; this young gentleman is, it seems, the illegitimate son of a man of fortune; my daughter did not chuse to renew their acquaintance till she should know whether I approved of her holding any intercourse with him.” “If it had been with his mother instead of himself, I could see an excellent reason for it. Ah, poor lad! that was the cause then that he seemed so absent and confused while I explained to him the reason of the bend ofbastardy upon the shield yonder under the comer turret! ” “True,” said the baronet with complacency, “it is the shield of Malcolm the Usurper, as he is called. The tower which he built is termed, after him, Malcolm’s Tower, but more frequently Misticot’s Tower, which I conceive to be a corruption for Misbegot. He is denom­ inated, in the Latin pedigree of our family, Milcolumbus Nothus, and his temporary seizure of our property, and most unjust attempt to establish his own illegitimate line in the estate of Knockwinnock, gave rise to such family feuds and misfortunes, as strongly to found us in that horror and antipathy to defiled blood and illegitimacy, which has been handed down to me from my respected ancestry.” “I know the story,” said Oldbuck, “and I was telling it to Lovel this moment, with some of the wise maxims and consequences which it has engrafted on your family politics—poor fellow!—he must have been much hurt; I took the wavering of his attention for negligence, and was something piqued at it, and it proves to be only an excess of feeling. I hope, Sir Arthur, you will not think less of your life, because it has been preserved by such assistance?” “Nor the less of my assistant either,” said the baronet; “my doors and table shall be equally open to him as if he had descended of the most unblemished lineage.” “Come, I am glad of that—he’ll know where he can get a dinner

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then if he wants one. But what views can he have in this neighbour­ hood?—I must catechise him—and if I find he wants it—or, indeed, whether he does or not he shall have—my very best advice.” As the Antiquary made this liberal promise, he took his leave of Miss War­ dour and her father, eager to commence operations upon Mr Lovel. He informed him abruptly that Miss Wardour sent her compliments, and remained in attendance on her father, and then taking him by the arm, he led him out of the castle. Knockwinnock still preserved most of the external attributes of a baronial castle. It had its draw-bridge, though now never drawn up, and its dry moat, the sides of which had been planted with shrubs, chiefly of the evergreen tribes. Above these rose the old building, partly from a foundation of red rock scarped down to the sea-beach, and partly from the steep green verge of the moat. The trees of the avenue have been already mentioned, and many others rose around of large size, as if to confute the prejudice, that timber cannot be raised near to the ocean. Our walkers paused, and looked back upon the castle, as they attained the height of a small knoll, over which lay their homeward road, for it is to be supposed they did not tempt the risk of the tide by returning along the sands. The building flung its broad shadow upon the tufted foliage of the shrubs beneath it, while the front windows sparkled in the sun. They were viewed by the gazers with very different feelings. Lovel, with the fond eagerness of that passion which derives its food and nourishment from trifles, as the chameleon is said to live upon the air, or upon the invisible insects which it contains, endeavoured to conjecture which of the numerous windows belonged to the apartment now graced by Miss Wardour’s presence. The speculations of the Antiquary were of a more melan­ choly cast, and were partly indicated by the ejaculation of citoperitura! as he turned away from the prospect. Lovel, roused from his reverie, looked at him as if to enquire the meaning of an exclamation so ominous. The old man shook his head. “Yes, my young friend,” said he, “I doubt greatly—and it wrings my heart to say it—this ancient family is going fast to the ground!” “Indeed!” answered Lovel—“You surprise me greatly”–— “We harden ourselves in vain,” continued the Antiquary, pursuing his own train of thought and feeling—“We harden ourselves in vain to treat with the indifference they deserve the changes of this trumpery whirligig world—We strive ineffectually to be the self-sufficing invul­ nerable being, the teres atque rotundus of the poet—the stoical exemp­ tion which philosophy affects to give us over the pains and vexations of human life, is as imaginary as the state of mystical quietism and perfection aimed at by some crazy enthusiasts.”

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“And Heaven forbid that it should be otherwise!” said Lovel warmly—“Heaven forbid that any process of philosophy were cap­ able so to sear and indurate our feelings, that nothing should agitate them but what arose instantly and immediately out of our own selfish interests !—I would as soon wish my hand to be as callous as horn, that it might escape an occasional cut or scratch, as I would be ambi­ tious of the stoicism which should render my heart like a piece of the nether mill-stone.” The Antiquary looked at his youthful companion with a look half of pity, half of sympathy, and shrugged his shoulders as he replied, “Wait, young man,—wait till your bark has been battered by the storms of sixty years of mortal vicissitude—you will learn by that time to reef your sails, that she may obey the helm—or, in the language of this world, you will find distresses enough, endured and to endure, to keep your feelings and sympathies in full exercise, without concerning yourself more in the fate of others than you cannot possibly avoid.” “Well, Mr Oldbuck—it may be so—but as yet I resemble you more in your practice than in your theory, for I cannot help being deeply interested in the fate of the family we have just left.” “And well you may,” replied Oldbuck; “Sir Arthur’s embarrass­ ments have of late become so many and so pressing, that I am surprised you have not heard of them—And then his absurd and expensive operations carried on by the High German landlouper Dousterswivel”–— “I think I have seen that person, when, by some rare chance, I happened to be in the coffee-room at Fairport—a tall, beetlebrowed, awkward-built man, who entered upon scientific subjects, as it appeared to my ignorance at least, with more assurance than knowledge, was very arbitrary in laying down and asserting his opinions, and mixed the terms of science with a strange jargon of mysticism ; a simple youth whispered me that he was an Illuminé, and carried on an intercourse with the invisible world.” “O the same—the same—he has enough of practical knowledge to speak scholarly and wisely to those of whose intelligence he stands in awe ; and, to say truth, this faculty, joined to his matchless impudence, imposed upon me for some time when I first knew him. But I have since understood, that when he is among fools and womankind, he exhibits himself as a perfect charlatan—talks of the magisterium—of sympathies and antipathies—of the cabala—of the divining rod—and all the trumpery with which the Rosycrucians cheated a darker age, and which, to our eternal disgrace, has in some degree revived in our own. My friend Heavystern knew this fellow abroad, and unintention­ ally (for he, you must know, is, God bless the mark, a sort of believer)

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let me into a good deal of his real character. Ah! were I caliph for a day, as honest Abon Hassan wished to be, I would scourge me these jugglers out the commonwealth with rods of scorpions—They de­ bauch the spirit of the ignorant and credulous with mystical trash as effectually as if they had besotted their brains with gin, and then pick their pockets with the same facility. And now has this strolling black­ guard and mountebank put the finishing blow to the ruin of an ancient and honourable family!” “But how could he impose on Sir Arthur to any ruinous extent?” “Why, I don’t know—Sir Arthur is a good honourable man—but, as you may see from his loose ideas concerning the Pikish language, he is by no means very strong in the understanding. His estate is strictly entailed, and he has been always an embarrassed man. This rapparee promised mountains of wealth, and an English company was found to advance large sums of money—I fear on Sir Arthur’s guarantee. Some gentlemen, I was ass enough to be one, took small shares in the concern—and Sir Arthur himself made great outlay. We were trained on by specious appearances, and more specious lies, and now, like John Bunyan—we awake, and behold it is a dream.” “I am surprised that you, Mr Oldbuck, should have encouraged Sir Arthur by your example.” “Why,” said Oldbuck, dropping his large grizzled eye-brows, “I am something surprised and ashamed at it myself; it was not the lucre of gain—nobody cares less for money (to be a prudent man) than I do— But I thought I might risk this small sum. It will be expected (though I am sure I cannot see why) that I should give something to any one who will be kind enough to rid me of that slip of womankind, my niece, Mary MacIntyre; and perhaps it may be thought I should do some­ thing to get that jackanapes, her brother, on in the army. In either case, to treble my venture would have helped me out. And, besides, I had some idea that the Phœnicians had in former times wrought copper in that very spot—that cunning scoundrel, Dousterswivel, found out my blind side, and brought strange tales (d—n him) of appearances of old shafts, and vestiges of mining operations, conducted in a manner quite different from those of modern times—and I—in short, I was a fool, and there is an end. My loss is not much worth speaking about; but Sir Arthur’s engagements are, I understand, very deep, and my heart aches for him, and the poor young lady who must share his distress.” Here the conversation paused, until renewed in the next chapter.

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Chapter Fourteen If I may trust the flattering eye of sleep, My dreams presage some joyful news at hand: My bosom’s lord sits lightly in his throne, And all this day, an unaccustom’d spirit Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. Romeo and Juliet

Theaccount ofSir Arthur’s unhappy adventure had led Oldbuck somewhat aside from his purpose of catechising Lovel concerning the cause of his residence at Fairport. He was now, however, resolved to open the subject. “Miss Wardour was formerly known to you, she tells me, Mr Lovel?” “He had had the pleasure,” Lovel answered, “to see her at Mrs Wilmot’s, in Yorkshire.” “Indeed! you never mentioned that to me before, and you did not accost her as an old acquaintance.” “I—I did not know it was the same lady till we met, and then it was my duty to wait till she recognised me.” “I am aware of your delicacy; the knight’s a punctilious old fool, but I promise you his daughter is above all nonsensical ceremony and prejudice. And now, since you have found a new set of friends here, may I ask if you intend to leave Fairport so soon as you pro­ posed?” “What if I should answer your question by another,” replied Lovel, “and ask you what is your opinion of dreams?” “Of dreams, you foolish lad?—why, what should I think of them but as the deceptions of imagination when Reason drops the reins?—I know no difference betwixt them and the hallucinations of madness— the unguided horses run away with the carriage in both cases, only in the one the coachman is drunk, and in the other he slumbers. What says our Marcus Tully—Si insanorum visis fides non est habenda, cur credatur somniantium visis, quæ multo etiam perturbatiora sunt, non intelligo.” “Yes, sir, but Cicero also tells us, that as he who passes the whole day in darting the javelin must sometimes hit the mark, so, amid the cloud of nightly dreams, some may occur consonant to future events.” “Aye—that is to say, you have hit the mark in your own sage opin­ ion? Lord! Lord! how this world is given to folly! Well, I will allow for once the Oneirocritical science—I will give faith to the exposition of dreams, and say a Daniel hath arisen to interpret them, if you can

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prove to me that that dream of yours has pointed out a prudent line of conduct.” “Tell me then,” answered Lovel, “why, when I was hesitating whether to abandon an enterprize, which I have perhaps rashly under­ taken, I should last night dream I saw your ancestor pointing to a motto which encouraged me to perseverance?—Why should I have thought of those words which I cannot remember to have heard be­ fore, which are in a language unknown to me, and which yet conveyed, when translated, a lesson which I could so plainly apply to my own circumstances?” The Antiquary burst into a fit of laughing. “Excuse me, my young friend, but it is thus we silly mortals deceive ourselves, and look out of doors for motives which originate in our own wilful will. I think I can help out the cause of your vision. You were so abstracted in your contemplations yesterday after dinner, as to pay little attention to the discourse between Sir Arthur and me, until we fell upon the contro­ versy concerning the Piks, which terminated so abruptly; but I re­ member producing to Sir Arthur a book printed by my ancestor, and making him observe the motto—Your mind was bent elsewhere, but your ear had mechanically received and retained the sounds, and your busy fancy, stirred by Grizzel’s legend, I presume, had introduced this scrap of German into your dream. As for the waking wisdom which seized on so frivolous a circumstance as an apology for persevering in some course which it could find no better reason to justify, it is exactly one of those juggling tricks which the sagest of us play off now and then, to gratify our inclination at the expence of our understanding.” “I own,” said Lovel, blushing deeply—“I believe you are right, Mr Oldbuck, and I ought to sink in your esteem for attaching a moment’s consequence to such a frivolity; but I was tossed by contradictory wishes and resolutions, and you know how slight a line will tow a boat when afloat on the billows, though a cable would hardly move her when pulled up on the beach.” “Right, right—fall in my opinion?—not a whit—I love thee the better, man—why, we have story for story against each other, and I can think with less shame on having exposed myself about that cursed Prætorium—though I am still convinced Agricola’s camp must have been somewhere in this neighbourhood—And now, Lovel, my good lad, be sincere with me—What make you from Wittenberg?—Why have you left your own country and professional pursuits, for an idle residence in such a place as Fairport?—A truant disposition, I fear.” “Even so—yet I am so detached from all the world, have so few in whom I am interested, or who are interested in me, that my very state of destitution gives me independence. He, whose good or evil fortune

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affects himself alone, has the best right to pursue it, according to his own fancy.” “Pardon me, young man,” said Oldbuck, laying his hand kindly on his shoulder, and making a full halt—“suflamina—a little patience if you please—I will suppose that you have no friends to share, or re­ joice, in your success in life, that you cannot look back to those to whom you owe gratitude, or forward to those to whom you ought to afford protection—but it is no less incumbent on you to move steadily in the path of duty—for your active exertions are due not only to society, but in humble gratitude to the Being who made you a member of it, with powers to serve yourself and others.” “But I am unconscious of possessing such powers,” said Lovel, somewhat impatiently; “I ask nothing of society but the permission of walking innoxiously through the path of life without jostling others, or permitting myself to be jostled—I owe no man any thing—I have the means of maintaining myself with complete independence, and so moderate are my wishes in this respect, that even these means, how­ ever limited, rather exceed than fall short of them.” “Nay, then,” said Oldbuck, removing his hand, and turning again to the road; “if you are so true a philosopher as to think you have money enough, there’s no more to be said—I cannot pretend to be entitled to advise you—you have attained the acmé—the summit of perfection. And how came Fairport to be the selected abode of so much self-denying philosophy?—it is as if a worshipper of the true religion had set up his staff by choice among the multifarious idol­ aters of the land of Egypt. There is not a man in Fairport who is not a devoted worshipper of the Golden Calf—the Mammon of unrighteousness—Why, even I, man, am so infected by the bad neighbourhood, that I feel inclined occasionally to become an idol­ ater myself.” “My principal amusements being literary,” answered Lovel, “and circumstances which I cannot mention having induced me, for a time at least, to relinquish the military service, I pitched on Fairport as a place where I might follow my pursuits without any of those tempta­ tions to society, which a more elegant circle might have presented to me. “Aha!—I begin to understand your application of my ancestor’s motto—you are a candidate for public favour, though not in the way I first suspected,—you are ambitious to shine as a literary character, and you hope to merit favour by labour and perseverance.” Lovel, who was rather closely pressed by the inquisitiveness of the old gentleman, concluded it would be best to let him remain in the error which he had gratuitously adopted.

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“I have been at times foolish enough,” he replied, “to nourish some thoughts of the kind.” “Ah, poor fellow! nothing could be more melancholy; unless, as young men sometimes do, you had fancied yourself in love with some trumpery specimen of womankind, which is, indeed, as Shakespeare truly says, pressing to death, whipping and hanging, all at once.” He then proceeded with enquiries, which he was sometimes kind enough to answer himself. For this good old gentleman had, from his antiquarian researches, acquired a delight in building theories out of premises which were often far from affording sufficient ground for them; and being, as the reader must have remarked, sufficiently opin­ ionative, he did not readily brook being corrected, either in matter of fact or opinion, even by those who were principally interested in the subjects on which he speculated. He went on, therefore, chalking out Lovel’s literary career for him. “And with what do you propose to commence your debut as a man of letters?—but I guess—poetry—poetry—the soft seducer of youth. Yes! there is an acknowledging modesty of confession in your eye and manner—and where lies your vein?—Are you inclined to soar to the higher regions of Parnassus, or to flutter around the base of the hill?” “I have hitherto attempted only a few lyrical pieces.” “Just as I supposed—pruning your wing and hopping from spray to spray. But I trust you intend a bolder flight—Observe, I would by no means recommend your persevering in this unprofitable pursuit—but you say you are quite independent of the public caprice?” “Entirely so,” replied Lovel. “And that you are determined not to adopt a more active course of life?” “For the present, such is my resolution,” replied the young man. “Why, then, it only remains for me to give you my best advice and assistance in the object of your pursuit. I myself have published two essays in the Antiquarian Repository—and therefore am an author of experience. There was my Remarks on Hearne’s edition of Robert of Gloucester, signed Scrutator; and the other signed Indagator, upon a passage in Tacitus—I might add, what attracted considerable notice at the time was my paper in the Gentleman’s Magazine, upon the inscription of (Elia Lelia, which I subscribed (Edipus—So you see I am not an apprentice in the mysteries of author-craft, and must necessarily understand the taste and temper of the times.—And now once more, what do you intend to commence with?” “I have no instant thoughts of publishing.” “Ah! that will never do. You must have the fear of the public before your eyes in all your undertakings. Let us see now—A collection of

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fugitive pieces—but no—your fugitive poetry is apt to become station­ ary with the bookseller.—It should be something at once solid and attractive—none of your romances or anomalous novelties—I would have you take high ground at once—Let me see—What think you of a real epic?—the grand old-fashioned historical poem which moved through twelve or twenty-four books—we’ll have it so—I’ll supply you with a subject—The battle between the Caledonians and Romans— The Caledoniad; or, Invasion Repelled—Let that be the title—It will suit the present taste, and you may throw in a touch of the times.” “But the invasion of Agricola was not repelled.” “No; but you are a poet—free of the corporation, and as little bound down to truth or probability as Virgil himself—You may defeat the Romans in spite of Tacitus.” “And pitch Agricola’s camp at the Kaim of—what do you call it—in defiance of Edie Ochiltree?” “No more of that an thou lovest me—And yet, I dare say, ye may unwittingly speak most correct truth in both instances, in despite of the toga of the historian, and the blue gown of the mendicant.” “Gallantly counselled—Well, I will do my best—your kindness will assist me with local information.” “Will I not, man?—Why, I will write thee critical and historical notes on each canto, and draw out the plan of the story myself. I pretend to some poetical genius, Mr Lovel, only I was never able to write verses.” “It is a pity, sir, that you should have failed in a qualification some­ what essential to the art.” “Essential?—not a whit—it is the mere mechanical department—A man may be a poet without measuring spondees and dactyls like the ancients, or clashing the ends of lines into rhymes like the moderns, as one may be an architect though unable to labour as a stone-mason— dost think Palladio or Vitruvius ever carried a hod?” “In that case, there should be two authors to each poem; one to think and plan, another to execute.” “Why, it would not be amiss; at any rate, we’ll make the experiment —not that I would wish to give my name to the public—assistance from a learned friend might be acknowledged in the preface after what flourish your nature will—I am a total stranger to authorial vanity.” Lovel was much entertained by a disclamation not very consistent with the eagerness wherewith his friend seemed to catch at an oppor­ tunity of coming before the public, though in a manner which rather resembled stepping up behind a carriage than getting into one. The Antiquary was, indeed, uncommonly delighted; for, like many other men who spend their lives in obscure literary research, he had a secret

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ambition to appear in print, which was checked by cold fits of diffid­ ence, fear of criticism, and habits of indolence and procrastination. “But now,” thought he, “I may, like a second Teucer, discharge my shafts from behind the shield of my ally; and admit that he should not prove to be a first-rate poet, I am in no shape answerable for his deficiencies, and the good notes may very probably help off an indif­ ferent text.—But he is—he must be a good poet—he has the real Parnassian abstraction—seldom answers a question till it is twice repeated—drinks his tea scalding, and eats without knowing what he is putting into his mouth. This is the real æstus, the awen of the Welch bards, the divinus afflatus that transports the poet beyond the limits of sublunary things—His visions, too, are very symptomatical of poetic fury—I must recollect to send Caxon to see he puts out his candle to­ night—poets and visionaries are apt to be negligent in that respect.”— Then, turning to his companion, he expressed himself aloud in con­ tinuation. “Yes, my dear Lovel, you shall have full notes ; and, indeed, I think we may introduce the whole of the Essay on Castrametation into the appendix—it will give great value to the work. Then we will revive the good old forms so disgracefully neglected in modern times.—You shall invoke the Muse—and certainly she ought to be propitious to an author, who, in an apostatizing age, adheres with the faith of Abdiel to the ancient forms of adoration—Then we must have a vision—in which the genius of Caledonia shall appear to Galgacus, and shew him a procession of the real Scottish monarchs—And in the notes I will have a hit at Boethius—no; I must not touch that topic, now that Sir Arthur is like to have vexation enough besides—but I’ll annihilate Ossian, Macpherson, and Mac-Cribb.” “But we must consider the expence of publication,” said Lovel, willing to try whether this hint would fall like cold water on the blazing zeal of his self-elected coadjutor. “Expence !” said Mr Oldbuck, pausing, and mechanically fumbling in his pocket—“that is true—I would wish to do something—But you would not like to publish by subscription?” “By no means,” answered Lovel. “No ! no !” gladly acquiesced the Antiquary. “It is not respectable. —I’ll tell you what; I believe I know a bookseller who has a value for my opinion, and will risk print and paper, and I will get as many copies sold for you as I can.” “O, I am no mercenary author ; I only wish to be out of risk of loss.” “Hush! hush!—we’ll take care of that—throw it all on the pub­ lishers. I do long to see your labours commenced. You will chuse blank verse, doubtless?—it is more grand and magnificent for a his­

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torical subject; and, what concerneth you, my friend, it is, I have an idea, more easily written.” This conversation brought them to Monkbarns, where the Anti­ quary had to undergo a chiding from his sister, who, though no philo­ sopher, was waiting to deliver a lecture to him in the portico. “Guide us, Monkbarns, are things no dear aneugh already, but ye maun be raising the very fish on us, by giving that randy, Luckie Meiklebackit, just what she likes to ask?” “Why, Grizzel, I thought I made a very fair bargain.” “A fair bargain! when ye gied the limmer a full half o’ what she seekit!—An ye will be a wife-carle, and buy fish at your ain hands, ye suld niver bid mickle mair than a quarter—and the impudent quean had the assurance to come up and seek a dram—But I trow, Jenny and I sorted her!” “Truly,” said Oldbuck (with a sly look to his companion), “I think our estate was gracious that kept us out of hearing of that controversy. —Well, well, Grizzel, I was wrang for ance in my life—ultra crepidam —I fairly admit. But hang expences—care killed a cat—we’ll eat the fish, cost what it will. And then, Lovel, you must know I pressed you to stay here to-day, the rather because our cheer will be better than usual, yesterday having been a gaudé-day—I love the reversion of a feast better than the feast itself. I delight in the analecta, the collectanea, as I may call them, of the preceding day’s dinner, which appear on such occasions—And see, there is Jenny going to ring the dinnerbell.”

Chapter Fifteen “Be this letter delivered with haste—haste—post-haste!— Ride, villain, ride,—for thy life—for thy life—for thy life!” Ancient Indorsation ofLetters ofImportance

Leaving Mr Oldbuck and his friend to enjoy their hard bargain of fish, we beg leave to transport the reader to the back-parlour of the postmaster’s house at Fairport, where his wife, he himself being absent, was employed in assorting for delivery the letters which had come by the Edinburgh post. This is very often in country towns the period of the day when gossips find it particularly agreeable to call on the man or woman of letters, in order, from the outside of the epistles, and, if they are not belied, occasionally from the inside also, to amuse themselves with gleaning information, or forming conjectures about the correspondence and affairs of their neigh­ bours. Two females of this description were, at the time we mention,

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assisting, or impeding, Mrs Mailsetter in her official duty. “Preserve us, sirs,” said the butcher’s wife; “there’s ten, eleven— twal letters to Tennant & Coy.—thae folk do mair business than a’ the rest o’ the burgh.” “Aye; but see, lass,” answered the baker’s lady, “there’s twa o’ them faulded unco square, and sealed at the tae side—I doubt there will be protested bills in them.” “Is there ony letters come yet for Jenny Caxon?—the lieutenant’s been awa’ three weeks.” “Just ane, on Tuesday was a week.” “Was’t a ship-letter?” “In troth was’t.” “It wad be frae the lieutenant then—I never thought he wad hae lookit ower his shouther after her.” “Odd, here’s another,” quoth Mrs Mailsetter. “A ship-letter— post-mark, Sunderland.”—All rushed to seize it.—“Na, na, leddies,” said Mrs Mailsetter, “I hae had aneugh o’ that wark—Ken ye that Mr Mailsetter got an unco rebuke frae the secretary at Edinburgh, for a complaint that was made about the letter of Aily Bisset’s that you opened, Mrs Shortcake?” “Me opened!” answered the spouse of the chief baker of Fairport; “ye ken yoursel, madam, it just came open o’ free will in my hand— what could I help it?—folk suld seal wi’ better wax.” “Weel I wot that’s true, too,” said Mrs Mailsetter, who kept a shop of small wares, “and we have got some that I can honestly recommend, if ye ken ony body wanting it. But the short and the lang o’t is, that we’ll lose the place gin there’s ony mair complaints o’ the kind.” “Hout, lass; the provost will take care o’ that.” “Na, na; I’ll neither trust to provost nor baillie—but I wad aye be obliging and neighbourly, and I’m no again your looking at the outside of a letter neither—See, the seal has an anchor on’t—he’s done’t wi’ ane o’ his buttons I’m thinking.” “Shew me! shew me!” quoth the wives of the chief butcher and chief baker; and threw themselves on the supposed love-letter, like the weird sisters in Macbeth upon the pilot’s thumb, with curiosity as eager and scarce less malignant. Mrs Heukbane was a tall woman, she held the epistle up between her eyes and the window. Mrs Shortcake, a little squat personage, strained and stood a tiptoe to have her share of the investigation. “It’s frae him, sure aneugh—I can read Richard Taffril on the corner, and it’s written, like John Tamson’s wallet, frae end to end.” “Haud it lower down, madam,” exclaimed Mrs Shortcake, in a tone above the prudential whisper which their occupation required—

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“hand it lower down—Div ye think naebody can read hand o’ writ but yoursel?” “Whisht, whisht, sirs, for God’s sake!” said Mrs Mailsetter, “there’s somebody in the shop,”—then aloud—“Look to the cus­ tomers, Baby.” Baby answered from without in a shrill tone—“It’s naebody but Jenny Caxon, ma’am, to see if there’s ony letters for her.” “Tell her,” said the faithful postmistress, winking to her compeers, “to come back the morn at ten o’clock, and I’ll let her ken—we have na had time to sort the mail letters yet—she’s aye in sic a hurry, as if her letters were o’ mair consequence than the best merchants’ o’ the town.” Poor Jenny, a girl of uncommon beauty and modesty, could only draw her cloak about her to hide the sigh of disappointment, and return meekly home to endure for another night the sickness of the heart occasioned by hope delayed. “There’s something about a needle and a pole,” said Mrs Short­ cake, to whom her taller rival in gossiping had at length yielded a peep at the subject of their curiosity. “Now, that is downright shamefu’,” said Mrs Heukbane, “to scorn the poor silly gait of a lassie—after he’s keepit company wi’ her sae lang, and had his will o’ her, as I mak nae doubt he has.” “It’s but ower mickle to be doubted,” echoed Mrs Shortcake;—“to cast up to her that her father’s a barber, and has a pole at his door, and that she’s but a manty-maker hersel! Fy for shame!” “Hout, tout, leddies,” cried Mrs Mailsetter, “ye’re clean wrang— It’s a line out o’ ane o’ his sailor’s sangs that I have heard him sing, about being true like the needle to the pole.” “Weel, weel, I wish it may be sae—but it doesna look weel for a lassie like her to keep up a correspondensh wi’ ane o’ the king’s officers.” “I’m no denying that,” said Mrs Mailsetter; “but it’s a great advant­ age to the revenue of the post-office thae love letters—See, here’s five or six letters to Sir Arthur Wardour—maist o’ them sealed wi’ wafers and no wi’ wax—there will be a downcome there belive.” “Aye; they will be business letters, and no frae ony o’ his grand friends, that seals wi’ their coats of arms, as they ca’ them,” said Mrs Heukbane; “pride will hae a fa’—he hasna settled his account wi’ my gudeman, the deacon, for this twal-month—he’s but slink, I doubt.” “Nor wi’ huz for sax months,” echoed Mrs Shortcake—“He’s but a brunt crust.” “Here’s a letter,” interrupted the trusty postmistress, “frae his son, the captain, I’m thinking—the seal has the same things wi’ the

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Knockwinnock coach. He’ll be coming hame to see what he can save out o’ the fire.” The baronet thus dismissed, they took up the esquire—“Twa let­ ters for Monkbarns—they’re frae some o’ his learned friends now— See sae close as they’re written down to the very seal—and a’ to save sending a double letter—that’s just like Monkbarns himsel. When he gets a frank he fills it up exact to the weight of an unce, that a carvyseed would sink the scale—but he’s ne’er a grain abune it. Weel I wot I wad be broken if I were to gie sic weight to the folk that come to buy our pepper and brimstane and sweetmeats.” “He’s a shabby body the laird o’ Monkbarns,” said Mrs Heukbane, —“he’ll make as mickle about buying a fore quarter o’ lamb in August, as about a backsey o’ beef. Let’s taste anither drap o’ the sinning—(perhaps she meant cinnamon)—waters, Mrs Mailsetter, my dear—Ah! lassies, an’ ye had kend his brother as I did—mony a time he wad slip in to see me wi’ a brace o’ wild deukes in his pouch, when my first gudeman was awa’ at the Falkirk tryst—weel, weel— we’se no speak o’ that e’enow.” “I winna say ony ill o’ this Monkbarns,” said Mrs Shortcake; “his brother ne’er brought me ony wild deukes, and this is a douce honest man—we serve the family wi’ bread, and he settles wi’ huz ilka week —only he was in an unco kippage when we sent him a book instead o’ the nick-sticks, whilk, he said, were the true ancient way o’ counting between tradesman and customer, and sae they are, nae doubt.” “But look here, lassies,” interrupted Mrs Mailsetter, “here’s a sight for sair e’en!—What wad ye gie to ken what’s in the inside o’ this letter?—this is new com—I hae nae seen the like o’ this—For Wil­ liam Lovel, Esquire, at Mrs Hadoway’s, High-street, Fairport, by Edinburgh, N.B. This is just the second letter he has had since he was here.” “Lord’s sake, let’s see, lass! Lord’s sake, let’s see!—that’s him that the hale town kens naething about—and a weel-fa’ard lad he is—let’s see, let’s see.” Thus ejaculated the two worthy representatives of grandmother Eve. “Na, na, sirs,” exclaimed Mrs Mailsetter; “hand awa’—bide aff I tell ye—this is nane o’ your fourpenny cuts that we might make the value to the post-office amang ourselves if ony mischance befell it— the postage is five and twenty shillings—and here’s an order frae the Secretary to forward it to the young gentleman by express, if he’s no at hame. Na, na, sirs, this manna be roughly guided.” “But just let’s look at the outside o’t, woman.” Nothing could be gathered from the outside, except remarks on the various properties which philosophers ascribe to matter—length,

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breadth, depth, and weight. The packet was composed of strong thick paper, imperviable by the curious eyes of the gossips, though they stared as if they would burst from their sockets. The seal was a deep and strong impression of arms, which defied all tampering. “Odd, lass,” said Mrs Shortcake, weighing it in her hand, and wishing, doubtless, that the too, too solid wax would melt and dissolve itself, “I wad like to ken what’s in the inside o’ this, for that Lovel dings a’ that ever set foot on the plainstanes o’ Fairport for a queer callant— naebody kens what to mak o’ him.” “Weel, weel, leddies,” said the postmistress, “we’se sit down and crack about it—Baby, bring ben the tea-water—Mickle obliged to ye for your cookies, Mrs Shortcake—and than we’ll steek the shop, and cry ben Baby, and take a hand at the cartes till the gudeman comes hame—and than we’ll try your braw veal sweet-bread that ye were sae kind as send me, Mrs Heukbane.” “But winna ye first send awa’ Mr Lovel’s letter?” said Mrs Heuk­ bane. “Troth I kenna wha to send wi’t till the gudeman comes hame, for auld Caxon tauld me that Mr Lovel stays a’ the day at Monkbarns— he’s in a high fever wi’ powing the laird and Sir Arthur out o’ the sea.” “Silly auld doited carles,” said Mrs Shortcake; “what gar’d them gang a-douking in a night like yestreen?” “I was gi’en to understand it was auld Edie that saved them,” said Mrs Heukbane; “Edie Ochiltree, the Blue-gown, ye ken—and that he powed the hale three out of the auld fish pond, for Monkbams had threepit on them to gang in till’t to see the wark o’ the monks lang syne.” “Hout, lass, nonsense,” answered the postmistress; “I’ll tell ye a’ about it as Caxon tell’t it to me. Ye see, Sir Arthur and Miss Wardour, and Mr Lovel, suld hae dined at Monkbarns”–— “But, Mrs Mailsetter,” again interrupted Mrs Heukbane, “will ye no be for sending awa’ this letter be express?—there’s our poney and the callant hae gane expresses for the office or now, and the poney hasna gane abune thirty miles the day––Jock was sorting him up as I came ower bye.” “Why, Mrs Heukbane,” said the woman of letters, pursing up her mouth, “ye ken my gudeman likes to ride the expresses himsel—we maun gie our ain fish-guts to our ain sea-maws—it’s a red half-guinea to him every time he mounts his mare—and I dare say he’ll be in sune —or I dares to say, it’s the same thing whether the gentleman gets the express the night or early next morning.” “Only that Mr Lovel will be in toun before the express goes off,”

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said Mrs Heukbane, “and whare are ye than, lass?—but ye ken yere ain ways best.” “Weel, weel, Mrs Heukbane,” answered Mrs Mailsetter, a little out of humour, and even out of countenance, “I am sure I am never against being neighbour-like, and living, and letting live, as they say, and since I hae been sic a fule as to show you the post-office order— ou, nae doubt, it maun be obeyed—but I’ll no need your callant, mony thanks to ye—I’ll send little Davie on your poney, and that will be just five-and-threepence to ilka ane o’ us.” “Davie! Lord help ye, the bairn’s no ten year auld; and to be plain wi’ ye, our powney reists a bit, and it’s dooms sweer to the road, and naebody can manage him but our Jock.” “I’m sorry for that,” answered the postmistress gravely, “it’s like we maun wait then till the gudeman comes hame, after a’—for I wadna like to be responsible in trusting the letter to sic a callant as Jock—our Davie belangs in a manner to the office.” “A, weel weel, Mrs Mailsetter, I see what ye wad be at—but an ye like to risk the bairn, I’ll risk the beast.” Orders were accordingly given. The unwilling poney was brought out of his bed of straw, and again equipped for service—Davie (a leathern post-bag strapped across his shoulders) was perched upon the saddle, with a tear in his eye, and a switch in his hand. Jock goodnaturedly led the animal out of the town, and, by the cracking of his whip, and the hoop and hollow of his too well-known voice, compelled it to take the road towards Monkbarns. Meanwhile the gossips, like the sybils after consulting their leaves, arranged and combined the information of the evening, which flew next morning through an hundred channels, and in an hundred vari­ eties, through the world of Fairport. Many, strange, and inconsistent, were the rumours to which their communications and conjectures gave rise. Some said Tennant and Coy. were broken, and all their bills had come back protested—others that they had got a great contract from government, and letters from the principal merchants at Glas­ gow, desiring to have shares upon a premium. One report stated that Lieutenant Taffril had acknowledged a private marriage with Jenny Caxon—another that he had sent her a letter, upbraiding her with the lowness of her birth and education, and bidding her an eternal adieu. It was generally reported that Sir Arthur Wardour’s affairs had fallen into irretrievable confusion, and this rumour was only doubted by the wise, because the report was traced to Mrs Mailsetter’s shop, a source more famous for the circulation of news than for its accuracy. But all agreed that a packet from the Secretary of State’s office had arrived, directed for Mr Lovel, and had been forwarded by an orderly dra­

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goon, dispatched from the head-quarters at Edinburgh, who had galloped through Fairport without stopping, except just to enquire the way to Monkbarns. The reason of such an extraordinary mission to a very peaceful and retired individual, was variously explained. Some said Lovel was an emigrant noble, summoned to head an insurrection which had broken out in La Vendee—others that he was a spy— others that he was a general officer, who was visiting the coast pri­ vately—others that he was a prince of the blood, who was travelling incognito. Meanwhile the progress of the packet, which occasioned such speculation, towards its destined owner at Monkbarns, had been per­ ilous and interrupted. The bearer, Davie Mailsetter, as little resem­ bling a bold dragoon as could well be imagined, was carried onwards towards Monkbarns by the poney, so long as the animal had in its recollection the crack of its usual instrument of chastisement, and the shout of the butcher’s boy. But feeling how Davie, whose short legs were unequal to maintain his balance, swung to and fro upon his back, the poney began to disdain farther compliance with the intimations he had received. First, then, he slackened his pace to a walk. This was no point of quarrel between him and his rider, who had been consider­ ably discomposed by the rapidity of his former motion, and who now took the opportunity of his abated pace to gnaw a piece of gingerbread, which had been thrust into his hand by his mother, in order to recon­ cile this youthful emissary of the post-office to the discharge of his duty. Bye and bye the crafty poney availed himself of this surcease of discipline to twitch the rein out of Davie’s hands, and apply himself to brouze on the grass by the side of the lane. Sorely astounded by these symptoms of self-willed rebellion, and afraid alike to sit or to fall, poor Davie lifted up his voice and wept aloud. The poney, hearing this pudder over his head, began apparently to think it would be best both for himself and Davie to return from whence they came, and accord­ ingly commenced a retrograde movement towards Fairport. But, as all retreats are apt to end in utter rout, so the steed, alarmed by the boy’s cries, and by the flapping of the rein, which dangled about his forefeet —finding also his nose turned homeward, began to set off at a rate which, if Davie kept the saddle, (a matter extremely dubious) would soon have presented him at Heukbane’s stable door, when, at a turn of the road, an intervening auxiliary, in the shape of old Edie Ochiltree, caught hold of the rein, and stopped his farther proceeding. “Whae’s aught ye, callant? what na gate’s that to ride?” “I canna help it!—they ca’ me little Davie.” “And where are ye ganging?” “To Monkbarns.”

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“Stirra, this is no the road to Monkbarns.” But Davie could only answer the expostulation with sighs and tears. Old Edie was easily moved to compassion where childhood was in the case. “I wasna ganging that gate,” thought he, “but it’s the best o’ my way o’ life that I canna be weel out o’ my road. They’ll gie me quarters at Monkbarns readily aneugh, and I’ll e’en hirple awa’ there wi’ the wean, for it will knock its harns out, puir thing, if there’s nae somebody to guide the poney.—Sae ye hae a letter, hinney? will ye let me see’t?” “I’m no gaun to let naebody see the letter,” blubbered the boy, “till I gie’t to Mr Lovel, for I am a faithfu’ servant o’ the office—if it were na for the poney.” “Very right, my little man,” said Ochiltree, turning the reluctant poney’s head towards Monkbarns, “but we’ll guide him atween us, if he’s no a’ the sweerer.” Upon the very height of Kinprunes, to which Monkbarns had in­ vited Lovel after their dinner, the Antiquary, once more reconciled to the once-degraded spot, was expatiating upon the topics the scenery afforded for a description of Agricola’s camp at the dawn of morning, when his eye was caught by the appearance of the mendicant and his protegé. “What the devil!—here comes old Edie, bag and baggage, I think.” The beggar explained his errand, and Davie, who insisted upon a literal execution of his commission by going on to Monkbarns, was with difficulty prevailed upon to surrender the packet to its proper owner, although he met him a mile nearer than the place he had been directed to. “But my minnie said, I maun be sure to get twenty shil­ lings and five shillings for the postage, and ten shillings and sixpence for the express—there’s the paper.” “Let me see—let me see,” said Oldbuck, putting on his spectacles, and examining the crumpled copy of regulations to which Davie appealed. “Express, per man and horse, one day, not to exceed ten shillings and sixpence.—One day? why, it’s not an hour–—Man and horse?—why, ’tis a monkey on a starved cat!” “Father wad hae come himsel,” said Davie, “on the mickle red mare, an ye wad hae bidden till the morn’s night.” “Four-and-twenty hours after the regular date of delivery!—You little cockatrice egg, do you understand the art of imposition so early?” “Hout, Monkbarns, dinna set your wit against a bairn,” said the beggar; “mind the butcher risked his beast, and the wife her wean, and I am sure ten and saxpence is na ower mickle. Ye didna gang sae near wi’Johnnie Howie, when”–—

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Lovel, who, sitting on the supposed Prætorium, had glanced over the contents of the packet, now put an end to the altercation by paying Davie’s demand, and then turning to Mr Oldbuck, with a look of much agitation, he excused himself from returning with him to Monk­ barns that evening. “I must instantly go to Fairport, and perhaps leave it on a moment’s notice; your kindness, Mr Oldbuck, I never can forget.” “No bad news, I hope?” said the Antiquary. “Of a very chequered complexion,” answered his friend—“Fare­ well—in good or bad fortune I will not forget your regard.” “Nay, nay,—stop, stop a moment. If—if—(making an effort)—if there be any pecuniary inconvenience—I have fifty—or a hundred guineas, at your service—till—till Whitsunday—or indeed as long as you please.” “I am much obliged, Mr Oldbuck, but I am amply provided. Excuse me—I really cannot sustain further conversation at present. I will write, or see you, before I leave Fairport—that is, if I find myself obliged to go.” So saying, he shook the Antiquary’s hand warmly, turned from him, and walked rapidly towards the town, “staying no longer question.” “Very extraordinary indeed,” said Oldbuck; “but there’s something about this lad I can never fathom; and yet I cannot for my heart think ill of him neither. I must go home and lay off the fire in the Green Room, for none of my womankind will venture into it after twilight.” “And how am I to win hame?” blubbered the disconsolate express. “It’s a fine night,” said the Blue-gown, looking up to the skies; “I had as gude gang back to the town, and take care o’ the wean.” “Do so, do so, Edie;” and, rummaging for some time in his huge waistcoat pocket till he found the object of his search, the Antiquary added, “there’s saxpence to ye to buy snishing.” END OF VOLUME FIRST

THE ANTIQUARY VOLUME II

Chapter One “I am bewitched with the rogue’s company. If the rascal has not given me medicines to make me love him, I’ll be hang’d; it could not be else. I have drunk medicines.” First Part ofHenry IV

Regular for a fortnight were the enquiries of the Antiquary at the veteran Caxon, whether he had heard what Mr Lovel was about; and as regular were Caxon’s answers, “that the town could learn naething about him whatever, except that he had received anither mickle letter or twa frae the south, and that he was never seen on the plainstanes at a’.” “How does he live, Caxon?” “Ou, Mrs Hadoway just dresses him a beef-steak, or a mutton­ chop, or makes him some Friar’s chicken, or just what she likes hersel, and he eats it in her little red parlour off his bed-room. She canna get him to say that he likes ae thing better than anither; and she makes him tea in a morning, and he settles honourably wi’ her every week.” “But does he never stir abroad?” “He has clean gi’en up walking, and he sits a’ day in his room reading or writing; a hantle letters he has written, but he wadna put them into our post-house, though Mrs Hadoway offered to carry them hersel, but sent them a’ under ae cover to the sheriff, and it’s Mrs Mailsetter’s belief that the sheriff sent his groom to put them into the post-office at Tannonburgh; it’s my puir thought that he jaloused their looking into his letters at Fairport; and weel had he need, for my puir daughter Jenny”–— “Tut, don’t plague me with your womankind, Caxon. About this poor young lad—Does he write nothing but letters?” “Ou, aye—hale sheets o’ other things, Mrs Hadoway says. She 119

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wishes mickle he could be gotten to take a walk; she thinks he’s but looking very puirly, and his appetite’s clean gane; but he’ll no hear o’ ganging ower the door-stane—him that used to walk sae mickle too.” “That’s wrong; I have a guess what he’s busy about; but he must not work too hard neither. I’ll go and see him this very day—he’s deep, doubtless, in the Caledoniad.” Having formed this manful resolution, Mr Oldbuck equipped him­ self for the expedition with his thick walking-shoes and gold-headed cane, muttering the while the words of Falstaff, which we have chosen for the motto of this chapter; for the Antiquary was himself rather surprised at the degree of attachment which he could not but acknow­ ledge he entertained for this stranger. A walk to Fairport had become somewhat of an adventure with Mr Oldbuck, and one which he did not often care to undertake. He hated greetings in the market-place; and there were generally loiterers in the streets to persecute him either about the news of the day, or about some petty pieces of business. So upon this occasion, he had no sooner entered the streets of Fairport, than it was “Good-morrow, Mr Oldbuck—a sight o’ you’s gude for sair een—what d’ye think of the news in the Sun the day?—they say the great attempt will be made in a fortnight.” “I wish to the Lord it were made and over, that I might hear no more about it.” “Monkbarns, your honour, I hope the plants gied satisfaction? and if ye wanted ony flower roots fresh frae Holland, or (this in a lower key) an anker or twa o’ Cologne gin, ane o’ our brigs came in yest­ reen.” “Thank ye, thank ye,—no occasion at present, Mr Crabtree,” said the Antiquary, pushing resolutely onward. “Mr Oldbuck,” said the town-clerk, (a more important person, who came in front and ventured to stop the old gentleman,) “the provost understanding you were in town, begs on no account that you’ll quit it without seeing him; he wants to speak to ye about bring­ ing the water frae the Fairwell-spring through a part o’ your lands.” “What the deuce?—have they nobody’s land but mine to cut and carve on?—I won’t consent, tell them.” “And the provost,” said the clerk, going on, “and the council, wad be agreeable that you should hae the auld stanes at Donagild’s chapel, that ye was wussing to hae.” “Eh?—what?—Oho, that’s another story—Well, I’ll call on the provost, and we’ll talk about it.” “But ye maun speak your mind on’t forthwith, Monkbarns, if ye want the stanes; for Deacon Harlewalls thinks the carved through-

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stanes might be put with advantage on the front of the new council­ house—that is, the twa cross-legged figures that the callants used to ca’ Robin and Bobbin, ane on ilka door-cheek; and the other stane, that they ca’d Ailie Dailie, abune the door. It will be very tastefu’, the deacon says, and just in the style of modern Gothic.” “Lord deliver me from this Gothic generation!—A monument of a knight-templar on each side of a Grecian porch, and a Madonna on the top of it!—O crimini!—Well, tell the provost I wish to have the stones, and we’ll not differ about the water-course.—It’s lucky I hap­ pened to come this way to-day.” They parted mutually satisfied; but the wily clerk had most reason to exult in the dexterity he had displayed, since the whole proposal of an exchange between the monuments, (which the council had deter­ mined to remove as a nuisance, because they encroached three foot upon the public road,) and the privilege of conveying the water to the burgh through the estate of Monkbarns, was an idea which had ori­ ginated with himself upon the pressure of the moment. Through these various entanglements, Monkbarns (to use the phrase by which he was distinguished in the country) made his way at length to Mrs Hadoway’s. This good woman was the widow of a late clergyman at Fairport, who had been reduced, by her husband’s untimely death, to that state of straitened and embarrassed circum­ stances in which the widows of the Scottish clergy are too often found. The tenement which she occupied, and the furniture of which she was possessed, gave her the means of letting a part of her house, and as Lovel had been a quiet, regular, and profitable lodger, and had quali­ fied the necessary intercourse which they had together with a great deal of gentleness and courtesy, Mrs Hadoway, not, perhaps, much used to such kindly treatment, had become greatly attached to her lodger, and was profuse in every sort of personal attention which circumstances permitted her to render him. To cook a dish somewhat better than ordinary for “the poor young gentleman’s dinner;” to exert her interest with those who remembered her husband, or loved her for her own sake and his, in order to procure scarce vegetables, or something which her simplicity supposed might tempt her lodger’s appetite, was a labour in which she delighted, although she anxiously concealed it from the person who was its object. She did not adopt this secrecy of benevolence to avoid the laugh of those who might suppose that an oval face and dark eyes, with a clear brown complexion, though belonging to a woman of five-and-forty, and enclosed within a widow’s close-drawn pinners, might possibly still aim at making conquests; for, to say truth, such a ridiculous suspicion never having entered into her own head, she could not anticipate its having birth in

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that of any one else. But she concealed her attentions solely out of delicacy to her guest, whose power of repaying them she doubted as much as she believed in his inclination to do so, and in his feeling extreme pain at leaving any of her civilities unrequited. She now opened the door to Mr Oldbuck, and her surprise at seeing him brought tears into her eyes, which she could hardly restrain. “I am glad to see you, sir—I am very glad to see you. My poor young gentleman is, I am afraid, very unwell; and O, Mr Oldbuck, he’ll see neither doctor, nor minister, nor writer! And think what it would be, if, as my poor Mr Hadoway used to say, a man was to die without advice of the three learned faculties.” “Much better than with them,” grumbled the cynical Antiquary. “I tell you, Mrs Hadoway, the clergy live by our sins, the medical faculty by our diseases, and the law gentry by our misfortunes.” “O fie, Monkbarns, to hear the like o’ that frae you!—But ye’ll walk up and see the poor young lad?—hegh, sirs, sae young and weelfavoured—and day by day he has eat less and less, and now he hardly touches ony thing, only just pits a bit on the plate to make fashion, and his poor cheek has turned every day thinner and paler, sae that he now really looks as auld as me, that might be his mother—no that I might be just that neither, but something very near it.” “Why does he not take some exercise?” said Oldbuck. “I think we have persuaded him to do that, for he has bought a horse from Gibbie Golightly, the galloping groom. A gude judge o’ horse­ flesh, Gibbie tauld our lass, that he was—for he offered him a beast he thought wad answer him weel aneugh, as he was a bookish man, but Mr Lovel wadna look at it, and bought ane might serve the Master o’ Morphie—they keep it at the Græme’s Arms, ower the street—and he rode out yesterday morning and this morning before breakfast— But winna ye walk up to his room?” “Presently, presently,—but has he no visitors?” “O dear, Mr Oldbuck, not ane; if he wadna receive them when he was weel and sprightly, what chance is there of ony body in Fairport looking in upon him now?” “Aye, aye, very true—I should have been surprised had it been otherwise—Come shew me up stairs, Mrs Hadoway, lest I make a blunder, and go where I should not.” The good landlady shewed her narrow staircase to Mr Oldbuck, warning him of every turn, and lamenting all the while that he was laid under the necessity of mounting up so high. At length, she gently tapped at the door of her guest’s parlour. “Come in,” said Lovel; and Mrs Hadoway ushered in the Laird of Monkbarns. The little parlour was neat and clean, and decently furnished—

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ornamented too by such reliques of her youthful arts of seamstress­ ship as Mrs Hadoway had retained; but it was close, overheated, and, as it appeared to Oldbuck, an unwholesome situation for a young person in delicate health, an observation which ripened his resolution touching a project that had already occurred to him in Lovel’s behalf. With a writing table before him, on which lay a quantity of books and papers, Lovel was seated on a couch, in his night-gown and slippers. Oldbuck was shocked at the change which had taken place in his personal appearance. His cheek and brow had assumed a ghastly white, except where a round bright spot of hectic red formed a strong and painful contrast, totally different from the general cast of hale and hardy complexion which had formerly overspread and somewhat embrowned his countenance. Oldbuck observed, that the dress he wore belonged to a deep mourning suit, and a coat of the same colour hung on a chair near to him. As the Antiquary entered, Lovel arose and came forwards to welcome him. “This is very kind,” said he, shaking him by the hand, and thanking him warmly for his visit; “this is very kind, and has anticipated a visit with which I intended to trouble you—you must know I have become a horseman lately.” “I understand so much from Mrs Hadoway—I only hope, my good young friend, you have been fortunate in a quiet horse—I myself inadvertently bought one from the said Gibbie Golightly, which brute ran two miles on end with me after a pack of hounds, with which I had no more to do than the last year’s snow, and after affording infinite amusement, I suppose, to the whole hunting field, he was so good as deposit me in a dry ditch—I hope yours is a more peaceful beast?” “I hope at least we shall make our excursions on a better plan of mutual understanding.” “That is to say, you think yourself a good horseman.” “I would not willingly confess myself a very bad one.” “No; all you young fellows think that would be equal to calling yourselves tailors at once—But, have you had experience? for, crede experto, a horse in a passion is no joke.” “Why, I should be sorry to boast myself as a great horseman, but when I acted as aid-de-camp to Sir–— –—in the cavalry-action at –—, last year, I saw many better cavaliers than myself dismounted.” “Ah! you have looked in the face of the griesly God of arms than— You are acquainted with the frowns of Mars armipotent—That experience fills up the measure of your qualifications for the epopea. The Britains, however, you will remember, fought in chariots—covi­ narii is the phrase of Tacitus—you recollect the fine description of their dashing among the Roman infantry—although the historian tells

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us how ill the rugged face of the ground was calculated for equestrian combat—and truly, upon the whole, what sort of chariots could be driven in Scotland any where but upon turnpike roads, has been to me always matter of amazement. And well now—Has the Muse visited you?—Have you got anything to shew me?” “My time,” said Lovel, with a glance at his black dress, “has been less pleasantly employed.” “The death of a friend?” “Yes, Mr Oldbuck; of almost the only friend I could ever boast of possessing.” “Indeed? well, young man, be comforted—to have lost a friend by death while your mutual regard was warm and unchilled, while the tear can drop unembittered by any painful recollection of coldness or distrust or treachery, is perhaps an escape from a more heavy dis­ pensation. Look round you—how few do you see grow old in the affections of those with whom their early friendships were formed!— our sources of common pleasure gradually dry up as we journey on through the vale of Bacha, and we hew out to ourselves other reser­ voirs from which the first companions of our pilgrimage are excluded —jealousies, rivalries, envy, intervene to separate others from our side, until none remain but those who are connected with us, rather by habit than predilection, or who, allied more in blood than in disposi­ tion, keep the old man company in his life, that they may not be forgotten at his death— Hæc data pœna diu viventibus—

Ah! Mr Lovel, if it be your lot to reach the chill, cloudy, and comfort­ less evening of life, you will remember the sorrows ofyour youth as the light shadowy clouds that intercepted for a moment the beams of the sun when it was rising.—But I cram these words into your ear against the stomach of your sense.” “I am sensible of your kindness,” answered the youth, “but the wound that is of recent infliction must always smart severely, and I should be little comforted under my present affliction—forgive me for saying so—by the conviction that life had nothing in reserve for me but a train of successive sorrows. And permit me to add, you, Mr Old­ buck, have least reason of many men to take so gloomy a view of life— you have a competent and easy fortune—are generally respected —may, in your own phrase, vacare musis, indulge yourself in the researches to which your taste addicts you—you may form your own society without doors, and within you have the affectionate and sedu­ lous attention of the nearest relatives.” “Why, yes; the womankind—for womankind—are, thanks to my

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training, very civil and tractable—do not disturb me in my morning studies—creep across the floor with the stealthy pace of a cat, when it suits me to take a nap in my easy chair after dinner or tea. All this is very well—but I want something to exchange ideas with—something to talk to.” “Then why do you not invite your nephew, Captain MacIntyre, who is mentioned by every one as a fine spirited young fellow, to become a member of your family?” “Who? my nephew Hector?—the Hotspur of the North?—Why, Heaven love you, I would as soon invite a firebrand into my stackyard —he’s an Almanzor, a Chamont—has a Highland pedigree as long as his claymore, and a claymore as long as the High-street of Fairport, which he unsheathed upon the surgeon the last time he was at Fair­ port—I expect him here one of these days, but I will keep him at staff’s end, I promise you—He an inmate of my house! to make my very chairs and tables tremble at his brawls—no, no, I’ll none of Hector MacIntyre. But hark ye, Lovel, you are a quiet, gentle-tempered lad, had you not better set up your staff at Monkbarns for a month or two, since I conclude you do not immediately intend to leave this country? —I will have a door opened out to the garden—it will cost but a trifle —there is the space for an old one which was condemned long ago— by which said door you may pass and repass into the Green Chamber at pleasure, so you will not interfere with the old man, nor he with you. As for your fare, Mrs Hadoway tells me you are, as she terms it, very moderate of your mouth, so you will not quarrel with my humble table. Your washing”–— “Hold, my dear Mr Oldbuck,” interposed Lovel, unable to sup­ press a smile; “and before your hospitality settles all my accommoda­ tions, let me thank you most sincerely for so kind an offer—it is not at present in my power to accept of it; but very likely before I bid adieu to Scotland, I’ll find an opportunity to pay you a visit of some length.” Mr Oldbuck’s countenance fell. “Why, I thought I had hit on the very arrangement that would suit us both, and who knows what might happen in the long run, and whether we might ever part?—Why, I am master of my acres, man—there is the advantage of being descended from a man of more sense than pride—they cannot oblige me to transmit my goods, chattels, and heritages, any way but as I please. No string of substitute heirs of entail, as empty and unsubstantial as the morsels ofpaper strung to the train of a boy’s kite, to cumber my flights of inclination, and my humours of predilection.—Well—I see you won’t be tempted at present—But Caledonia goes on, I hope?” “O, certainly!” said Lovel, “I cannot think of relinquishing a plan so hopeful.”

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“It is indeed,” said the Antiquary, looking gravely upward; for, though shrewd and acute enough in estimating the vanity of plans formed by others, he had a very natural, though rather dispropor­ tioned, good opinion of the importance of those which originated with himself—“It is indeed one of those undertakings which, if achieved with spirit equal to that which dictates its conception, may redeem from the charge of frivolity the literature of the present generation.” Here he was interrupted by a knock at the room-door, which intro­ duced a letter for Mr Lovel. The servant waited, Mrs Hadoway said, for an answer. “You are concerned in this matter, Mr Oldbuck,” said Lovel, after glancing over the billet; and handed it to the Antiquary as he spoke. It was a letter from Sir Arthur Wardour, couched in extremely civil language, regretting that a fit of the gout had prevented his hitherto showing Mr Lovel the attentions to which his conduct during a late perilous occasion had so well entitled him—apologizing for not paying his respects in person, but hoping Mr Lovel would dispense with that ceremony, and be a member of a small party which proposed to visit the ruins of St Ruth’s priory on the following day, and afterwards to dine and spend the evening at Knockwinnock castle. Sir Arthur con­ cluded with saying, that he had sent to request the Monkbarns family to join the party of pleasure which he thus proposed. The place of rendezvous was fixed at a turnpike-gate, which was about an equal distance from all the points from which the company were to assemble. “What shall we do?” said Lovel, looking at the Antiquary, but pretty certain of the part he would take. “Go, man—we’ll go, by all means. Let me see—it will cost a postchaise though, which will hold you and me, and Mary MacIntyre, very well, and the other womankind may go to the manse, and you can come out in the chaise to Monkbarns, as I will take it for the day.” “Why, I rather think I had better ride.” “True, true, I forgot your Bucephalus. You are a foolish lad, by the bye; you should stick to eighteenpence a side, if you will trust any creature’s legs in preference to your own.” “Why, as horse’s have the advantage of moving considerably faster, and are, besides, two pair to one, I own I incline”–— “Enough said—enough said—do as you please. Well, then, I’ll bring either Grizzel or the minister, for I love to have my full penny­ worth out of post-horses—and we meet at Tirlingen turnpike on Friday, at twelve o’clock precisely.”—And with this agreement the friends separated.

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Chapter Two “Of seats” they tell, “where priests, ’mid tapers dim, Breathed the warm prayer or tuned the midnight hymn; To scenes like these the fainting soul retired, Revenge and Anger in these cells expired; By Pity soothed, Remorse lost half her fears, And soften’d Pride dropp’d penitential tears.” Crabbe’s Borough

The morning of Friday was as serene and beautiful as if no pleas­ ure party had been intended; and that is a rare event, whether in novel-writing or real life. Lovel, who felt the genial influence of the weather, and rejoiced at the prospect of once more meeting with Miss Wardour, trotted forward to the place of rendezvous with better spirits than he had for some time enjoyed. His prospects seemed in many respects to open and brighten before him, and Hope, although break­ ing like the morning sun through clouds and showers, appeared now about to illuminate the path before him. He was, as might have been expected from this state of spirits, first at the place of meeting, and, as might also have been anticipated, his looks were so intently directed towards the road from Knockwinnock castle, that he was only apprized of the arrival of the Monkbarns division by the gee-hupping of the postillion, as the post-chaise lumbered up behind him. In this vehicle were pent up, first, the portly figure of Mr Oldbuck himself; secondly, the scarce less portly person of the reverend Mr Blatter­ gowl, minister of Trotcosey, the parish in which Monkbarns and Knockwinnock were both situated. The reverend gentleman was equipped in a buzz wig, upon the top of which was an equilateral cocked hat. This was the paragon of the three yet remaining wigs of the parish, which differed, as Monkbarns used to remark, like the three degrees of comparison—Sir Arthur’s ramilies being the posit­ ive, his own bob-wig the comparative, and the overwhelming grizzle of the worthy clergyman figuring as the superlative. The superintendant of these antique garnitures, deeming, or affecting to deem, that he could not well be absent on an occasion which assembled all three together, had seated himself on the board behind the carriage, “just to be in the way in case they wanted a touch before the gentlemen sate down to dinner.” Between the two stately figures of Monkbarns and the clergyman was stuck, by way of bodkin, the slim form of Mary MacIntyre, her aunt having preferred a visit to the manse, and a social chat with Miss Beckie Blattergowl, to investigating the ruins of the priory of Saint Ruth.

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As greetings passed between the members of the Monkbarns party and Mr Lovel, the baronet’s carriage, an open barouche, swept onward to the place of appointment, making, with its smoking bays, smart drivers, arms, blazoned pannels, and a brace of out-riders, a strong contrast with the battered vehicle and broken-winded hacks which had brought thither the Antiquary and his followers. The prin­ cipal seat of the carriage was occupied by Sir Arthur and his daughter. At the first glance which passed betwixt Miss Wardour and Lovel, her colour rose considerably; but she had apparently made up her mind to receive him as a friend, and only as such, and there was equal compos­ ure and courtesy in the mode of her reply to his fluttered salutation. Sir Arthur halted the barouche to shake his preserver kindly by the hand, and intimate the pleasure he had on this opportunity of return­ ing him his personal thanks; then mentioned to him, in a tone of slight introduction, “Mr Dousterswivel, Mr Lovel.” Lovel took the necessary notice of the German adept, who occu­ pied the front seat of the carriage, which is usually conferred upon dependants or inferiors. The ready grin and supple inclination with which his salutation, though slight, was answered by the foreigner, increased the internal dislike which Lovel had already conceived towards him; and it was plain, from the lower of the Antiquary’s shaggy eye-brow, that he too looked with displeasure on this addition to the company. Little more than distant greeting passed among the members of the party, until, having rolled on for about three miles beyond the place at which they met, the carriages at length stopped at the sign of the Four Horse-shoes, a small hedge inn, where Caxon humbly opened the door, and let down the step of the hack-chaise, while the inmates of the barouche were, by their more courtly attend­ ants, assisted to leave their equipage. Here renewed greetings passed; the young ladies shook hands; and Oldbuck, completely in his element, placed himself as guide and Cicerone at the head of the party, who were now to advance upon foot towards the object of their curiosity. He took care to detain Lovel close beside him as the best listener of the party, and occasionally glanced a word of explanation and instruction to Miss Wardour and Mary MacIntyre, who followed next in order. The baronet and the clergyman he rather avoided, as he was aware that both of them conceived they understood such matters as well, or better, than he did; and Dousterswivel, besides that he looked on him as a charlatan, was so nearly connected with his apprehended loss in the stock of the mining company, that he could not abide the sight of him. These two latter satellites, therefore, attended upon the orb of Sir Arthur, to whom, moreover, as the most important person of the society, they

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were naturally induced to attach themselves. It frequently happens that the most beautiful points of Scottish scenery lie hidden in some sequestered dell, and that you may travel through the country in every direction without being aware of your vicinity to what is well worth seeing, unless intention or accident carry you to the very spot. This is particularly the case in the country around Fairport, which is, generally speaking, open, uninclosed, and bare. But here and there the progress of rills, or small rivers, has formed dells, glens, or, as they are provincially termed, dens, on whose high and rocky banks trees and shrubs of all kinds find a shelter, and grow with a luxuriant profusion, which is more gratify­ ing, as it forms an unexpected contrast with the general face of the country. This was eminently the case with the approach to the ruins of Saint Ruth, which for some time was merely a sheep-track, along the side of a steep and bare hill. By degrees, however, as this path descended, and winded round the hill side, trees began to appear, at first singly, stunted and blighted, with locks of wool upon their trunks, and their roots hollowed out into recesses, in which the sheep love to repose themselves,—a sight much more gratifying to the eye of an admirer of the picturesque than to that of a planter or forester. By and by the trees formed groups, fringed on the edges, and filled up in the middle, by thorns and hazel bushes; and at length these groups closed so much together, that, although a broad glade opened here and there under their boughs, or a small patch of bog or heath occurred which had refused nourishment to the seed which they sprinkled round, and consequently remained open and waste, the scene might on the whole be termed decidedly woodland. The sides of the valley began to approach each other more closely; the rush of a brook was heard below, and, between the intervals afforded by openings in the natural wood, its waters were seen hurl­ ing clear and rapid under their sylvan canopy. Oldbuck now took upon himself the full authority of Ciceroné, and anxiously directed the company not to go a foot’s-breadth off the track which he pointed out to them, if they wished to enjoy in full perfection what they came to see. “You are happy in me for a guide, Miss Wardour,” exclaimed the veteran, waving his hand and head in cadence as he repeated with emphasis, “I know each lane, and every alley green, Dingle, or bushy dell, of this wild wood, And every bosky bower from side to side.

—Ah! deuce take it!—the spray of that bramble has demolished all Caxon’s labours, and nearly canted my wig into the stream—so much for recitations hors de propos.”

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“Never mind, my dear sir,” said Miss Wardour, “you have your faithful attendant ready to repair such a disaster when it happens, and when you appear with it as restored to its original splendour, I will carry on the quotation: So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new spangled ore Flames on the forehead”–—

“O enough, enough!” answered Oldbuck, “I ought to have known what it was to give you advantage over me—But here is what will stop your career of satire, for you are an admirer of nature I know.” In fact, when they had followed him through a breach in a low, ancient, and ruinous wall, they came suddenly upon a scene equally unexpected and interesting. They stood pretty high upon the side of the glen, which had sud­ denly opened into a sort of amphitheatre to give room for a pure and profound lake of a few acres extent, and a space of level ground around it. The banks then arose every where steeply, and in some places were varied by rocks—in others covered with the copse which run up, feathering their sides lightly and irregularly, and breaking the uniformity of the green pasture-ground. Beneath, the lake discharged itself into the huddling and tumultuous brook, which had been their companion since they had entered the glen. At the point at which it issued from “its parent lake,” stood the ruins which they had come to visit. They were not of great extent; but the singular beauty, as well as wild and sequestered character of the spot in which they were situ­ ated, gave them an interest and importance superior to that which attaches itself to architectural remains of greater consequence, but placed near to ordinary houses, and possessing less romantic accom­ paniments. The eastern window of the church remained entire, with all its ornaments and tracery work, and the sides upheld by light flying buttresses, whose airy support, detached from the wall against which they were placed, and ornamented with pinnacles and carved work, gave a variety and lightness to the building. The roof and western end of the church were completely ruinous, but the latter appeared to have made one side of a square, of which the ruins of the conventual buildings formed other two, and the gardens a fourth. The side of these buildings which overhung the brook, was partly founded on a steep and precipitous rock; for the place had been occasionally turned to military purposes, and had been taken with great slaughter during Montrose’s wars. The ground formerly occupied by the garden was still marked by a few orchard trees. At a greater distance from the buildings were detached oaks and elms and chestnuts, growing singly,

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which had attained great size. The rest of the space between the ruins and the hill was a close cropt sward, which the daily pasture of the sheep kept in much finer order than if it had been subjected to the scythe and broom. The whole scene had a repose, which was still and affecting without being monotonous. The dark, deep bason, in which the clear blue lake reposed, reflecting the water-lilies which grew on its surface, and the trees which here and there threw their arms from the banks, was finely contrasted with the haste and tumult of the brook which broke away from the outlet, as if escaping from confinement, and hurried down the glen, wheeling around the base of the rock on which the ruins were situated, and brawling in foam and fury with every shelve and stone which obstructed its passage. A similar contrast was seen between the level green meadow, in which the ruins were situated, and the large timber trees which were scattered over it, compared with the precipitous banks which arose at a short distance around, partly fringed with light and feathery underwood, partly rising in steeps clothed with purple heath, and partly more abruptly elevated into fronts of grey rock, chequered with lichen, and with those hardy plants which find root even in the most arid crevices of the crags. “There was the retreat of learning in the days of darkness, Mr Lovel,” said Oldbuck, around whom the company had now grouped themselves while they admired the unexpected opening of a prospect so romantic ; “there reposed the sages who were aweary of the world, and devoted either to that which was to come, or to the service of the generations who should follow them in this. I will shew you presently the library—see that stretch of wall with square-shafted windows— there it existed, stored, as an old manuscript in my possession assures me, with five thousand volumes—And here I might well take up the lamentation of the learned Leland, who, regretting the downfal of the conventual libraries, exclaims, like Rachael weeping for her children, that if the papal laws, decrees, decretals, clementines, and other such drugs of the devil, yea, if Heytesbury’s sophisms, Porphyry’s univer­ sals, Aristotle’s logic, and Dunse’s divinity, with such other lousy legerdemains, (begging your pardon, Miss Wardour,) and fruits of the bottomless pit, had leapt out of our libraries, for the accommoda­ tion of grocers, candle-makers, soap-sellers, and other worldly occupiers, we might have been therewith contented. But to put our ancient chronicles, our noble histories, our learned commentaries, and national muniments, to such offices of contempt and subjection, has greatly degraded our nation, and shewed ourselves dishonoured in the eyes of posterity to the utmost stretch of time—O negligence, most unfriendly to our land!” “And, OJohn Knox,” said the baronet, “through whose influence,

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and under whose auspices, the patriotic task was accomplished!” The Antiquary, somewhat in the situation of a woodcock caught in his own springe, turned short round and coughed, to excuse a slight blush as he mustered his answer—“As to the apostle of Scottish Reformation”–— But Miss Wardour broke in to interrupt a conversation so danger­ ous. “Pray, who was the author you quoted, Mr Oldbuck?” “The learned Leland, Miss Wardour, who lost his senses on wit­ nessing the destruction of the conventual libraries in England.” “Now I think his misfortune may have saved the rationality of some modern antiquaries, which would certainly have been drowned if so vast a lake of learning had not been diminished by draining.” “Well, thank Heaven, there is no danger now—they have hardly left us a spoonful to perform the dire feat.” So saying, he led the way down the bank, by a steep but secure path, which soon placed them on the verdant meadow where the ruins stood. “There they lived,” continued the Antiquary, “with nought to do but to spend their time in investigating points of remote antiquity, transcribing manuscripts, and composing new works for the informa­ tion of posterity.” “And,” added the baronet, “in exercising the rites of devotion with a pomp and ceremonial worthy of the office of the priesthood.” “And if Sir Arthur’s excellence will permit,” said the German, with a low bow, “the monksh might alsho make de vary curious experiment in deir laboraties, both in chemistry and magia naturalis.” “I think,” said the clergyman, “they would have enough to do in collecting the tiends, parsonage and vicarage ofthree good parishes.” “And all,” added Miss Wardour, nodding to the Antiquary, “without interruption from womankind.” “True, my fair foe,” said Oldbuck, “this was a paradise where no Eve was admitted, and we may wonder the rather how the good fathers came to lose it.” With such criticisms on the occupations of those by whom the ruins had been formerly possessed, they wandered for some time from one moss-grown shrine to another, under the guidance of Oldbuck, who explained, with much plausibility, the ground-plan of the edifice, and read and expounded to the company the various mouldering inscrip­ tions which yet were to be traced upon the tombs of the dead, or under the vacant niches of the sainted images. “What is the reason,” at length Miss Wardour asked the Antiquary, “why tradition has pre­ served to us such meagre accounts of the inmates of these stately edifices, raised with such expence of labour and taste, and whose owners were in their time personages of such power and awful

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importance? The meanest tower of a freebooting baron, or squire, who lived by his lance and broad-sword, is consecrated by its appro­ priate legend, and the shepherd will tell you with accuracy the names and feats of its inhabitants. But ask a countryman concerning these beautiful and extensive remains—these towers, and arches, and but­ tresses, and shafted windows, raised at such cost, three words fill up his answer—‘they were made by the monks lang syne.’ ” The question was something puzzling—Sir Arthur looked upward as if hoping to be inspired with an answer—Oldbuck shoved back his wig—the clergyman was of opinion that his parishioners were too deeply impressed with the true presbyterian doctrine to preserve any records concerning the papistical cumberers of the land, offshoots as they were of the great overshadowing tree of iniquity, whose roots are in the bowels of the seven hills of abomination. Lovel thought the question was best resolved by looking at the events which leave the deepest impression on the mind of the common people—“These,” he contended, “were not such as resemble the gradual progress of a fertilizing river, but the headlong and precipitous fury of some por­ tentous flood. The eras, by which the vulgar compute time, have always reference to some period of fear and tribulation, and they date by a tempest, an earthquake, or burst of civil commotion. When such are the facts most alive in the memory of the common people, we cannot wonder,” he concluded, “that the ferocious warrior is remem­ bered, and the peaceful abbots are abandoned to forgetfulness and oblivion.” “Ifyou pleashe, gentlemans and ladies, and ashking pardonsh of Sir Arthur and Miss Wardour, and this worthy clergymansh, and my goot friend Mr Oldenbuck, who is my countrymansh, and of goot young Mr Lofel also, I think it is all owing to de hand of glory.” “The hand of what?” exclaimed Oldbuck. “De hand of glory, my goot Master Oldenbuck, which is a vara great and terrible secrets—which de monksh used to conceal their treas­ ures when they were triven from their cloisters by what you call de Reform.” “Aye, indeed! tell us about that,” said Oldbuck, “for these are secrets worth knowing.” “Why, my goot Master Oldenbuck, you will only laugh at me—But de hand of glory is vara well known in de countries where your worthy progenitors did live—and it is hand cut off from a dead man, as has been hanged for murther, and dried very nice in de shmoke of juniper wood, and if you put a little of what you call yew width your juniper, it will not be any better—that is, it will not be no worse—then you do take some of de fatsh of de bear, and of de badger, and of de great

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eber, as you call de grand boar, and of de little sucking child as has not been christened (for dat is very essentials), and you do make a candle, and put it into de hand of glory at de proper hour and minute, and with de proper ceremoniesh, and he who seeksh for treasuresh shall never find none at all.” “I dare take my corporal oath of that conclusion,” said the Anti­ quary. “And was it the custom, Mr Dousterswivel, in Westphalia, to make use of this elegant candelabrum?” “Alwaysh, Mr Oldenbuck, when you did not want nobody to talk nothing of you wash doing about—And de monksh alwaysh did this when they did hide their church plates, and their great chalices, and de rings, wid vara preshious shtones and jewels.” “But, notwithstanding, you knights of the Rosy Cross have means, no doubt, of breaking the spell, and discovering what the poor monks have put themselves to so much trouble to conceal?” “Ah! goot Mr Oldenbuck,” replied the adept, shaking his head mysteriously, “you was vara hard to believe, but if you had seen de great huge pieces of de plate so massive, Sir Arthur—so fine fashion, Miss Wardour—and de silver cross dat we did find (dat was Schrœp­ fer and my ownself) for de Herr Freygraff, as you call de Baron von Blunderhaus, I do believe you would have believed then.” “Seeing is believing indeed—But what was your art—what was your mystery, Mr Dousterswivel?” “Aha, Mr Oldenbuck, dat is my little secret, mine goot sir—you sall forgife me that I not tell that—But I will tell you dere are various ways —yes, indeed, dere is de dream dat you dream tree times, dat is a vara goot way.” “I am glad of that,” said Oldbuck; “I have a friend (with a side­ glance to Lovel) who is peculiarly favoured by the visits of Queen Mab.” “Den dere is de sympathies, and de antipathies, and de strange properties and virtues natural of divers herb, and of de little divining rod.” “I would gladly rather see some of these wonders than hear of them,” said Miss Wardour. “Ah, but, my much-honoured young lady, this is not de time or de way to do de great wonder of finding all de church’s plate and treas­ ure ; but to oblige you, and Sir Arthur my patron, and de reverend clergymans, and goot Mr Oldenbuck, and young Mr Lofel, who is very goot young gentleman too, I will show you dat it is possible, a vara possible, to discover de spring of water, and de little fountain hidden in de ground, without any mattock, or spade, or dig at all.” “Umph!” quoth the Antiquary, “I have heard of that conundrum.

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That will be no very productive art in our country—you should carry that property to Spain or Portugal, and turn it to good account.” “ Ach, my goot Mr Oldenbuck, dere is de Inquisition, and de Autoda-fe—they would burn poor me, who am but a simple philosopher, for one great conjuror.” “They would cast away their coals then,” said Oldbuck; “but,” continued he, in a whisper to Lovel, “were they to pillory him for one of the most impudent rascals that ever wagged a tongue, they would square the punishment more accurately with his deserts. But let us see —I think he is about to show us some of his legerdemain.” In truth, the German was now got to a little copse at some distance from the ruins, where he affected busily to search for such a wand as should suit the purpose of his mystery; and after cutting, and examin­ ing, and rejecting several, he at length provided himself with a small twig of hazel terminating in a forked end, which he pronounced to possess the virtue proper for the experiment that he was about to exhibit. Holding the forked ends of the wand each between a finger and thumb, and thus keeping the rod upright, he proceeded to pace the ruined aisles and cloisters, followed by the rest of the company in admiring procession. “I believe dere was no waters here,” said the adept, when he had made the round of several of the buildings, with­ out perceiving any of those indications which he pretended to expect —“I believe those Scotch monksh did find de water too cold for de climate, and alwaysh drank de goot comfortable Rhine wine—but, aha!—see there.”—Accordingly, the assistants observed the rod to turn in his fingers, although he pretended to hold it very tight.— “Dere is waters here about sure enough,”—and, turning this way and that way as the agitation of the divining rod seemed to increase or diminish, he at length advanced into the midst of a vacant and roofless inclosure, which had been the kitchen of the priory, when the rod twisted itself so as to point almost straight downwards. “Here is de place,” said the adept, “and if you do not find de water here, I will give you all leave to call me one impudent knave.” “I shall take that licence,” whispered the Antiquary to Lovel, “whether the water is discovered or no.” A servant, who had come up with a basket of cold refreshments, was now dispatched to a neighbouring forester’s hut for a mattock and pick-axe. The loose stones and rubbish being removed from the spot indicated by the German, they soon came to the sides of a regularly built well; and, when a few feet of rubbish were cleared out by the assistance of the forester and his sons, the water began to rise rapidly, to the delight of the philosopher, the astonishment of the ladies, Mr Blattergowl, and Sir Arthur, the surprise of Lovel, and the confusion

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of the incredulous Antiquary. He did not fail, however, to enter his protest in Lovel’s ear against the miracle. “This is a mere trick,” he said; “the rascal had made himself sure of the existence of this old well, by some means or other, before he played off his mystical piece of jugglery. Mark what he talks of next. I am much mistaken if this is not intended as a prelude to some more serious fraud; see how the rascal assumes consequence, and plumes himself upon the credit of his success, and how poor Sir Arthur takes in the tide of nonsense which he is delivering to him as principles of occult science!” “You do see, my goot patron, you do see, my goot ladies, you do see, worthy Dr Bladderhowl, and even Mr Lofel and Dr Oldenbuck may see, if they do will to see, how Art has no enemy at all but ignorance. Look at this little slip of hazel nuts—it is fit for nothing at all but to whip de little child”—(“I would chuse a cat and nine tails for your occasions,” whispered Oldbuck apart,)—“and you put it in the hands of a philosopher—paf! it makes de grand discovery. But this nothing, Sir Artur—nothing at all, worthy Dr Botherowl—nothing at all, ladies —nothing at all, young Mr Lofel and good Mr Oldenbuck, to what art can do. Ah! if there was any man that had de spirit and de courage, I would show him better things as de well of waters—I would show him”—– “And a little money would be necessary also, would it not?” said the Antiquary. “Bah! one trifle, not worth talking about, might be necessaries,” answered the adept. “I thought as much,” rejoined the Antiquary drily; “and I, in the meanwhile, without any divining rod, will shew you an excellent ven­ ison pasty, and a bottle of London particular Madeira, and I think that will match all that Mr Dousterswivel’s art is like to exhibit.” The feast was spread fronde super viridi, as Oldbuck expressed him­ self, under a huge old tree called the Prior’s Oak, and the company, sitting down around it, did ample honour to the contents ofthe basket.

Chapter Three As when a Gryphon through the wilderness, With winged course, o’er hill and moory dale, Pursues the Arimaspian, who by stealth Had from his wakeful custody purloin’d The guarded gold: So eagerly the Fiend—– Paradise Lost

When their collation was ended, Sir Arthur resumed the account of the mysteries of the divining rod, as a subject on which he had for­

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merly conversed with Dousterswivel. “My friend Mr Oldbuck would now be prepared, Mr Dousterswivel, to listen with more respect to the stories you have told us of the late discoveries in Germany by the brethren of your association.” “Ah, Sir Arthur, that was not a thing to speak to these gentlemens, because it is want of credulity—what you call faith—that spoils the great enterprize.” “At least, however, let my daughter read the narrative she has taken down of the story of Martin Waldeck.” “Ah, that was vara true story—but Miss Wardour, she is so sly and so witty, that she has made it just like one romance—as well as Goethe or Wieland could have done it, by mine honest wort.” “To say the truth, Mr Dousterswivel,” answered Miss Wardour, “the romantic predominated in the legend so much above the prob­ able, that it was impossible for a lover of fairy-land like me to avoid lending a few touches to make it perfect in its kind—But here it is, and if you do not incline to leave this shade till the heat of the day has somewhat declined, and will have sympathy with my bad composition, perhaps Sir Arthur or Mr Oldbuck will read it to us.” “Not I,” said Sir Arthur; “I was never fond of reading aloud.” “Nor I,” said Oldbuck, “for I have forgot my spectacles—but here is Lovel, with sharp eyes and a good voice; for Mr Blattergowl, I know, never reads any thing, least he should be suspected of reading his sermons.” The task was therefore imposed upon Lovel, who received, with some trepidation, as Miss Wardour delivered with a little embarrass­ ment, a paper containing the lines traced by that fair hand, the posses­ sion of which he coveted as the highest blessing the earth could offer to him. But there was a necessity of suppressing his emotions, and after glancing over the manuscript, as if to become acquainted with the character, he collected himself, and read the company the follow­ ing tale. The Fortunes ofMartin Waldeck The solitudes of the Harz forest in Germany, but especially the mountains called Blockberg, or rather Brockenberg, are the chosen scene for tales of witches, dæmons, and apparitions. The occupation of the inhabitants, who are either miners or foresters, is of a kind that renders them peculiarly prone to superstition, and the natural phe­ nomena which they witness in pursuit of their solitary or subterranean profession, are often set down by them to the interference of goblins or the power of magic. Among the various legends current in that wild country, there is a favourite one which supposes the Harz to be

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haunted by a sort of tutelar dæmon, in the shape of a wild man, of huge stature, his head wreathed with oak leaves, and his middle cinc­ tured with the same, bearing in his hand a pine tom up by the roots. It is certain that many persons profess to have seen such a form travers­ ing, with huge strides, the opposite ridge of a mountain, when divided from it by a narrow glen; and indeed the fact of the apparition is so generally admitted, that modern scepticism has only found refuge by ascribing it to optical deception. In elder times, the intercourse of the dæmon with the inhabitants was more familiar, and, according to the traditions of the Harz, he was wont, with the caprice usually ascribed to these earth-born powers, to interfere with the affairs of mortals, sometimes for their weal, some­ times for their woe. But it was observed, that even his gifts often turned out, in the long run, fatal to those on whom they were be­ stowed, and it was no uncommon thing for the pastors, in their care for their flock, to compose long sermons, the burthen whereof was a warning against having any intercourse, direct or indirect, with the Harz dæmon. The fortunes of Martin Waldeck have been often quoted by the aged to their giddy children, when the latter were heard to scoff at a danger which appeared visionary. A travelling capuchin had possessed himself of the pulpit of the thatched church at a little hamlet called Morgenbrodt, lying in the Harz district, from which he declaimed against the wickedness of the inhabitants, their communication with fiends, witches, and fairies, and, in particular, with the woodland goblin of the Harz. The doctrines of Luther had already begun to spread among the peasantry, for the incident is placed under the reign of Charles V., and they laughed to scorn the zeal with which the venerable orator insisted upon his topic. At length, as his vehemence increased with opposition, so their opposition rose in proportion to his vehemence. The inhabitants did not like to hear an accustomed quiet dæmon, who had inhabited the Brockenberg in good credit for so many ages, summarily confounded with Baalpeor, Ashtaroth, and Beelze­ bub himself, and conferred without reprieve to the bottomless Tophet. The apprehension that the spirit might avenge himself on them for listening to such an illiberal sentence, added to their national interest in his behalf. A travelling friar, they said, that is here to-day and away to-morrow, may say what he pleases, but it is we, the ancient and constant inhabitants of the country, that will be left at the mercy of the insulted dæmon, and must, of course, pay for all. Under the irritation occasioned by these reflections, the peasants from injurious language betook themselves to stones, and having pebbled the priest pretty handsomely, they drove him out of

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the parish to preach against dæmons elsewhere. Three young men, who had been present and assisting upon this occasion, were upon their return to the hut, where they carried on the laborious and mean occupation of preparing charcoal for the smelting furnaces. On the way, their conversation naturally turned upon the dæmon of the Harz and the doctrine of the capuchin. Max and George Waldeck, the two elder brothers, although they allowed the language of the preacher to have been indiscreet and worthy of cen­ sure, as presuming to determine upon the precise character and abode of the spirit, yet contended it was dangerous, in the highest degree, to accept of his gifts, or hold any communication with him. He was powerful they allowed, but wayward and capricious, and those who had intercourse with him seldom came to a good end. Did he not give the brave knight, Ecbert of Rabenwald, that famous black steed, by means of which he vanquished all the champions at the great tourna­ ment at Bremen? and did not the same steed afterward precipitate itself with its rider into an abyss so deep and fearful, that neither horse nor man was ever seen more? Had he not given to Dame Gertrude Trodden a curious spell for making butter come? and was she not burned for a witch by the grand criminal judge of the Elector, because she availed herself of his gift? But these, and many other instances which they quoted, of mischance and ill-luck ultimately attending upon the apparent benefits conferred by the Harz-spirit, failed to make any impression upon Martin Waldeck, the youngest of the brothers. Martin was youthful, rash, and impetuous: excelling in all the exer­ cises which distinguish a mountaineer, and brave and undaunted from his familiar intercourse with the dangers that attend them. He laughed at the timidity of his brothers. “Tell me not of such folly,” he said; “the dæmon is a good dæmon—he lives among us as if he was a peasant like ourselves—loves the lonely crags and recesses of the mountains like a huntsman or goatherd—and he who loves the Harzforest and its wild scenes cannot be indifferent to the fate of the hardy children of the soil. But, if the dæmon were as malicious as you would make him, how should he derive power over mortals who barely avail themselves of his gifts, without binding themselves to submit to his pleasure? When you carry your charcoal to the furnace, is not the money as good that is paid you by blaspheming Blaize, the old reprob­ ate overseer, as if you got it from the pastor himself? It is not the goblin’s gifts which can endanger you then, but it is the use you shall make of them that you must account for. And were the dæmon to appear to me at this moment, and indicate to me a gold or silver mine, I would begin to dig away even before his back were turned, and I would

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consider myself as under protection of a much Greater than he, while I made a good use of the wealth he pointed out to me.” To this the elder brothers replied, that wealth ill won was seldom well spent, while Martin presumptuously declared, that the posses­ sion of all the treasures of the Harz would not make the slightest alteration in his habits, morals, or character. His brothers entreated Martin to talk less wildly upon this subject, and with some difficulty contrived to withdraw his attention, by calling it to the consideration of an approaching boar-chase. This talk brought them to their hut, a wretched wigwam, situated upon one side of a wild, narrow, and romantic dell, in the recesses of the Brockenberg. They released their sister from attending upon the operation of charring the wood, which requires constant attention, and divided among themselves the duty of watching it by night, according to their custom, one always waking while his brothers slept. Max Waldeck, the eldest, watched during the two first hours of the night, and was considerably alarmed, by observing, upon the opposite bank of the valley, a huge fire encompassed by some figures that appeared to wheel around it with antic gestures. Max at first bethought him of calling up his brothers; but recollecting the daring character of the youngest, and finding it impossible to wake the elder without also disturbing him—conceiving also what he saw to be an illusion of the dæmon, sent perhaps in consequence of the venturous expressions used by Martin on the preceding evening, he thought it best to betake himself to the safe-guard of such prayers as he could murmur over, and to watch in great terror and annoyance this strange and alarming apparition. After blazing for some time, the fire faded gradually away into darkness, and the rest of Max’s watch was only disturbed by the remembrance of its terrors. George now occupied the place of Max, who had retired to rest. The phenomenon of a huge blazing fire, upon the opposite bank of the glen, again presented itself to the eye of the watchman. It was sur­ rounded as before by figures, which, distinguished by their opaque forms, being between the spectator and the red glaring light, moved and fluctuated around it as if engaged in some mystical ceremony. George, though equally cautious, was of a bolder character than his elder brother. He resolved to examine more nearly the object of his wonder; and, accordingly, after crossing the rivulet which divided the glen, he climbed up the opposite bank, and approached within an arrow’s flight of the fire, which blazed apparently with the same fury as when he first witnessed it. The appearance of the assistants who surrounded it, resembled those phantoms which are seen in a troubled dream, and at once

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confirmed the idea he had entertained from the first, that they did not belong to the human world. Amongst these strange unearthly forms, George Waldeck distinguished that of a giant overgrown with hair, holding an uprooted fir in his hand, with which, from time to time, he seemed to stir the blazing fire, and having no other clothing than a wreath of oak leaves around his forehead and loins. George’s heart sunk within him at recognizing the well-known apparition of the Harz-dæmon, as he had been often described to him by the ancient shepherds and huntsmen who had seen his form traversing the moun­ tains. He turned, and was about to fly; but, upon second thoughts, blaming his own cowardice, he recited mentally the verse of the Psalmist, “All good angels praise the Lord!” which is in that country supposed powerful as an exorcism, and turned himself once more towards the place where he had seen the fire. But it was no longer visible. The pale moon alone enlightened the side of the valley, and when George, with trembling steps, a moist brow, and hair bristling upright under his collier’s cap, came to the spot on which the fire had been so lately visible, marked as it was by a scathed oak tree, there appeared not on the heath the slightest vestiges of what he had seen. The moss and wild flowers were unscorched, and the branches of the oak tree, which had so lately appeared enveloped in wreaths of flame and smoke, were moist with the dews of midnight. George returned to his hut with trembling steps, and, arguing like his elder brother, resolved to say nothing of what he had seen, lest he should awake in Martin that daring curiosity which he almost deemed to be allied with impiety. It was now Martin’s turn to watch. The household cock had given his first summons, and the night was well nigh spent. Upon examining the state of the furnace in which the wood was deposited for being coked, or charred, he was surprised to find that the fire had not been suf­ ficiently maintained; for in his excursion and its consequences, George had forgot the principal object of his watch. Martin’s first thought was to call up the slumberers, but observing that both his brothers slept unwontedly deep and heavily, he respected their repose, and he set himself to supply the furnace with fuel without requiring their aid. What he heaped upon it was apparently damp and unfit for the pur­ pose, for the fire seemed rather to decay than revive. Martin next went to collect some boughs from a stack which had been carefully cut and dried for this purpose; but, when he returned, he found the fire totally extinguished. This was a serious evil, and threatened them with loss of their trade for more than one day. The vexed and mortified watchman

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set about to strike a light in order to rekindle the fire, but the tinder was moist, and his labour in this respect proved also ineffectual. He was now about to call up his brothers, for circumstances seemed to be pressing, when flashes of light glimmered not only through the win­ dow, but through every crevice of the rudely-built hut, and sum­ moned him to behold the same apparition which had before alarmed the successive watches of his brethren. His first idea was, that the Muhllerhaussers, their rivals in trade, and with whom they had had many quarrels, might have encroached upon their bounds for the purpose of pirating their wood, and he resolved to awake his brothers, and be revenged on them for their audacity. But a short reflection and observation on the gestures and manner of those who seemed to “work in the fire,” induced him to dismiss this belief, and, although rather sceptical in such matters, to conclude that what he saw was a supernatural phenomenon. “But be they men or fiends,” said the undaunted forester, “that busy themselves yonder with such fantastic rites and wild gestures, I will go and demand a light to rekindle our furnace.” He relinquished, at the same time, the idea of waking his brethren. There was a belief that such adventures as he was about to undertake were accessible only to one person at a time; he feared also that his brothers, in their scrupulous timidity, might interfere to pre­ vent his pursuing the investigation he had resolved to commence; and therefore, snatching his boar-spear from the wall, the undaunted Martin Waldeck set forth on the adventure alone. With the same success as his brother George, but with courage far superior, Martin crossed the brook, ascended the hill, and ap­ proached so near the ghostly assembly, that he could recognise, in the presiding figure, the attributes of the Harz dæmon. A cold shud­ dering assailed him for the first time in his life, but the recollection that he had at a distance dared and even courted the interview which was now about to take place, confirmed his staggering courage, and pride supplying what he wanted in resolution, he advanced with tolerable firmness towards the fire, the figures which surrounded it appearing still more wild, fantastical, and supernatural, the more near he approached to the assembly. He was received with a loud shout of discordant and unnatural laughter, which, to his stunned ears, seemed more alarming than a combination of the most dismal and melancholy sounds which could be imagined. “Who art thou?” said the giant, compressing his savage and exaggerated features into a sort of forced gravity, while they were occasionally agitated by the convul­ sion of the laughter which he seemed to suppress. “Martin Waldeck, the forester,” answered the hardy youth;—“And who are you?”

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“The king of the waste and of the mine,” answered the spectre;— “And why hast thou dared to encroach on my mysteries?” “I came in search of light to rekindle my fire,” answered Martin hardily, and then resolutely asked in his turn, “What mysteries are those that you celebrate here?” “We celebrate,” answered the complaisant dæmon, “the wedding of Hermes with the Black Dragon—But take thy fire that thou eamest to seek, and begone—No mortal may long look upon us and live.” The peasant struck his spear point into a large piece of blazing wood, which he heaved up with some difficulty, and then turned round to regain his hut, the shout of laughter being renewed behind him with treble violence, and ringing far down the narrow valley. When Martin returned to the hut, his first care, however much aston­ ished with what he had seen, was to dispose the kindled coal among the fuel so as might best light the fire of his furnace, but after many efforts, and all exertions of bellows and fire-prong, the coal he had brought from the dæmon’s fire became totally extinct, without kind­ ling any of the others. He turned about and observed the fire still blazing on the hill, although those who had been busied around it had disappeared. As he conceived the spectre had been jesting with him, he gave way to the natural hardihood of his temper, and determining to see the adventure to an end, resumed the road to the fire, from which, unopposed by the dæmon, he brought off in the same manner a blazing piece of charcoal, but still without being able to succeed in lighting his fire. Impunity having increased his rashness, he resolved upon a third experiment, and was as successful as before in reaching the fire; but, when he had again appropriated a piece of burning coal, and had turned to depart, he heard the harsh and supernatural voice which had before accosted him, pronounce these words, “Dare not to return hither a fourth time!” The attempt to rekindle the fire with this last coal having proved as ineffectual as on the former occasions, Martin relinquished the hope­ less attempt, and flung himself on his bed of leaves, resolving to delay till the next morning the communicating of his supernatural adven­ ture to his brothers. He was awakened from a heavy sleep into which he had sunk, from fatigue of body and agitation of mind, by loud exclamations of surprise and joy. His brothers, astonished at finding the fire extinguished when they awoke, had proceeded to arrange the fuel in order to renew it, when they found in the ashes three huge metallic masses, which their skill, (for most of the peasants in the Harz are practical mineralogists,) immediately ascertained to be pure gold. It was some damp upon their joyful congratulations when they

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learned from Martin the mode in which he had obtained this treasure, to which their own experience of the nocturnal vision induced them to give full credit. But they were unable to resist the temptation of shar­ ing in their brother’s wealth. Taking now upon him as head of the house, Martin Waldeck bought lands and forests, built a castle, obtained a patent of nobility, and, greatly to the scorn of the ancient aristocracy of the neighbourhood, was invested with all the privileges of a man of family. His courage in public war, as well as in private feuds, together with the number of retainers whom he kept in pay, sustained him for some time against the odium which was excited by his sudden elevation, and the arrogance of his pretensions. And nowit was seen in the instance of Martin Waldeck, as it has been in that of many others, how little mortals can foresee the effect of sudden pros­ perity on their own disposition. The evil dispositions in his nature, which poverty had checked and repressed, ripened and bore their unhallowed fruit under the influence of temptation and the means of indulgence. As Deep calls unto Deep, one bad passion awakened another;—the fiend of avarice invoked that of pride, and pride was to be supported by cruelty and oppression. Waldeck’s character, always bold and daring, but rendered more harsh and assuming by prosper­ ity, soon made him odious, not to the nobles only, but likewise to the lower ranks, who saw, with double dislike, the oppressive rights of the feudal nobility of the empire so remorselessly exercised by one who had risen from the very dregs of the people. His adventure, although carefully concealed, began likewise to be whispered abroad, and the clergy already stigmatized as a wizard and accomplice of fiends, the wretch, who, having acquired so huge a treasure in so strange a manner, had not sought to sanctify it by dedicating a considerable portion to the use of the church. Surrounded by enemies, public and private, tormented by a thousand feuds, and threatened by the church with excommunication, Martin Waldeck, or, as we must now call him, the Baron von Waldeck, often regretted bitterly the labours and sports of his unenvied poverty. But his courage failed him not under all these difficulties, and seemed rather to augment in proportion to the dan­ gers which darkened around him, until an accident precipitated his fall. A proclamation by the reigning Duke of Brunswick had invited to a solemn tournament all German nobles of free and honourable des­ cent, and Martin Waldeck, splendidly armed, accompanied by his two brothers, and a gallantly equipped retinue, had the arrogance to appear among the chivalry of the province and demand permission to enter the lists. This was considered as filling up the measure of his presumption. A thousand voices exclaimed, “We will have no cinder­

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sifter mingle in our games of chivalry.” Irritated to frenzy, Martin drew his sword and hewed down the herald who, in compliance with the general outcry, opposed his entrance into the lists. An hundred swords were unsheathed to avenge what was in those days regarded as a crime only inferior to sacrilege, or regicide. Waldeck, after defend­ ing himself like a lion, was seized, tried on the spot by the judges of the lists, and condemned, as the appropriate punishment for breaking the peace of his sovereign, and violating the sacred person of a herald-atarms, to have his right hand struck from his body, to be ignominiously deprived of the honour of nobility ofwhich he was unworthy, and to be expelled from the city. When he had been stripped of his arms, and sustained the mutilation imposed by this severe sentence, the unhappy victim of ambition was abandoned to the rabble, who fol­ lowed him with threats and outcries, levelled alternately against the necromancer and oppressor, which at length ended in violence. His brothers, (for his retinue was fled and dispersed,) at length succeeded in rescuing him from the hands of the populace, when, satiated with cruelty, they had left him half dead through loss of blood, and through the outrages he had sustained. They were not permitted, such was the ingenious cruelty of their enemies, to make use of any other means of removing him, excepting such a collier’s cart as they had themselves formerly used, in which they deposited their brother on a truss of straw, scarcely expecting to reach anyplace of shelter ere death should release him from his misery. When the Waldecks, journeying in this miserable manner, had approached the verge of their native country, in a hollow way, between two mountains, they perceived a figure advancing towards them, which at first sight seemed to be an aged man. But as he approached, his limbs and stature increased, the cloak fell from his shoulders, his pilgrim’s staff was changed into an uprooted pine tree, and the gigantic figure of the Harz dæmon passed before them in his terrors. When he came opposite to the cart which contained the mis­ erable Waldeck, his huge features dilated into a grin of unutterable contempt and malignity, as he asked the sufferer, “How like you the fire my coals have kindled?” The power of motion, which terror suspended in his two brothers, seemed to be restored for a moment to Martin by the energy of his courage. He raised himself in the cart, bent his brows, and, clenching his fist, shook it at the spectre with a ghastly look of hate and defiance. The goblin vanished with his usual tremendous and explosive laugh, and left Waldeck exhausted with the effort of expiring nature. The terrified brethren turned their vehicle towards the towers of a convent, which arose in a wood of pine trees beside the road. They

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were charitably received by a bare-footed and long-bearded capu­ chin, and Martin survived only to complete the first confession he had made since the day of his sudden prosperity, and to receive absolution from the very priest, whom, precisely on that day three years, he had assisted to pelt out of the hamlet of Morgenbrodt. The three years of precarious prosperity were supposed to have a mysterious corres­ pondence with the number of his visits to the spectral fire upon the hill. The body of Martin Waldeck was interred in the convent where he expired, in which his brothers, having assumed the habit of the order, lived and died in the performance of acts of charity and devotion. His lands, to which no one asserted any claim, lay waste until they were reassumed by the emperor as a lapsed fief, and the ruins of the castle, which Waldeck had called by his own name, are still shunned by the miner and forester as haunted by evil spirits. Thus were the miseries attendant upon wealth, hastily attained and ill-employed, exemplified in the fortunes of Martin Waldeck.

Chapter Four Here has been such a stormy encounter Betwixt my cousin Captain, and this soldier, About I know not what!—nothing, indeed; Competitions, degrees, and comparatives Of soldiership!—– A Fair Quarrel

The attentive audience gave the fair transcriber of the foregoing legend the thanks which politeness required. Oldbuck alone curled up his nose, and observed, that Miss Wardour’s skill was something like that of the alchemists, for she had contrived to extract a sound and valuable moral out of a very trumpery and ridiculous legend. “It is the fashion, as I am given to understand, to admire those extravagant fictions—for me, ————I bear an English heart, Unused at ghosts and rattling bones to start.”

“Under your favour, my goot Mr Oldenbuck,” said the German, “Miss Wardour has turned de story, as she does every thing as she touches, very pretty indeed; but all de history of de Harz goblin, and how he walks among de desolate mountains wid a great fir tree for his walking-cane, and wid de great green bush around his head and his waist—that is as true as I am honest man.” “There is no disputing any proposition so well guaranteed,” answered the Antiquary drily. But at this moment the approach of a

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stranger cut short the conversation. The stranger was a handsome young man, about five-and-twenty, in a military undress, and bearing, in his look and manner, a good deal of the martial profession. He was at once greeted by the greater part of the company. “My dear Hector!” said Miss MacIntyre, as she rose to take his hand—– “Hector, son of Priam, whence comest thou?” said the Antiquary. “From Fife, my liege,” answered the young soldier, and continued, when he had politely saluted the rest of the company, and particularly Sir Arthur and his daughter—“I learned from one of the servants, as I rode towards Monkbarns to pay my respects to you, that I should find the present company in this place, and I willingly embraced the oppor­ tunity to pay my respects to so many of my friends at once.” “And to a new one also, my trusty Trojan,” said Oldbuck. “Mr Lovel, this is my nephew, Captain MacIntyre—Hector, I recommend Mr Lovel to your acquaintance.” The young soldier fixed his keen eyes upon Lovel, and paid his compliment with more reserve than cordiality; and as our acquaint­ ance thought his coldness almost supercilious, he was equally frigid and haughty in making the necessary return to it; and thus a prejudice seemed to arise between them at the very commencement of their acquaintance. The observations which Lovel made during the remainder of this pleasure party did not tend to reconcile him with this addition to their society. Captain MacIntyre, with the gallantry to be expected from his age and profession, attached himself to the service of Miss Wardour, and offered her, upon every possible opportunity, those marks of attention which Lovel would have given the world to have rendered, and was only deterred from offering by the fear of her displeasure. With forlorn dejection at one moment, and with irritated susceptibility at another, he saw this handsome young soldier assume and exercise all the privileges of a cavaliere servente. He handed Miss Wardour’s gloves, he assisted her in putting on her shawl, he attached himself to her in the walks, had a hand ready to remove every impediment in her path, and an arm to support her where it was rugged or difficult; his conversation was always addressed to her, and, where circumstances permitted, it was exclusively so. All this, Lovel well knew, might be only that sort of egotistical gallantry which induces some young men of the present day to give themselves the air of engrossing the atten­ tion of the prettiest woman in company, as if the others were unworthy of their notice. But he thought he observed in the conduct of Captain MacIntyre something of marked and peculiar tenderness, which was calculated to alarm the jealousy of a lover. Miss Wardour also received

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his attentions, and although his candour allowed they were of a kind which could not be repelled without some strain of affectation, yet it galled him to the heart to witness that she did so. The heart-burning which these reflections occasioned proved very indifferent seasoning to the dry antiquarian discussions with which Oldbuck, who continued to demand his particular attention, was unremittingly persecuting him; and he underwent, with fits of impa­ tience that amounted almost to loathing, a course of lectures upon monastic architecture, in all its styles, from the massive Saxon to the florid Gothic, and from that to the mixed and composite architecture ofJames the First’s time, when, according to Oldbuck, all orders were confounded, and columns of various description arose side by side, or were piled above each other, as if symmetry had been forgotten, and the elemental principles of art resolved into their primitive confusion. “What can be more cutting to the sensitive heart than the sight of evils,” said Oldbuck, in rapturous enthusiasm, “which we are com­ pelled to behold, while we do not possess the power of remedying them?” Lovel answered by an involuntary groan. “I see, my dear young friend, and most congenial spirit, that you feel these enormities as much as I do. Have you ever approached them without longing to tear—to deface what is so dishonourable?” “Dishonourable!” echoed Lovel, “In what respect dishonour­ able?” “I mean disgraceful to the arts.” “Where? how?” “Upon the portico, for example, of the schools of Oxford, where, at immense expence, the barbarous, fantastic, and ignorant architect has chosen to represent the whole five orders of architecture on the front of one building.” By such attacks as these, Oldbuck, unconscious of the torture he was giving, compelled Lovel to give him a share of his attention,—as a skilful angler, by means of his line, maintains an influence over the most frantic movements of his agonized prey. They were now upon their return to the spot where they had left the carriages; and it is inconceivable how often, in the course of that short walk, Lovel, exhausted by the unceasing prosing of his worthy com­ panion, mentally bestowed on the devil, or any one else that would have rid him of hearing more of them, all the orders and disorders of architecture which had been invented or combined from the building of Solomon’s temple downward. A slight incident occurred, however, which sprinkled a little patience on the heat of his distemperature. Miss Wardour, and her self-elected knight-companion, rather pre­ ceded the others in the narrow path, when the young lady apparently

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became desirous to unite herself with the rest of the party, and, to break off her tête-a-tête with the young officer, fairly made a pause until Mr Oldbuck came up. “I wished to ask you a question, Mr Oldbuck, concerning the date of these interesting ruins.” It would be doing injustice to Miss Wardour’s savoir faire, to sup­ pose she was not aware that such a question would lead to an answer of no limited length. The Antiquary, starting like a war-horse at the trumpet sound, plunged himself at once into the various arguments for and against the date of 1273, which had been assigned to the priory of St Ruth by a late publication on Scottish architectural antiquities. He hawked up the names of all the priors who had ruled the institu­ tion, of the nobles who had bestowed lands upon it, and of the mon­ archs who had slept their last sleep among its roofless courts. As a train which takes fire is sure to light another, if there be such in the vicinity, the Baronet, catching at the name of one of his ancestors which occurred in Oldbuck’s disquisition, entered upon an account of his wars, his conquests, and his trophies; and the worthy Dr Blattergowl was induced, from the mention of a grant of lands, cum decimis inclusis tam vicariis quam garbalibus, et nunquam antea separatis, to enter into a long explanation concerning the interpretation given by the Tiend Court in the consideration of such a clause, which had occurred in a process for localling his last augmentation of stipend. The orators, like three racers, each pressed forward to the goal, with­ out much regarding how each crossed and jostled his competitors. Mr Oldbuck harangued, the baronet declaimed, Mr Blattergowl prosed and laid down the law, while the Latin forms of feudal grants were mingled with the jargon of blazonry, and the yet more barbarous phraseology of the Tiend Court of Scotland. “He was,” exclaimed Oldbuck, speaking of the Prior Adhemar, “indeed an exemplary prel­ ate ; and, from his strictness of morals, rigid execution of penance, joined to the charitable disposition of his mind, and the infirmities induced by his great age and ascetic habits”—– Here he chanced to cough, and Sir Arthur burst in, or rather continued—“was called popularly Hell-in-harness; he carried a shield, gules with a sable fess, which we have since disused, and was slain at the battle of Vernoil, in France, after killing six of the English with his own”—– “Decreet of certification,” proceeded the clergyman, in that pro­ longed, steady, prosing tone, which, however overpowered at first by the vehemence of competition, promised, in the long run, to obtain the ascendency in this strife of narrators; “Decreet of certification having gone out, and parties being held as confessed, the proof seemed to be held as concluded, when their lawyer moved to have it

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opened up, on the allegation that they had witnesses to bring forward, that they had been in the habit of carrying the ewes to lamb on the tiend-free land, which was a mere evasion, for”—– But here the baronet and Mr Oldbuck having recovered their wind, and continuing their respective harangues, the three strands of the conversation, to speak the language of a rope-work, were again twined together into one undistinguishable string of confusion. Yet howsoever uninteresting this pyebald jargon might seem, it was obviously Miss Wardour’s purpose to give it her attention, in preference to yielding Captain MacIntyre an opportunity of renewing their private conversation. So that after waiting for a little time with displeasure ill concealed by his haughty features, he left her to enjoy her bad taste, and taking his sister by the arm, detained her a little behind the rest of the party. “So I find, Mary, that your neighbourhood has neither become more lively nor less learned during my absence.” “We lacked your patience and wisdom to instruct us, Hector.” “Thank you, my dear sister. But you have got a wiser, if not so lively an addition to your society, than your unworthy brother—pray, who is this Mr Lovel, whom your old uncle has at once placed so high in his good graces?—he does not use to be so accessible to strangers.” “Mr Lovel, Hector, is a very gentleman-like young man.” “Aye; that is to say, he bows when he comes into a room, and wears a coat that’s whole at the elbows.” “No, brother; it says a great deal more. It says that his manners and discourse express the feelings and education of the higher class.” “But I desire to know what is his birth and his rank in society? and what is his title to be in the circle in which I find him domesticated?” “If you mean how he comes to visit at Monkbarns, you must ask my uncle, who will probably reply, that he invites to his own house such company as he pleases; and if you mean Sir Arthur, you must know that Mr Lovel rendered Miss Wardour and him a service of the most important kind.” “What? that romantic story is true then?—and pray, does the valor­ ous knight aspire, as is befitting on such occasions, to the hand of the young lady whom he redeemed from peril?—It is quite in the rule of romance, I am aware; and I did think that she was uncommonly dry to me as we walked together, and seemed from time to time as if she watched whether she was not giving offence to her gallant cavalier.” “Dear Hector, if you really continue to nourish any affection for Miss Wardour”—– “If, Mary?—what an ifwas there!” “I own I consider your perseverance as hopeless.”

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“And why hopeless, my sage sister?” asked Captain MacIntyre; “Miss Wardour, in the state of her father’s affairs, cannot pretend to much fortune, and, as to family, I trust that of MacIntyre is not inferior.” “But, Hector,” continued his sister, “Sir Arthur always considers us as members of the Monkbarns family.” “Sir Arthur may consider what he pleases; but any one with com­ mon sense will consider the wife takes rank by the husband, and that my father’s pedigree of fifteen unblemished descents must have ennobled my mother, if her veins had been filled with printer’s ink.” “For God’s sake, Hector, take care of yourself—a single expression of that kind, repeated to my uncle by an indiscreet or interested eves­ dropper, would lose you his favour for ever, and destroy all chance of your succeeding to his estate.” “Be it so; I have a profession which the world has never been able to do without, and will far less endure to want for half a century to come; and my old uncle may tack his good estate and his plebeian name to your apron-string if he pleases, Mary, and you may wed this new favourite of his if you please, and you may both of you live quiet, peaceable, well-regulated lives if it pleases Heaven. My part is taken —I’ll fawn on no man for an inheritance which should be mine by birth.” Miss MacIntyre laid her hand on her brother’s arm, and entreated him to suppress his vehemence. “Who,” she said, “injures or seeks to injure you but your own hasty temper?—what dangers are you defy­ ing, but those you have yourself conjured up?—Our uncle has hith­ erto been all that is kind and paternal in his conduct to us, and why should you suppose he will in future be otherwise than what he has ever been since we were left as orphans to his care?” “He is an excellent old gentleman I must own,” replied MacIntyre, “and I am enraged at myself when I chance to offend him; but then his eternal harangues upon topics not worth the spark of a flint—his investigations about ancient pots and pans and tobacco-stoppers past service—All these things put me out of patience—I have something of Hotspur in me, sister, I must confess.” “Too much, too much, my dear brother—into how many risks, and, forgive me for saying, some of them little creditable, has this absolute and violent temper led you! Do not let such clouds darken the time you are now to pass in our neighbourhood, but let our old benefactor see his kinsman as he is,—generous, kind, and lively, without being rude, headlong, and impetuous.” “Well,” answered Captain MacIntyre, “I am schooled—good

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manners be my speed! I’ll do the civil thing by your new friend—I’ll have some talk with this Master Lovel.” With this determination, in which he was for the time perfectly sincere, he joined the party who were walking before them. The triple disquisition was, by this time, ended; and Sir Arthur was speaking upon the subject of foreign news, and the political and military situ­ ation of the country, themes upon which every man thinks himself qualified to give an opinion. An action of the preceding year having come upon the tapis, Lovel, accidentally mingling in the conversation, made some assertion concerning it, of the accuracy of which Captain MacIntyre seemed not to be convinced, although his doubts were politely expressed. “You must confess yourself in the wrong here, Hector,” said his uncle, “although I know no man less willing to give up an argument; but you were in England at the time, and Mr Lovel was probably engaged in the affair.” “I am speaking to a military man, then,” said MacIntyre; “may I enquire to what regiment Mr Lovel belongs?”—Mr Lovel gave him the number of the regiment.—“It happens strangely that we should never have met before, Mr Lovel. I know your regiment very well, and served along with them at different times.” A blush crossed Lovel’s countenance. “I have not lately been with my regiment,” he replied, “I served the last campaign upon the staff of General Sir—– —–.” “Indeed! that is more wonderful than the other circumstance; for, although I did not serve with General Sir—– —–, yet I had an opportunity of knowing the names of the officers who held situations in his family, and I cannot recollect that of Lovel.” At this observation, Lovel again blushed so deeply, as to attract the attention of the whole company, while a scornful laugh seemed to indicate Captain MacIntyre’s triumph. “There is something strange in this,” said Oldbuck to himself, “but I will not readily give up my phœnix of post-chaise companions—all his actions, having, and bearing, are those of a gentleman.” Lovel, in the meanwhile, had taken out his pocket-book, and select­ ing a letter, from which he took off the envelope, he handed it to MacIntyre. “You know the general’s hand in all probability—I own I ought not to shew these exaggerated expressions of his regard and esteem for me.” The letter contained a very handsome compliment from the officer in question for some military service lately performed. Captain MacIntyre, as he glanced his eye over it, could not deny that it was written in the general’s hand, but drily observed as he returned it, that the address was awanting. “The address, Captain MacIntyre,”

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answered Lovel in the same tone, “shall be at your service whenever you chuse to enquire after it.” “I certainly will not fail to do so,” rejoined the soldier. “Come, come,” exclaimed Oldbuck, “what is the meaning of all this?—Have we got Hiren here?—We’ll have no swaggering, young­ sters. Are you come from the wars abroad, to stir up domestic strife in our peaceful land? Are you like bull-dog puppies forsooth, that, when the bull, poor fellow, is removed from the ring, fall to brawl among themselves, worry each other, and bite honest folks’ shins that are standing by?” Sir Arthur trusted, he said, that the young gentlemen would not so far forget themselves as to grow warm upon such a trifling subject as the back of a letter. Both the disputants disclaimed any such intention, and with high colour and flashing eyes, protested they were never so cool in their lives. But an obvious damp was cast over the party; they talked in future too much by the rule to be sociable, and Lovel, conceiving himself the object of cold and suspicious looks from the rest of the company, and sensible that his indirect replies had given them per­ mission to entertain strange opinions respecting him, made a gallant determination to sacrifice the pleasure he had proposed in spending the day at Knockwinnock. He affected, therefore, to complain of a violent headache, occa­ sioned by the heat of the day, to which he had not been exposed since his illness, and made a formal apology to Sir Arthur, who, listening more to recent suspicion than to the gratitude due for former services, did not press him to keep his engagement more than good breeding exactly demanded. When Lovel took leave of the ladies, Miss Wardour’s manner seemed more anxious than he had hitherto remarked it. She indicated by a glance of her eye towards Captain MacIntyre, perceptible only by Lovel, the subject of her alarm, and hoped, in a voice greatly under her usual tone, it was not a less pleasant engagement which deprived them of the pleasure of Mr Lovel’s company. “No engagement had inter­ vened,” he assured her, “it was only the return of a complaint by which he had been for some time occasionally attacked.” “The best remedy in such a case is prudence, and I—every friend of Mr Lovel, will expect him to employ it.” Lovel bowed low and coloured deeply, and Miss Wardour, as if she felt that she had said too much, turned and got into the carriage. Lovel had next to part with Oldbuck, who, during this interval, had, with Caxon’s assistance, been arranging his disordered periwig, and brushing his coat, which exhibited some marks of the rude paths they

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had traversed. “What, man!” said Oldbuck, “you are not going to leave us on account of that foolish Hector’s indiscreet curiosity and vehemence?—Why, he is a thoughtless boy—a petted child from the time he was in nurse’s arms—he threw his coral and bells at my head for refusing him a bit of sugar—And you have too much sense to mind such a shrewish boy—æquam servare mentem is the motto of our friend Horace. I’ll school Hector by and by, and put it all to rights.” But Lovel persisted in his design of returning to Fairport. The Antiquary then assumed a graver tone. “Take heed, young man, to your present feelings. Your life has been given you for useful and valuable purposes, and should be reserved to illustrate the literat­ ure of your country, when you are not called upon to expose it in her defence, or in the rescue of the innocent. Private war, a practice unknown to the civilized ancients, is, of all the absurdities introduced by the Gothic tribes, the most gross, impious, and cruel. Let me hear no more of these absurd quarrels, and I will shew you the treatise upon the duello, which I composed when the town-clerk and provost Meiklewame chose to assume the privileges of gentlemen, and chal­ lenged each other. I thought of printing my Essay, which is signed Pacificator, but there was no need, as the matter was taken up by the town-council of the borough.” “But I assure you, my dear sir, there is nothing between Captain MacIntyre and me that can render such respectable interposition necessary.” “See it be so, for otherwise I stand second to both parties.” So saying, the old gentleman got into the chaise, close to which Miss MacIntyre had detained her brother upon the same principle that the owner of a quarrelsome dog keeps him by his side to prevent his fastening upon another. But Hector contrived to give her precau­ tion the slip, for, as he was on horseback, he lingered behind the carriages until they had fairly turned the corner in the road to Knock­ winnock, and then wheeling his horse’s head round, gave him the spur in the opposite direction. A very few minutes brought him up with Lovel, who, perhaps anticipating his intention, had not put his horse beyond a slow walk, when the clatter of hoofs behind him announced Captain MacIntyre. The young soldier, his natural heat of temper exasperated by the rapidity of motion, reined his horse up suddenly and violently by Lovel’s side, and, touching his hat slightly, enquired, in a very haughty tone of voice, “What am I to understand, sir, by your telling me that your address was at my service?” “Simply, sir, that my name is Lovel, and that my residence is, for the present, Fairport, as you will see by this card.”

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“And this is all the information you are disposed to give me?” “I see no right you have to require more.” “I find you, sir, in company with my sister, and I have a right to know who is admitted to Miss MacIntyre’s society.” “I shall take the liberty of disputing that right—you find me in society who are satisfied with the degree of information on my affairs which I have thought proper to communicate, and you, a mere stranger, have no right whatever to enquire further.” “Mr Lovel, if you served, as you say you have”—– “If!” answered Lovel,—“IfI have served as I say I have?” “Yes, sir, such is my expression—if you have so served, you must know that you owe me satisfaction either in one way or other.” “If that be your opinion, I will be proud to give it to you, Captain MacIntyre, in the way in which the word is generally used among gentlemen.” “Very well, sir,” rejoined Hector, and, turning his horse round, galloped off to overtake his party. His absence had already alarmed them, and his sister having stopped the carriage, had her neck stretched out of the window to see where he was. “What is the matter with you now?” said the Antiquary, “riding to and fro as your neck was upon the wager—why do you not keep up with the carriage?” “I forgot my glove, sir,” said Hector. “Forgot your glove!—I presume you meant to say you went to throw it down—but I will take order with you, my young gentleman— You shall return with me this night to Monkbarns.” So saying, he bid the postillion go on.

Chapter Five —–If you fail Honour here, Never presume to serve her any more; Bid farewell to the integrity of armes, And the honourable name of soldier Fall from you, like a shivered wreath of laurel By thunder struck from a desertlesse forehead. A Faire Quarrell

Early the next morning, a gentleman came to wait upon Mr Lovel, who was up and ready to receive him. He was a military gentleman, a friend of Captain MacIntyre, at present in Fairport on the recruiting service. Lovel and he were slightly known to each other. “I presume, sir,” said Mr Lesley, (such was the name of the visitor,) “that you

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guess the occasion of my troubling you so early?” “A message from Captain MacIntyre, I presume?” “The same—he holds himself injured by the manner in which you declined yesterday to answer certain enquiries which he conceived himself entitled to make respecting a gentleman whom he found in intimate society with his family.” “May I ask, if you, Mr Lesley, would have inclined to satisfy inter­ rogatories so haughtily and unceremoniously put to you?” “Perhaps not; and therefore, as I know the warmth of my friend MacIntyre on such occasions, I feel very desirous of acting as peace­ maker. From Mr Lovel’s very gentleman-like manners, every one must strongly wish to see him repel all that sort of dubious calumny which will attach itself to one whose situation is not fully explained. If he will permit me, in friendly conciliation, to inform Captain Mac­ Intyre of his real name, for we are led to conclude that of Lovel is assumed”—– “I beg your pardon, sir, but I cannot admit that inference.” “Or at least,” said Lesley, proceeding, “that it is not the name by which Mr Lovel has been at all times distinguished—if Mr Lovel will have the goodness to explain this circumstance, which, in my opinion, he should do in justice to his own character, I will answer for the amicable arrangement of this unpleasant business.” “Which is to say, Mr Lesley, that if I shall condescend to answer questions which no man has a right to ask, and which are now put to me under penalty of Captain MacIntyre’s resentment, Captain Mac­ Intyre will condescend to rest satisfied? Mr Lesley, I have just one word to say on this subject—I have no doubt my secret, if I had one, might be safely entrusted to your honour, but I do not feel called upon to satisfy the curiosity of any one. Captain MacIntyre met me in society which of itself was a warrant to all the world, and particularly ought to be such to him, that I was a gentleman. He has, in my opinion, no title to go any farther, or to enquire the pedigree, rank, or circum­ stances of a stranger, who, without seeking any intimate connection with him, or his, chances to dine with his uncle, or walk in company with his sister.” “In that case, Captain MacIntyre requests you to be informed, that your farther visits at Monkbarns, and all connection with Miss Mac­ Intyre, must be dropped, as disagreeable to him.” “I shall certainly,” said Lovel, “visit Mr Oldbuck when it suits me, without paying the least respect to his nephew’s threats or irritable feelings. I respect the young lady’s name too much (though nothing can be slighter than our acquaintance) to introduce it into such a discussion.”

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“In that case, Captain MacIntyre requests that Mr Lovel, unless he wishes to be denounced as a very dubious character, will favour him with a meeting this evening, at seven, at the thorn-tree in the little valley, close by the ruins of St Ruth.” “Most unquestionably, I will wait upon him—there is only one difficulty—I must find a friend to accompany me, and where to seek one on this short notice, as I have no acquaintances in Fairport—I will be on the spot, however, Captain MacIntyre may be assured of that. ” Lesley had taken his hat, and was as far as the door of the apart­ ment, when, as if moved by the peculiarity of Lovel’s situation, he returned, and thus addressed him: “Mr Lovel, there is something so singular in all this, that I cannot help again resuming the argument. You must be yourself aware at this moment of the inconvenience of your preserving an incognito, for which, I am convinced, there can be no dishonourable reason. Still this mystery renders it difficult for you to procure the assistance of a friend in a crisis so delicate—nay, let me add, that many persons will even consider it as a piece of Quixotry in MacIntyre to give you a meeting, while your character and circum­ stances are in such obscurity.” “I understand your innuendo, Mr Lesley,” rejoined Lovel, “and though I might be offended at its severity, I am not so, because it is meant kindly. But, in my opinion, he is entitled to all the privileges of a gentleman, to whose charge, during the time he has been known in the society where he happens to move, nothing can be laid that is unhand­ some or unbecoming. For a friend, I dare say I will find some one or other who will do me that good turn; and if his experience be less than I could wish, I am certain not to suffer through that circumstance when you are in the field for my antagonist.” “I trust you will not,” said Lesley; “but as I must, for my own sake, be anxious to divide so heavy a responsibility with a capable assistant, allow me to say, that Lieutenant Taffril’s gun-brig is come into the road stead, and he himself is now at old Caxon’s, where he lodges. I think you have the same degree of acquaintance with him as with me, and, as I am sure I would willingly have rendered you such a service were I not engaged on the other side, I am convinced he will do so at your first request.” “At the thorn-tree, then, Mr Lesley, at seven this evening—the arms, I presume, are pistols?” “Exactly; MacIntyre has chosen the hour at which he can best escape from Monkbarns—he was at me this morning by five in order to return and present himself before his uncle was up. Good morning to you, Mr Lovel.”—And Lesley left the apartment. Lovel was as brave as most men; but none can internally regard

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such a crisis as now approached, without deep feelings of awe and uncertainty. In a few hours he might be in another world to answer for an action which his calmer thought told him was unjustifiable in a religious point of view, or he might be wandering about in the present like Cain, with the blood of his brother on his head. And all these might be saved by speaking one single word. Yet pride whispered, that, to speak that word now, would be ascribed to a motive which would degrade him more low than even the most injurious reasons that could be assigned for his silence. Every one, Miss Wardour included, must in that case, he thought, account him a mean degraded poltroon, who gave to the fear of meeting Captain MacIntyre, the explanation he had refused to the calm and handsome expostulations of Mr Lesley. MacIntyre’s insolent behaviour to himself personally, the air of pretension which he assumed towards Miss Wardour, and the extreme injustice, arrogance, and incivility of his demand upon a perfect stranger, seemed to justify him in repelling his rude invest­ igation. In short, he formed the resolution, which might have been expected from so young a man, to shut the eyes, namely, of his calmer reason, and follow the dictates of his offended pride. With this pur­ pose he sought Lieutenant Taffril. The lieutenant received him with the good breeding of a gentle­ man, and the frankness of a sailor, and listened with no small surprise to the detail which preceded his request, that he might be favoured with his company at his meeting with Captain MacIntyre. When he had finished, Taffril rose up and walked through his apartment once or twice. “This is a most singular circumstance,” he said, “and really”—– “I am conscious, Mr Taffril, how little I am entitled to make my present request, but the urgency of circumstances—–” “Permit me to ask you one question,” asked the sailor; “is there any thing of which you are ashamed in the circumstances which you have declined to communicate?” “Upon my honour, no; there is nothing but what, in a very short time, I trust I may publish to the whole world.” “I hope the mystery arises from no false shame at the lowness of your friends perhaps, or connections?” “No, on my word,” replied Lovel. “I have little sympathy for that folly,” said Taffril; “indeed I cannot be supposed to have any; for, speaking of my relations, I may be said to have come myself from before the mast, and I believe I shall very soon form a connection, which the world will think low enough, with a very amiable girl to whom I have been attached since we were nextdoor neighbours, at a time I little thought of the good fortune which

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brought me forward in the service.” “I assure you, Mr Taffril, whatever were the rank of my parents, I should never think of concealing it from a spirit of petty pride. But I am so situated at present, that I cannot enter on the subject of my family with any propriety.” “It is quite enough,” said the honest sailor, “give me your hand; I’ll see you as well through this business as I can, though it is but an unpleasant one after all—But what of that? our own honour has the next call on us after our country—you are a lad of spirit, and I own I think Hector MacIntyre, with his long pedigree and his airs of family, very much of a jackanapes. His father was a soldier of fortune as I am a sailor—he himself, I suppose, is little better, unless just as his uncle pleases—and whether one pursues fortune by land, or sea, makes no great difference I should fancy.” “None in the universe, certainly,” answered Lovel. “Well,” said his new ally, “we will dine together and arrange matters for this rencontre. I hope you understand the use of the weapon?” “Not particularly,” Lovel replied. “I am sorry for that—MacIntyre is said to be a marksman.” “I am sorry for it also,” said Lovel; “both for his sake and my own— I must then, in self-defence, take my aim as well as I can.” “Well,” added Taffril, “I will have our surgeon’s-mate in the field —a good clever young fellow at caulking a shot-hole. I will let Lesley, who is an honest fellow for a landsman, know, that he attends for the benefit of either party.—Is there any thing I can do for you in case of an accident?” “I have but little occasion to trouble you,” said Lovel; “this small billet contains the key of my escritoire, and my very brief secret— there is one letter in the escritoire (digesting a temporary swelling of the heart as he spoke) which I would beg the favour of you to deliver with your own hand.” “I understand,” said the sailor; “nay, my friend, never be ashamed for the matter—An affectionate heart may overflow for an instant at the eyes, if the ship were clearing for action—and, depend on it, whatever your injunctions are, Dan Taffril will regard them like the bequest of a dying brother. But this is all stuff—we must get our things in fighting-order, and you will dine with me and my little surgeon’smate at the Græmes’-arms, over the way, at four o’clock.” “Agreed,” said Lovel. “Agreed,” answered Taffril; and the whole affair was adjusted. It was a beautiful summer evening, and the shadow of the solitary thorn-tree was lengthening upon the short green sward of the narrow

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valley, which was skirted by the woods that closed around the ruins of St Ruth. Lovel and Lieutenant Taffril, with the surgeon, came upon the ground with a purpose of a nature very uncongenial to the soft, mild, and pacific character of the hour and scene. The sheep, which, during the ardent heat of the day, had sheltered in the breaches and hollows of the gravelly bank, or under the roots of the aged and stunted trees, had now spread themselves upon the face of the hill to enjoy their evening’s pasture, and bleated to each other with that melancholy sound, which at once gives life to a landscape and marks its solitude. Taffril and Lovel came on in deep conference, having, for fear of discovery, sent their horses back to the town by the Lieutenant’s servant. The opposite party had not yet appeared on the field. But, when they came upon the ground, there sat upon the roots of the old thorn, a figure, as vigorous in his decay as the moss-grown but strong and contorted boughs which served him for a canopy. It was old Edie Ochiltree. “This is embarrassing enough,” said Lovel; “how shall we get rid of this old fellow?” “Here, father Adam,” cried Taffril, who knew the mendicant of yore; “here’s half-a-crown for you—you must go to the Four Horse­ shoes yonder—the little inn you know, and enquire for a servant with blue and yellow livery—if he’s not come, you’ll wait for him, and tell him we shall be with his master in about an hour’s time. At any rate wait there till we come back, and get off with you—come, come, weigh anchor.” “I thank ye for your awmous,” said Ochiltree, pocketing the piece of money, “but I beg pardon—Mr Taffril, I canna gang your errand e’en now.” “Why not, man? what can hinder you?” “I wad speak a word wi’ young Mr Lovel.” “With me?” answered Lovel; “what would you have with me? come, say away and be brief.” The mendicant led him a few paces aside. “Are ye indebted ony thing to the Laird o’ Monkbarns?” “Indebted?—not I—What of that?—What makes you think so?” “Ye maun ken I was at the shirra’s the day; for, God help me, I gang about a’ gates like the troubled spirit, and wha suld come whirling there in a post-chaise, but Monkbarns in an unco curfuffle—now it’s no a little thing that will make his honour take a chaise and post-horse twa days rinnin’.” “Well, well; but what is all this to me?” “Ou, ye’se hear, ye’se hear—Weel, Monkbarns is closeted wi’ the shirra whatever puir folk may be left thareout—ye needna doubt that

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—the gentlemen are aye unco civil amang themsels.” “For Heaven’s sake, my old friend”—– “Canna ye bid me gang to the deevil at anes, Mr Lovel? it wad be mair purpose-fa’ard than to speak o’ Heaven in that impatient gate.” “But I have private business with Lieutenant Taffril here.” “Weel, weel, a’ in gude time—I can use a little wee bit o’ freedom wi’ Mr Daniel Taffril—mony’s the peery and the tap that I worked for him langsyne, for I was a worker in wood as weel as a tinkler.” “You are either mad, Adam, or have a mind to drive me mad.” “Nane o’ the twa,” said Edie, suddenly changing his manner from the protracted drawl of the mendicant to a brief and decided tone; “the shirra sent for his clerk, and, as the lad is rather light o’ the tongue, I fand it was for drawing a warrant to apprehend you—I thought it had been on a fugie warrant for debt; for a’ body kens the laird likes naeman to pit his hand in his pouch—But now I may haud my tongue, for I see the MacIntyre lad and Mr Lesley coming up, and I guess that Monkbarns’s purpose was very kind, and that yours is muckle waur than it should be.” The antagonists now approached, and saluted with the stern civility which befitted the occasion. “What has this old fellow to do here?” said MacIntyre. “I am an auld fellow,” answered Edie, “but I am also an auld fellow soldier o’ your father’s, for I served wi’ him in the 42d.” “Serve where you please, you have no title to intrude on us,” said MacIntyre, “or”—and he lifted his cane in terrorem, though without the idea of touching the old man. But Ochiltree’s courage was roused by the insult. “Haud down your switch, Captain MacIntyre! I am an auld soldier as I said afore, and I’ll take muckle frae your father’s son, but no a touch o’ the wand while my pike-staff will haud thegither.” “Well, well, I was wrong—I was wrong,” said MacIntyre, “here’s a crown for you—go your ways—what’s the matter now?” The old man drew himself up to the full advantage of his uncom­ mon height, and, in despite of his dress, which indeed had more of the pilgrim than the ordinary beggar, looked, from height, manner, and emphasis of voice and gesture, rather like a grey palmer or eremite, the preacher or ghostly counsellor of the young men who were round him, than the object of their charity. His speech, indeed, was as homely as his habit, but as bold and unceremonious as his erect and dignified demeanour. “What are ye come here for, young men?” he said, addressing himself to the surprised audience; “are ye come amongst the most lovely works of God to break his laws?—Have ye left the works of man, the houses and the cities that are but clay and dust, like those that built them; and are ye come here amang the

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peaceful hills, and by the quiet waters, that will last whiles aught earthly shall endure, to destroy each other’s lives, that will but have an unco short time, by the course of nature, to make up a lang account at the close o’t? O sirs! hae ye brithers, sisters, fathers, that hae tended ye, and mithers that hae travailed for ye, friends that hae ca’d ye like a piece o’ their ain heart—and is this the way ye tak to make them childless and britherless and friendless? Ohon! it’s an ill fight whar he that wins has the warst o’t—Think o’t, bairns—I’m a puir man but I’m an auld man too, and what my poverty takes awa’ frae the weight o’ my counsel, grey hairs and a truthfu’ heart should add it twenty times— Gang hame, gang hame, like gude lads—the French will be ower to herry us ane o’ thae days, and ye’ll hae fighting aneugh, and maybe auld Edie will hirple out himsel if he can get a feal-dike to lay his gun ower, and may live to tell you whilk o’ ye does the best where there’s a good cause afore ye.” There was something in the undaunted and independent manner, hardy sentiments, and manly rude elocution of the old man, that had its effect upon the party, and particularly upon the seconds, whose pride was uninterested in bringing the dispute to a bloody arbitra­ ment, and who, on the contrary, eagerly watched for an opportunity to recommend conciliation. “Upon my word, Mr Lesley,” said Taffril, “old Adam speaks like an oracle—Our friends here were very angry yesterday, and of course very foolish—To-day they should be cool, or at least we must be so on their behalf—I think the word should be forget and forgive on both sides, that we should all shake hands, fire these foolish crackers in the air, and go home to sup in a body at the Græmes’-arms.” “I would heartily recommend it,” said Lesley; “for, with a great deal of heat and irritation on both sides, I confess myself unable to discover any very rational ground of quarrel.” “Gentlemen,” said MacIntyre, very coldly, “all this should have been thought of before—in my opinion, persons that have carried this matter so far as we have done, and who should part without carrying it any further, might get to supper at the Græmes’-arms very joyously, but would rise the next morning with reputations as ragged as our friend here, who has obliged us with a rather unnecessary display of his oratory. I speak for myself, that I find myself bound to call upon you to proceed without more delay.” “And I,” said Lovel, “as I never desired any, have also to request these gentlemen to arrange preliminaries as fast as possible.” “Bairns, bairns,” cried old Ochiltree; but, perceiving he was no longer attended to—“Madmen, I should say—but your blood be on your heads!”—And the old man drew off from the ground, which was

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now measured out by the seconds, and continued muttering and talking to himself in sullen indignation mixed with anxiety, and with a strong feeling of painful curiosity. Without paying further attention to his presence or remonstrances, Mr Lesley and the Lieutenant made the necessary arrangements for the duel, and it was agreed both parties should fire when Mr Lesley dropped his handkerchief. The fatal sign was given, and both fired almost in the same moment. Captain MacIntyre’s ball grazed the side of his opponent, but did not draw blood. That of Lovel was more true to the aim; MacIntyre reeled and fell. Raising himself on his arm, his first exclamation was, “It is nothing—it is nothing—give us the other pistols.” But in an instant he said in a lower tone, “I believe I have enough, and what’s worse, I fear I deserve it. Mr Lovel, or whatever your name is, fly and save yourself— Bear all witness I provoked this matter.” Then raising himself again on his arm, he added, “Shake hands, Lovel—I believe you to be a gentleman—forgive my rudeness, and I forgive you my death—my poor sister!” The surgeon now came up to perform his part of the tragedy, and Lovel stood gazing on the evil of which he had been the active, though unwilling cause, with a dizzy and bewildered eye. He was roused from his trance by the grasp of the mendicant—“Why stand ye gazing on your deed?—What’s doomed is doomed—What’s done is past recall­ ing. But awa’, awa’, if ye wad save your young blood from a shamefu’ death—I see the men out bye yonder that are come ower late to part ye —but out and alack! ower soon to drag ye to prison.” “He is right—he is right,” exclaimed Taffril, “you must not attempt to get upon the high-road—get into the wood till night. My brig will be under way by this time, and at three in the morning, when the tide will serve, I will have the boat waiting for you at the Mussel-Crag—away —away, for heaven’s sake!” “O yes, fly, fly!” repeated the wounded man, his words faultering with convulsive sobs. “Come with me,” said the mendicant, almost dragging him off, “the captain’s plan is the best—I’ll carry ye to a place where ye might be concealed in the mean time, were they to seek ye wi’ sleuth-hounds.” “Go, go,” again urged Lieutenant Taffril—“to stay here is mere madness.” “It was worse madness to come,” said Lovel, pressing his hand— “But farewell!” and he followed Ochiltree into the recesses of the wood.

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Chapter Six —–The Lord Abbot had a soul Subtile and quick and searching as the fire: By magic stairs he went as deep as hell, And if in devils’ possession gold be kept, He brought some sure from thence—’tis hid in caves, Known, save to me, to none—– The Wonder ofa Kingdome

Lovel almost mechanically followed the beggar, who led the way with a hasty and sturdy pace through bush and bramble, avoiding the beaten path, and often turning to listen whether there were any sounds of pursuit behind them. They sometimes descended into the very bed of the torrent, sometimes kept a narrow and precarious path, that the sheep (which, with the sluttish negligence towards property of that sort universal in Scotland, were allowed to stray in the copse) had made along the very verge of its overhanging banks. From time to time Lovel had a glance of the path which he had traversed the day before in company with Sir Arthur, the Antiquary, and the young ladies. Dejected, embarrassed, and occupied by a thousand inquietudes, as he then was, what would he now have given to regain the sense of innocence which alone can counterbalance a thousand evils? “Yet then,” such was his hasty and involuntary reflection, “even then, guiltless and valued by all around me, I thought myself unhappy. What am I now, with this young man’s blood upon my hands?—the feeling of pride which urged me to the deed has now deserted me, as the actual fiend himself is said to do those whom he has tempted to guilt.” Even his affection for Miss Wardour sunk for the time before the first pangs of remorse, and he thought he could have encountered every agony of slighted love to have had the conscious freedom from blood­ guiltiness which he possessed in the morning. These painful reflections were not interrupted by any conversation on the part of his guide, who threaded the thicket before him, now holding back the sprays to make his path easy, now exhorting him to make haste, now muttering to himself, after the custom of solitary and neglected old age, words which might have escaped Lovel’s ear even had he listened to them, or which, apprehended and retained, were too isolated and detached to convey any connected meaning,—a habit which may be often observed among people of the old man’s age and calling. At length, as Lovel, exhausted by his late indisposition, the harrow­ ing feelings by which he was agitated, and the exertion necessary to

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keep with his guide in a path so rugged, began to flag and fall behind, two or three very precarious and hazardous steps placed him on the front of a precipice overhung with brushwood and copse. Here a cave, as narrow in its entrance as a fox-earth, was indicated by a small fissure in the rock, that the screen of an aged oak, which, anchored by its thick and twisted roots in the upper part of the cleft, flung its branches almost straight outward from the cliff, concealed effectually from all observation. It might indeed have escaped the attention even of one who had stood at its very opening, so uninviting was the portal at which the beggar entered. But within, the cavern was higher and more roomy, cut into two separate branches, which, intersecting each other at right angles, formed an emblem of the cross, and indicated the abode of an anchoret of former times. There are many caves of the same kind in different parts of Scotland. I need only instance those of Gorton, near Roslin, in a scene well known to the admirers of roman­ tic nature. The light within the cave was a dusky twilight at the entrance, which failed altogether in the inward recesses. “Few folks ken o’ this place,” said the old man; “to the best o’ my knowledge, there’s just twa living by mysel, and that’s Jingling Jock and the Lang Linker. I have had mony a thought, that when I fand mysel auld and forfairn, and no able to enjoy God’s blessed air ony langer, I wad trail mysel here wi’ a pickle ait-meal—and see, there’s a bit bonny drapping well that popples that self-same gate simmer and winter—and I wad e’en streek mysel out here, and abide my removal, like an auld dog that trails its useless and ugsome carcase into some bush or bracken, no to gie living things a sconner wi’ the sight o’t when it’s dead—Aye, and then, whan the dogs barked at the lone farm-stead, the gudewife wad cry them in and say, ‘Whisht, stirra, that’ll be auld Edie,’ and the bits o’ weans wad up, puir things, and toddle to the door, to pow in the auld Blue-gown that mends a’ their bonny-dies—but there wad be nae mair word o’ Edie, I trow.” He then led Lovel, who followed him unresistingly, into one of the interior branches of the cave. “Here,” he said, “is a bit turnpike-stair that gaes up to the auld kirk above. Some folk say this place was howkit out by the monks lang syne to hide their treasures in, and some said that they used to bring things into the abbey this gate by night, that they durstna sae weel hae brought in by the main-port and by day— And some said that ane o’ them turned a saint, (or aiblins wad hae had folk think sae,) and settled him doun in this Saint Ruth’s cell, as the auld folks aye ca’d it, and garr’d big the stair, that he might gang up to the kirk when they were at the divine service. The Laird o’ Monkbarns wad hae a hantle to say about it, as he has about maist things, if he kent

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ony about the place. But whether it was made for man’s devices or God’s service, I have seen ower muckle sin done in it in my day, and far ower muckle have I been partaker of—aye, even here in this dark cove. Mony a gudewife’s been wondering what for the red cock didna craw her up in the morning, when he’s been roasting, puir fallow, in this dark hole—And, ohon! I wish that and the like o’ that had been the warst o’t! Whiles they wad hae heard the din we were making in the very bowels o’ the earth, when Sanders Aikwood, that was forester in thae days, the father o’ Ringan that now is, was gaun daundering about the wood at e’en to see after the laird’s game—and whiles he wad hae seen a glance o’ the light frae the door o’ the cave flaughtering against the hazels on the other bank—And than siccan stories as Sanders had about the worricows and gyre-carlines that haunted about thae auld wa’s at e’en, and the lights he had seen, and the cries that he had heard, when there was nae mortal e’e open but his ain; and eh! as he wad thrum them ower and ower to the like o’ me ayont the ingle at e’en, and as I wad gie the auld silly carle grane for grane, and tale for tale, though I kend muckle better about it than ever he did. Aye, aye—they were daft days thae—but they were a’ vanity and waur, and it’s fitting that thae wha hae led a light and evil life, and abused charity when they were young, suld aiblins come to lack it when they are auld.” While Ochiltree was thus recounting the exploits and tricks of his earlier life, with a tone in which glee and compunction alternately pre­ dominated, his unfortunate auditor had sat down upon the hermit’s seat, hewn out of the solid rock, and abandoned himself to that lassi­ tude, both of mind and body, which generally follows a course of events that have agitated both. The effect of his late indisposition, which had much weakened his system, contributed to this lethargic des­ pondency. “The puir bairn,” said auld Edie, “an he sleep in this damp hole, he’ll maybe wauken nae mair, or catch some sair disease—it’s no the same to him as to the like o’ us, that can sleep ony gate an anes our wames are fu’. Sit up, Mr Lovel, lad—after a’s come and gane, I dare say the captain lad will do weel aneugh—and, after a’, ye are no the first that has had this misfortune. I hae seen mony a man killed, and helped to kill them mysel, though there was nae quarrel between us— and if it isna wrang to kill folk that we have nae quarrel wi’, just because they wear another sort of cockade, and speak a various lan­ guage, I canna see but what a man may have excuse for killing his ain mortal foe that comes armed to the fair field to kill him. I dinna say it’s right—God forbid—or that it isna sinfu’ to take away what ye canna restore, and that’s the breath of man, whilk is in his nostrils—but I say, it is a sin to be forgiven, if it is repented of. Sinfu’ men are we a’ but if

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ye wad believe an auld grey sinner that has seen the evil o’ his ways, there is as much promise atween the twa’ boards o’ the Testament as wad save the warst o’ us, could we but think sae.” With such scraps of comfort and of divinity as he had, the mendic­ ant thus continued to solicit and compel the attention of Lovel, until the twilight began to fade into night. “Now,” said Ochiltree, “I will carry ye to a mair convenient place, where I hae sat mony a time to hear the howlit crying out of the ivy tod, and to see the moonlight come through the auld windows o’ the ruins. There can be naebody come here after this time o’ night; and if they hae made ony search, thae blackguard shirra’s-officers and constables, it will hae been ower lang syne. Odd, they are as great cowards as ither folk, wi’ a’ their warrants and king’s keys—I hae gi’en some o’ them a gliff in my day, when they were coming rather ower near me—But, lauded be grace for it, they canna stir me now for onything waur than an auld man and a beggar, and my badge is a gude protection; and then Miss Isabella Wardour is a tower o’ strength, ye ken—(Lovel sighed)—aweel, dinna be cast down—bowls may a’ row right yet—gie the lassie time to ken her mind—she’s the wale o’ the country for beauty, and a gude friend o’ mine—I gang by the bridewell as free as by the kirk on a Sabbath— de’il ony o’ them daur hurt a hair o’ auld Edie’s head now—I keep the crown o’ the causey when I gae to the burrough, and rub shouthers wi’ a baillie wi’ as little concern as an he were a brock.” While the mendicant spoke thus, he was busied in removing a few loose stones in one angle of the cave which obscured the entrance of the stair-case of which he had spoken, and led the way into it, followed by Lovel in passive silence. “The air’s free eneugh,” said the old man; “the monks took care o’ that, for they werena a lang-breathed generation, I reckon—they hae contrived queer tirlie-wirlie holes, that gang out to the open air, and keep the stair as caller as a kail-blade.” Lovel accordingly found the stair-case well aired, and, though nar­ row, it was neither ruinous nor long, and speedily admitted them into a narrow gallery contrived to run within the side-wall of the chancel from which it received air and light, through apertures ingeniously hidden amid the florid ornaments of the Gothic architecture. “This secret passage anes gaed round great part o’ the bigging,” said the beggar, “and through the wa’ o’ the place that I’ve heard Monkbarns ca’ the Refractory, (meaning probably Refectory,) and so awa’ to the Prior’s ain house.—It’s like he could use it to listen what the monks were saying at meal-time, and than he might come ben here and see that they were busy skreighing awa’ wi’ the psalms doun below there—and than, when he had seen a’ was right and tight, he

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might step awa’ and fetch in a bonny lass at the cove yonder, for they were queer hands the monks, unless mony lees is made on them. But our folk were at great pains lang syne to big up the passage in some parts, and pu’ it down in others, for fear o’ some uncanny body getting into it, and finding their way doun to the cove—it wad hae been a fashious job that—by my certie, some o’ our necks wad hae been ewking.” They now came to a place where the gallery was enlarged into a small circle, sufficient to contain a stone seat. A niche, constructed exactly before it, projected forward into the chancel, and as its sides were latticed, as it were, with perforated stone-work, it commanded a full view of the chancel in every direction, and was probably construc­ ted, as Edie intimated, to be a convenient watch-tower from which the superior priest, himself unseen, could watch the behaviour of his monks, and ascertain, by personal inspection, their punctual attend­ ance upon those rites of devotion which his rank exempted him from sharing with them. As this niche made one of a regular series which stretched along the wall of the chancel, and in no respect differed from the rest when seen from below, the secret station, screened as it was by the stone figure of St Michael and the dragon and the open tracery around the niche, was completely hid from observation. The private passage, confined to its pristine breadth, had originally con­ tinued beyond this seat; but the jealous precautions of the vagabonds who frequented the cave of St Ruth had caused them to build it carefully up with hewn stones from the ruin. “We will be better here”—said Edie, seating him on the stone bench, and stretching the lappet of his blue gown upon the spot, where he motioned Lovel to sit down beside him—“We will be better here than doun below. The air’s free and mild, and the savour of the wallflowers, and siccan shrubs as grow on thae ruined wa’s, is far mair refreshing than the damp smell doun-bye yonder. They smell sweet­ est by night-time thae flowers, and they’re maist aye seen about ruined buildings—now, Mr Lovel, can ony o’ your scholars gie a gude reason forthat?” Lovel replied in the negative. “I am thinking,” resumed the beggar, “that they’ll be like mony folks’ gude gifts, that often seem maist gracious in adversity—or maybe it’s a parable, to teach us no to slight them that are in the darkness of sin and the decay of tribulation, since God sends odours to refresh the mirkest hour, and flowers and pleasant bushes to clothe the ruined biggings. And now I wad like a wise man to tell me whether Heaven is maist pleased wi’ the sight we are looking upon—thae pleasant and quiet lang streaks o’ moonlight that are lying sae still on

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the floor o’ this auld kirk, and glancing through the great pillars and stauncheons o’ the carved windows, and just dancing like on the leaves o’ the dark ivy as the breath o’ wind shakes it—I wonder whether this is mair pleasing to Heaven than when it was lighted up wi’ lamps, and candles nae doubt, and roughies, and wi’ the mirth, and frankincent that they speak of in the Holy Scripture, and wi’ organs assuredly, and men and women singers, and sackbuts, and dulcimers, and a’ instru­ ments o’ music—I wonder if that was acceptable—Or whether it is to these grand parofle o’ ceremonies that holy writ says ‘is an abomina­ tion to me’—I am thinking, Mr Lovel, that if twa puir contrite spirits like yours and mine fand grace to make our petition”—– Here Lovel laid his hand eagerly on the mendicant’s arm, saying, “Hush! I heard some one speak.” “I am dull o’ hearing,” answered Edie in a whisper, “but we’re surely safe here—where was the sound?” Lovel pointed to the door of the chancel, which, highly orna­ mented, occupied the west end of the building, surmounted by the carved window, which let in a flood of moonlight over it. “They can be nane o’ our folk,” said Edie, in the same low and cautious tone; “there’s but twa o’ them kens o’ the place, and they’re mony a mile off, if they are still bound on their weary pilgrimage. I’ll never think it’s the officers here at this time o’ night. I am nae believer in auld wives’ stories about ghaists, though this is gay like a place for them—But mortal, or of the other warld, here they come—twa men and a light.” And in very truth, while the mendicant spoke, two human figures darkened with their shadows the entrance of the chancel which had before opened to the moonlight meadow beyond, and the small lan­ tern which one of them displayed, glimmered pale in the clear and strong beams of the moon, as the evening star does among the lights of the departing day. The first and most obvious idea was, that, despite the asseverations of Edie Ochiltree, the persons who approached the ruins at an hour so uncommon must be the officers of justice in quest of Lovel. But no part of their conduct confirmed this suspicion. A touch and a whisper from the old man warned Lovel that his best course was to remain quiet, and watch their motions from their pre­ sent place of concealment. Should any thing appear to render retreat necessary, they had behind them the private staircase and cavern, by means of which they could escape into the wood long before any danger of close pursuit. They kept themselves, therefore, as still as possible, and observed, with eager and anxious curiosity, every accent and motion of these nocturnal wanderers. After conversing together some time in whispers, the two figures

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advanced into the midst of the chancel, and a voice which Lovel at once recognized, from its tone and dialect, to be that of Douster­ swivel, pronounced in a louder but still a smothered tone, “Indeed, mine goot sir, dere cannot be one finer hour nor season for dis great purpose. You shall see, mine goot sir, dat it is all one bibble-babble dat Mr Oldbuck says, and dat he knows no more of what he speaks than one little shild. Mine soul! he expects to get as rich as one Jew for his poor dirty one hundred pounds, which I care no more about, by mine honest wort, than I care for one hundred stivers. But to you, my most munificent and reverend patron, I will shew all de secrets dat art can shew—aye, de secret of de Divine Pymander.” “That other ane,” whispered Edie, “maun be, according to a’ likeli­ hood, Sir Arthur Wardour. I ken naebody but himsel wad come here at this time at e’en wi’ that German blackguard—Ane wad think he’s bewitched him—he gars him e’en trow that chalk is cheese—let’s see what they can be doing.” This interruption, and the low tone in which Sir Arthur spoke, made Lovel lose all Sir Arthur’s answer to the adept, excepting the three last emphatic words, “Very great expence,”—to which Douster­ swivel at once replied,—“Expences—to be sure—dere must be de great expences—you do not expect to reap before you do sow de seed —de expence is de seed—de riches and de mine of goot metal, and now de great big chests of plate—they are de crop—vary goot crop too, on mine wort. Now, Sir Arthur, you have sowed this night one little seed of ten guineas like one pinch of snuff, or so big—and if you do not reap de great harvest—dat is de great harvest for de little pinch of seed, for it must be proportions you must know—then never call one honest man, Herman Dousterswivel. Now you see, mine patron —for I will not conceal mine secret from you at all—you see this little plate of silver—You know de moon measureth de whole zodiack in de space of twenty-eight day—every shild knows dat—well, I take a silver plate when she is in her fifteenth mansion, which mansion is in de head of Libra, and I engrave upon one side de worts,Schedbarschemoth Scharlathan—dat is, de Intelligency of de Intelligence of de moon— and I make his picture like a flying serpent with a turkey-cock’s head—vary well—Then upon this side I make de table of de moon, which is a square of nine, multiplied into itself, with eighty-one num­ bers on every side, and diameter nine—dere it is done very proper— Now I will make dis avail me at de change of every quarter-moon dat I shall find by de same proportions of expences I lay out in de suffumi­ gations, as nine, to de product of nine multiplied into itself—But I shall find no more to-night, as maybe two or three times nine, because dere is a thwarting power in de house of ascendency.”

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“But Dousterswivel,” said the simple Baronet, “does not this look like magic?—I am a true though unworthy son of the episcopal church, and I will have nothing to do with the foul fiend.” “Bah! bah!—not a bit magic in it at all—not a bit—It is all founded on de planetary influence and de sympathy and force of numbers—I will shew you much finer dan dis—I do not say dere is not de spirit in it, because of de suffumigation; but, if you are not afraid, he shall not be invisible.” “I have no curiosity to see him at all,” said the Baronet, whose courage seemed, from a certain quiver in his accent, to have taken a fit of the ague. “Dat is great pity,” said Dousterswivel; “I should have liked to shew you de spirit dat guard this treasure like one fierce watch-dog—but I know how to manage him—you would not care to see him?” “Not at all,” answered the Baronet, with a tone of feigned indiffer­ ence ; “I think we have but little time.” “You shall pardon me, my patron, it is not yet twelve, and twelve precise is just our planetary hour—And I could shew you de spirit vara well, in de meanwhile, just for pleasure—you see I would draw a pentagon within a circle, which is no trouble at all, and make my suffumigation within it, and dere we would be like in one strong castle, and you would hold de sword while I did say de needful worts—Den you should see de solid wall open like de gate of ane city, and den—let me see—aye—you should see first one stag pursued by three black greyhounds, and they should pull him down as they do at de elector’s great hunting-match—and then one ugly, little, nasty black negro should appear and take de stag from them—and paf—all should be gone—then you should hear horns winded dat all de ruins should ring —mine wort, they should play fine hunting piece, as goot as him you call’d Fischer with his oboe—vary well—then comes one herald, as we call Ehrenhold, winding his horn—and then come de great Peolphan, called the Mighty Hunter of the North, mounted in hims black steed—but you would not care to see all this?” “Why, I am not afraid—if—if—that is do any great mischiefs hap­ pen on such occasions?” “Bah—mischiefs? no!—sometimes if de circle be no quite just, or de beholder be de frightened coward, and not hold de sword firm and strait towards him, de great hunter will take his advantage and drag him exorcist out of de circle and throttle him. Dat does happens.” “Well then, Dousterswivel, with every confidence in my courage and your skill, we will dispense with this apparition, and go on to the business of the night.” “With all mine heart—it is just one thing to me—and now it is de

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time—hold you de sword till I kindle de little what you call chip.” Dousterswivel accordingly set fire to a little pile of chips, touched and prepared with some bituminous substance to make them burn fiercely, and when the flame was at the highest, and lightened, with its short-lived glare, all the ruins around, the German flung in a handful of perfumes which produced a strong and pungent odour. The exor­ cist and his pupil both were so much affected as to cough and sneeze heartily; and, as the vapour floated around the pillars of the building, and penetrated every crevice, it produced the same effect on the beggar and Lovel. “Was that an echo?” said the Baronet, astonished at the sternuta­ tion which resounded from above; “or”—drawing close to the adept, “can it be the spirit you talked of, ridiculing our attempt upon his hidden treasures?” “N—N—No,” muttered the German, who began to partake his pupil’s terrors, “I hope not.” Here a violent explosion, which the mendicant was unable to sup­ press, and which could not be considered by any means as the dying fall of an echo, accompanied by a grunting half-smothered cough, confounded the two treasure-seekers. “Lord have mercy upon me!” said the baronet. “Alie guten geister loben den Herrn!” ejaculated the terrified adept. “I was begin to think,” he continued, after a moment’s silence, “that this would be bestermost done in de day-light—we was bettermost to go away just now.” “You juggling villain,” said the Baronet, in whom these expressions awakened a suspicion that overcame his terrors, connected as it was with the sense of desperation, arising from the apprehension of impending ruin; “you juggling mountebank, this is some legerdemain trick of yours to get off from the performance of your promise, as you have so often done before. But, before Heaven, I will this night know what I have trusted to when I suffered you to fool me on to my ruin!— go on then—come fairy, come fiend, you shall shew me that treasure, or confess yourself a knave and an impostor, or, by the faith of a desperate and ruined man, I’ll send you where you shall see spirits enough.” The treasure-finder, trembling between his terror for the super­ natural beings by whom he supposed himself to be surrounded, and for his life, which seemed to be at the mercy of a desperate man, could only bring out, “Mine patron, this is not the allerbestmost of usage. Consider, mine honoured sir, that de spirits”—– Here Edie, who began to enter into the humour of the scene, uttered an extraordinary howl, being an exaltation and prolongation of

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the most deplorable whine in which he was accustomed to solicit charity—Dousterswivel flung himself on his knees, “Dear Sir Arthurs, let us go, or let me go!” “No, you cheating scoundrel,” said the knight, unsheathing the sword which he had brought for the purposes of the exorcism, “that shift will not serve you—Monkbarns warned me long since of your juggling pranks—I will see this treasure before you leave this place, or I will have you confess yourself an impostor, or, by Heaven, I’ll run this sword through you though all the spirits of the dead should rise round us!” “For de lofe of Heaven be patient, mine honoured patron, and you shall hafe all de treasure as I knows of—yes—you shall indeed—but do not speak about de spirits—it makes them angry.” Edie Ochiltree here prepared himself to throw in another groan, but was restrained by Lovel, who began to take a more serious inter­ est, as he observed the earnest and almost desperate demeanour of Sir Arthur. Dousterswivel having at once before his eyes the fear of the foul fiend and the violence of Sir Arthur, played his part of a conjuror extremely ill, hesitating to assume the degree of confidence necessary to deceive the latter, lest it should give offence to the invisible cause of his alarm. However, after rolling his eyes, muttering and sputtering German exorcisms, with contortions of his face and person, rather flowing from the impulse of terror than of meditated fraud, he at length proceeded to a corner of the building where a flat stone lay upon the ground, bearing upon its surface the effigy of an armed warrior in a recumbent posture, carved in bas-relief. He muttered to Sir Arthur, “Mine patrons—it is here—Got safe us all!” Sir Arthur, who, after the first moments of his superstitious fear were over, seemed to have bent up all his faculties to the pitch of resolution necessary to carry on the adventure, lent the adept his assistance to turn over the stone, which, by means of a lever that the adept had provided, their joint force with difficulty effected. No supernatural light burst forth from below to indicate the subterranean treasury, nor was there any apparition of spirits, earthy or infernal. But when Dousterswivel had, with great trepidation, struck a few strokes with a mattock, and as hastily thrown out a shovelful or two of earth, (for they had come provided with the tools necessary for digging,) something was heard to ring like the sound of a falling piece of metal, and Dousterswivel, hastily catching up the substance which produced it, and which his shovel had thrown out along with the earth, exclaimed, “On mine dear wort, mine patrons, dis is all— it is indeed—I mean all we can do to-night,”—and he gazed round him with a cowering and fearful glance, as if to see from what corner

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the avenger of his imposture was to start forth. “Let me see it,” said Sir Arthur; and then repeated yet more sternly, “I will be satisfied—I will judge by mine own eyes.” He accordingly held the object to the light of the lantern. It was a small case, or casket,—for Lovel could not at the distance exactly discern its shape, which, from the baronet’s exclamation as he opened it, he concluded was filled with coin. “Aye,” said the Baronet, “this is being indeed in good luck, and if it omens proportional success upon a larger venture, the venture shall be made—that six hundred of Goldiebird’s, added to the other incumbent claims, must have been ruin indeed—if you think we can parry it by repeating this experiment —Suppose when the moon next changes,—I will hazard the necessary advance, come by it how I may.” “O mine goot patrons, do not speak about all dat,” said Douster­ swivel, “as just now, but help me to put de shtone to de rights, and let us begone our own ways.” And accordingly, so soon as the stone was replaced, he hurried Sir Arthur, who was now resigned once more to his guidance, away from a spot where his guilty conscience and super­ stitious fears represented goblins as lurking behind each pillar with the purpose of punishing his treachery. “Saw ony body e’er the like o’ that!” said Edie, when they had disappeared like shadows through the gate by which they had entered —“Saw ony creature living e’er the like o’ that!—But what can we do for that puir doited deevil of a knight-baronet?—Odd, he shewed mickle mair spunk, too, than I thought had been in him—I thought he wad hae sent cauld iron through the vagabond—Sir Arthur wasna half sae bauld at Bessie’s-apron yon night—but than his blood wasna up, and that makes an unco difference. I hae seen mony a man wad hae felled another an’ anger him, that wadna mickle hae liked a clink against Crummie’s-horn yon time. But what’s to be done?” “I suppose,” said Lovel, “his faith in this fellow is entirely restored by this deception, which, unquestionably, he had arranged before­ hand.” “What! the siller?—Aye, aye—trust him for that—they that hide ken best where to find—He wants to wile him out o’ his last guinea, and than escape to his ain country, the land-louper. I wad hae liked weel just to hae come in at the clipping-time, and gi’en him a lounder wi’ my pike-staff; he wad hae ta’en it for a bennison frae some o’ the auld dead abbots—but it’s best no to be rash—sticking doesna gang be strength, but be the guiding o’ the gully—I’se be upsides wi’ him ae day.” “What if you should inform Mr Oldbuck?” said Lovel. “Ow, I dinna ken—Monkbarns and Sir Arthur are like, and yet

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they’re no like neither—Monkbarns has whiles influence wi’ him, and whiles Sir Arthur cares as little about him as about the like o’ me. Monkbarns is no that ower wise himsel in some things—He wad believe a bodle to be an auld Roman coin, as he ca’s it, or a ditch to be a camp, upon ony leasing that idle folk made about it. I hae garr’d him trow mony a queer tale mysel, gude forgie me. But wi’ a’ that, he has unco little sympathy wi’ ither folks; and he’s snell and dure aneugh in casting up their nonsense to them, as if he had nane o’ his ain. He’ll listen the hale day, an ye tell him about tales o’ Wallace, and Blind Harry, and Davie Lindsay, but ye maunna speak to him about ghaists or fairies, or spirits walking the earth, or the like o’ that—He had near flung auld Caxon out o’ the window amaist, (and he might just as weel hae flung awa’ his best wig after him) for threeping he had seen a ghaist at the Humlock-knowe—now, if he was taking it up in this way, he wad set up the tother’s birss, and maybe do mair ill nor gude—He’s done that twice or thrice about thae mine-warks—ye wad hae thought Sir Arthur had a pleasure in gaun on wi’ them the mair he was warn’d again it by Monkbarns.” “What say you then,” said Lovel, “to letting Miss Wardour know the circumstance?” “Ou, puir thing, how could she stop her father doing his pleasure? —and, besides, what wad it help?—There’s a sough in the country about that six hundred pounds, and there’s a writer chield in Edin­ brugh has been driving the spur-rowels o’ the law into Sir Arthur’s sides up to the head to gar him pay it, and if he canna, he maun gang to jail or flee the kintray. He’s like a desperate man, and just catches at this chance as a’ he has left, to escape utter perdition; so what signifies plaguing the puir lassie about what canna be helped?—And besides, to say the truth, I wadna like to tell the secret o’ this place. It’s unco convenient, ye see yoursel, to hae a hiding-hole o’ ane’s ain, and though I be out o’ the line o’ needing ane e’en now, and trust in the power o’ grace that I’ll ne’er do ony thing to need ane again, yet naebody kens what temptation ane may be gi’en ower to—and, to be brief, I downa bide the thought of ony body kenning about the place —they say, keep a thing seven years, and ye’ll aye find a use for’t— and maybe I may need the cove, either for mysel, or for some ither body.” This argument, in which Edie Ochiltree, notwithstanding his scraps of morality and of divinity, seemed to take, perhaps from old habit, a personal interest, could not be handsomely controverted by Lovel, who was at that moment reaping the benefit of the secret of which the old man appeared to be so jealous. This incident, however, was of great service to Lovel, as diverting

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his mind from the unhappy occurrence of the evening, and consider­ ably rousing the energies which had been stupified by the first view of his calamity. He reflected, that it by no means necessarily followed that a dangerous wound must be a fatal one—that he had been hurried from the spot even before the surgeon had expressed any opinion of Captain MacIntyre’s situation—and that he had duties on earth to perform, even should the very worst be true, which, if they could not restore his peace of mind or sense of innocence, would furnish a motive for enduring existence, and at the same time render it a course of active benevolence. Such were Lovel’s feelings when the hour arrived, when, according to Edie’s calculation, who, by some train or process of his own in observing the heavenly bodies, stood independent of the assistance of a watch or timekeeper, it was fitting they should leave their hiding place, and betake themselves to the sea-shore, in order to meet Lieu­ tenant Taffril’s boat according to appointment. They retreated by the same passage which had admitted them to the prior’s secret seat of observation, and when they issued from the grotto into the wood, the birds, which began to chirp, and even to sing, announced that the dawn was advanced. This was confirmed by the light and amber clouds that appeared over the sea so soon as their exit from the copse permitted them to view the horizon. Morning, said to be friendly to the muses, has probably obtained this character from its effect upon the fancy and feelings of mankind. Even to those who, like Lovel, have spent a sleepless and anxious night, the breeze of the dawn brings strength and quickening both of mind and body. It was therefore with renewed health and vigour that Lovel, guided by the trusty mendicant, brushed away the dews as he traversed the downs which divided the Den of St Ruth, as the woods surrounding the ruins were popularly called, from the sea-shore. The first level beam of the sun, as his brilliant disk began to emerge from the ocean, shot full upon the little gun-brig which was laying-to in the offing. Close to the shore the boat was already waiting, Taffril himself, with his naval cloak wrapped about him, seated in the stern. He jumped ashore when he saw the mendicant and Lovel approach, and, shaking the latter heartily by the hand, begged him not to be cast down. “MacIntyre’s wound,” he said, “was doubtful, but far from desperate.” His attention had got Lovel’s baggage privately sent on board the brig; “and,” he said, “he trusted that, if Lovel chose to stay with the vessel, the penalty of a short cruize would be the only disag­ reeable consequences of his rencontre. As for himself, his time and motions were a good deal at his own disposal,” he said, “excepting the necessary obligation of remaining in his station.”

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“We will talk of our farther motions,” said Lovel, “as we go on board.” Then turning to Edie, he endeavoured to put money into his hand. “I think,” said Edie, as he tendered it back again, “the hale folk here have either gane daft, or they hae made a vow to ruin my trade, as they say ower mickle water drowns the miller. I hae had mair gowd offered me within this twa or three weeks than I ever saw in my life afore. Keep the siller, lad, ye’ll hae need o’t I’se warrant ye, and I hae nane—my claes is nae great things, and I get a blue-gown every year, and as mony siller-groats as the king, God bless him, is years auld—you and I serve the same master, ye ken, Captain Taffril—there’s rigging provided for —and my meat and drink I get for the asking in my rounds, or, at an orra time, I can gang a day without it, for I make it a rule never to pay for nane—So that a’ the siller I need is just to buy tobacco and snishing, and maybe a dram at a time in a cauld day, though I am nae dram-drinker to be a gaberlunzie—Sae take back your notes, and just gie me a lily-white shilling.” Upon these whims, which he imagined intimately connected with the honour of his vagabond profession, Edie was flint and adamant, not to be moved by rhetoric or entreaty, and therefore Lovel was under the necessity of again pocketing his intended bounty, and taking a friendly leave of the mendicant by shaking him by the hand, and assuring him of his cordial gratitude for the very important services which he had rendered to him, recommending, at the same time, secrecy as to what they had that night witnessed.—“Ye needna doubt that,” said Ochiltree, “I never tell’d tales out o’ yon cove in my life, though mony a queer thing I hae seen in’t.” The boat now put off. The old man remained looking after it as it made rapidly towards the brig under the impulse of six stout rowers, and Lovel beheld him again wave his blue-bonnet as a token of fare­ well ere he turned from his fixed posture, and began to move slowly along the sands as if resuming his customary perambulations.

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Chapter Seven Wiser Raymond, as in his closet pent, Laughs at such danger and adventurement, When half his lands are spent in golden smoke, And now his second hopeful glasse is broke; But yet, if haply his third furnace hold, Devoteth all his pots and pans to gold. Old Play

About a week after the adventures commemorated in our last chap­ ter, Mr Oldbuck, descending to his breakfast-parlour, found that his womankind were not upon duty, his toast not made, and the silver mug, which wont to receive his libations of mum, not duly aired for its reception. “This confounded hot-brained boy”—he said to himself, “now that he begins to get out of danger I can tolerate this life no longer—All goes to sixes and sevens—an universal saturnalia seems to be pro­ claimed in my peaceful and orderly family—I ask for my sister—no answer—I call, I shout—I invocate my inmates by more names than the Romans gave to their deities—At length, Jenny, whose shrill voice I have heard this half hour lilting in the tartarean regions of the kitchen, condescends to hear me, and reply, but without coming up stairs, so the conversation must be continued at the top of my lungs.” —Here he again began to hollow aloud, “Jenny, where’s Miss Oldbuck?” “Miss Grizzy’s in the captain’s room.” “Umph, I thought so—and where’s my niece?” “Miss Mary’s making the captain’s tea.” “Umph, I supposed as much again—and where’s Caxon?” “Awa’ to the town about the captain’s fowling-gun and his setting­ dog.” “And who the devil’s to dress my periwig, you silly jade?—when you knew that Miss Wardour and Sir Arthur were coming here early after breakfast, how could you let Caxon go on such a Tom-fool’s errand?” “Me! what could I hinder him? your honour wadna hae us contra­ dict the captain e’en now, and him maybe deeing?” “Dying!—eh!—what?—has he been worse?” “Na, he’s no nae waur that I ken of.” “Then he must be better—and what good is a dog and a gun to do here, but the one to destroy all my furniture, steal from my larder, and perhaps worry the cat, and the other to shoot somebody through the

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head—he has had gunning and pistolling enough to serve him one while, I should think.” Here Miss Oldbuck entered the parlour, at the door of which Oldbuck was carrying on this conversation, he bellowing down to Jenny, and she again screaming upward in reply. “Dear brother,” said the old lady, “ye’ll cry yoursel as hoarse as a corbie—is that the way to skreigh when there’s a sick person in the house?” “Upon my word, the sick person’s like to have all the house to himself. I have gone without my breakfast, and am like to go without my wig; and I must not, I suppose, presume to say I feel either hunger or cold, for fear of disturbing the sick gentleman, who lies six rooms off, and who feels himself well enough to send for his dog and his gun, though he knows I detest such implements ever since our elder brother, poor Williewald, marched out of the world on a pair of damp feet caught in the Kittlefitting moss—But that signifies nothing I suppose—I shall be expected by and by to lend a hand to carry Squire Hector out upon his litter, while he indulges his sportsman­ like propensities by shooting my pigeons, or my turkeys—I think any of the feræ natures are safe from him for one while.” Miss MacIntyre now entered, and began to her usual morning’s task of arranging her uncle’s breakfast, with the alertness of one who is too late in setting about a task and is anxious to make up for lost time. But this did not avail her. “Take care, you silly womankind—that’s too near the fire—the bottle will burst—and I suppose you intend to reduce the toast to a cinder as a burnt-offering for Juno, or what do ye call her—the female dog there, with some such Pantheon kind of a name, that your wise brother has, in his first moments of mature reflection, ordered up as a fitting inmate of my house, (I thank him,) and meet company to aid the rest of the womankind of my household in their daily conversation and intercourse with him.” “Dear uncle, don’t be angry about the poor spaniel; she’s been tied up at my brother’s lodgings at Fairport, and she’s broke her chain twice, and come running down here to him; and you would not have us beat the faithful beast away from the door—it moans as if it had some sense of poor Hector’s misfortune, and will hardly stir from the door of his room.” “Why, they said Caxon had gone to Fairport after his dog and gun. ” “O dear sir, no—it was to fetch some dressings that were wanted, and Hector only wished him to bring out his gun, as he was going to Fairport at any rate.” “Well, then, it’s not altogether so foolish a business, considering what a mess of womankind have been about it—Dressings, quotha?— and who is to dress my wig?—but I suppose Jenny will undertake”—

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continued the old bachelor, looking at himself in the glass,—“to make it somewhat decent—and now let us set to breakfast—with what appetite we may—well may I say to Hector as Sir Isaac Newton did to his dog Diamond, when the animal (I detest dogs) flung down the taper among calculations which had occupied the philosopher for twenty years, and consumed the whole mass of materials—Diamond, Diamond, thou little knowest the mischief thou hast done!” “I assure you, sir, my brother is quite sensible of the rashness of his own behaviour, and allows that Mr Lovel behaved very handsomely.” “And much good that will do when he has frightened the lad out of the country—I tell thee, Mary, Hector’s understanding, and far more that of feminity, is inadequate to comprehend the extent of the loss which he has occasioned to the present age and to posterity—aureum quidem opus—a poem on such a subject—with notes illustrative of all that is clear, and all that is dark; and all that is neither dark nor clear, but hovers in dusky twilight in the region of Caledonian antiquities. I would have made the Celtic panegyrists look about them—Fingal, as they conceitedly term Fin-Mac-Coul, should have disappeared before my search, rolling himself on his cloud like the spirit of Loda. Such an opportunity can hardly again occur to an ancient and grey­ haired man—and to see it lost by the madcap spleen of a hot-blooded boy! but I submit—Heaven’s will be done.” Thus continued the Antiquary to maunder, as his sister expressed it, during the whole time of breakfast, while, despite of sugar and honey, and all the comfits of a Scottish morning tea-table, his reflections rendered the meal bitter to all who heard them. But they knew the nature of the man. “Monkbarns’s bark,” said Miss Griselda Oldbuck, in confidential intercourse with Miss Rebecca Blattergowl, “is muckle waur than his bite.” He had suffered in mind extremely while his nephew was in actual danger, and now felt himself at liberty, upon his returning health, to indulge in complaints respecting the trouble he had been put to, and the interruption of his antiquarian labours. Listened to, therefore, in respectful silence by his niece and sister, he unloaded his discontent in such grumblings as we have rehearsed, venting many a sarcasm against womankind, soldiers, dogs, and guns, all which implements of noise, discord, and tumult, as he called them, he professed to hold in utter abomination. This expectoration of spleen was suddenly interrupted by the noise of a carriage without, when, shaking off all sullenness at the sound, Oldbuck ran nimbly down stairs and up stairs, for both operations were necessary, ere he could receive Miss Wardour and her father at the door of his mansion.

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A cordial greeting passed on both sides. And Sir Arthur, referring to his previous enquiries by letter and message, requested to be par­ ticularly informed of Captain MacIntyre’s health. “Better than he deserves,” was the answer; “better than he deserves, for disturbing us with his vixen brawls, and breaking God’s peace and the king’s.” “The young gentleman,” Sir Arthur said, “had been imprudent; but he understood they were indebted to him for the detection of a suspicious character in the young man Lovel.” “No more suspicious than his own—the young gentleman was a little foolish and headstrong, and refused to answer Hector’s imper­ tinent interrogatories—that is all. Lovel, Sir Arthur, knows how to chuse his confidants better—aye, Miss Wardour, you may look at me —but it is very true—it was in my bosom that he deposited the secret cause of his residence at Fairport, and no stone should have been left unturned on my part to assist him in the pursuit to which he had dedicated himself.” On hearing this magnanimous declaration on the part of the old Antiquary, Miss Wardour changed colour more than once, and could hardly trust her own ears. For of all confidants to be selected as the depositary of love affairs, and such she naturally supposed must have been the subject of communication, (next to Edie Ochiltree) Oldbuck seemed the most uncouth and extraordinary; nor could she suffici­ ently admire or fret at the extraordinary combination of circumstances which thus threw a secret of such a delicate nature into the possession of persons so unfitted to be entrusted with it. She had next to fear the mode of Oldbuck entering upon the affair with her father, for such, she doubted not, was his intention. She well knew, that as the honest gentleman, however vehement in his prejudices, had no great sym­ pathy with those of others, she had to fear a most unpleasant explo­ sion, upon an eclaircissement taking place between them. It was therefore with great anxiety that she heard her father request a private interview, and observed Oldbuck readily arise, and shew the way to his library. She remained behind, attempting to converse with the ladies of Monkbarns, but with the distracted feelings of Macbeth, when compelled to disguise his evil conscience, by listening and replying to the observations of the attendant thanes upon the storm of the preced­ ing night, while his whole soul is upon the stretch to listen for the alarm of murder, which he knows must be instantly raised by those who have entered the sleeping apartment of Duncan. But the conver­ sation of the two virtuosi turned on a subject very different from that which Miss Wardour apprehended. “Mr Oldbuck,” said Sir Arthur, when they had, after a due

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exchange of ceremonial, fairly seated themselves in the sanctum sanc­ torum of the Antiquary,—“you, who know so much of my family matters, may probably be surprised at the question I am about to put to you.” “Why, Sir Arthur, if it relates to money, I am very sorry, but”—– “It does relate to money matters, Mr Oldbuck.” “Really then, Sir Arthur,” continued the Antiquary, “in the present state of the money-market—and stocks being so low”—– “You mistake my meaning, Mr Oldbuck,” said the Baronet; “I wished to ask your advice about laying out a large sum of money to advantage.” “The devil!” exclaimed the Antiquary; and, sensible that his invol­ untary ejaculation was not over and above civil, he proceeded to qualify it by expressing his joy that Sir Arthur should have a sum of money to lay out when the commodity was so scarce. “And as for the mode of employing it,” said he, pausing, “the funds are low at present, as I said before, and there are good bargains of land to be had. But had you not better begin by clearing off incumbrances, Sir Arthur? —There is the sum in the personal bond—and the three notes of hand,”—continued he, taking out of the right-hand drawer of his cabinet a certain red memorandum-book, of which Sir Arthur, from the experience of former frequent appeals to it, abhorred the very sight—“with the interest thereon—amounting altogether to—let me see”—– “To about a thousand pounds,” said Sir Arthur hastily; “you told me the amount the other day.” “But there is another term’s interest due since that, Sir Arthur, and it amounts (errors excepted) to—–eleven hundred and thirteen pounds, seven shilling, five pennies, and three-fourths of a penny sterling—but look over the summation yourself.” “I dare say you are quite right, my dear sir,” said the Baronet, putting away the book with his hand as one rejects the old-fashioned civility that presses food upon you, after you have eaten till nausea,— “perfectly right, I dare to say, and in the course of three days or less you shall have the full value—that is, if you chuse to accept it in bullion.” “Bullion? I suppose you mean lead—what the deuce! have we hit on the vein then at last?—But what could I do with a thousand pounds worth, and upwards, of lead?—the former Abbots of Trotcosey might have roofed their church and monastery with it indeed—but for me”—– “By bullion,” said the Baronet, “I mean the precious metals,—gold and silver.”

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“Aye! indeed?—And from what Eldorado is this treasure to be imported?” “Not far from hence,” said Sir Arthur, significantly; “and, now I think of it, you shall see the whole process on one small condition.” “And what is that?” craved the Antiquary. “Why, it will be necessary for you to give me your friendly assist­ ance, by advancing one hundred pounds or thereabouts.” Mr Oldbuck, who had been already grasping in idea the sum, principal and interest, of a debt which he had long regarded as well nigh desperate, was so much astounded at the tables being so unex­ pectedly turned upon him, that he could only re-echo, in an accent of woe and surprise, the words, “Advance one hundred pounds?” “Yes, my good sir,” continued Sir Arthur; “but upon the best possible security for being thankfully repaid in the course of two or three days.” There was a pause: either Oldbuck’s nether-jaw had not recovered its position so as to enable him to utter a negative, or his curiosity kept him silent. “I would not propose to you,” continued Sir Arthur, “to oblige me thus far, if I did not possess actual proofs of the reality of those expectations which I now hold out to you. And, I assure you, Mr Oldbuck, that in entering fully upon this topic, it is my purpose to shew my confidence in you, and my sense of your kindness on many former occasions.” Mr Oldbuck professed his sense of obligation, but carefully avoided committing himself by any promise of farther assistance. “Mr Dousterswivel,” said Sir Arthur, “having discovered”—– Here Oldbuck broke in, his eyes sparkling with indignation. “Sir Arthur, I have so often warned you of the knavery of that rascally quack, that I really wonder you should quote him to me.” “But listen—listen,” interrupted Sir Arthur in his turn, “it will do you no harm. In short, Dousterswivel persuaded me to witness an experiment which he made in the ruins of St Ruth—and what do you think we found?” “Another spring of water, I suppose, of which the rogue had beforehand taken care to ascertain the situation and source.” “No, indeed—a casket of gold and silver coins—here they are.” With that, Sir Arthur drew from his pocket a large ram’s-horn, with a copper cover, containing a considerable quantity of coins, chiefly silver, but with a few gold pieces intermixed. The Antiquary’s eyes glistened as he eagerly spread them out on the table. “Upon my word—Scotch, English, and foreign coins, of the fif­ teenth and sixteenth centuries, and some of them rari—et rariores—

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etiam rarissimi! Here is the bonnet-piece ofJanies V.—the unicorn of James II.—aye, and the gold testoon of Queen Mary, with her head and the Dauphin’s—And these were really found in the ruins of St Ruth?” “Most assuredly—my own eyes witnessed it.” “Well,” replied Oldbuck, “but you must tell me the when—the where—the how—–” “The when,” answered Sir Arthur, “was at midnight last full moon —the where, as I have told you, in the ruins of St Ruth’s priory—the how, was by a nocturnal experiment of Dousterswivel accompanied only by myself.” “Indeed?” said Oldbuck, “and what means of discovery did you employ?” “Only a simple suffumigation,” said the Baronet, “accompanied by availing ourselves of the suitable planetary hour.” “Simple suffumigation? simple non-sensification—planetary hour? planetary fiddlestick—Sapiens dominabitur astris.—My dear Sir Ar­ thur, that fellow has made a gull of you above ground and under ground, and he would have made a gull of you in the air too if he had been by when you was craned up the devil’s turnpike yonder at Halket-head—to be sure, the transformation would have then been peculiarly apropos.” “Well, Mr Oldbuck, I am obliged to you for your indifferent opin­ ion of my discernment. But I think you will give me credit for having seen what I say I saw.” “Certainly, Sir Arthur,” said the Antiquary, “to this extent at least, that I know Sir Arthur Wardour will not say he saw any thing but what he thought he saw.” “Well then,” replied the Baronet, “as there is a Heaven above us, Mr Oldbuck, I saw, with my own eyes, these coins dug out of the chancel at St Ruth at midnight—And as to Dousterswivel, though the discovery be owing to his science, yet to tell the truth, I do not think he would have had firmness of mind to have gone through with it if I had not been beside him.” “Aye! indeed?” said Oldbuck, in the tone used when one wishes to hear the end of a story before making any comment. “Yes, truly,” continued Sir Arthur, “I assure you I was upon my guard—we did hear some very uncommon sounds, that is certain, proceeding from among the ruins.” “O, you did?” said Oldbuck; “an accomplice hid among them, I suppose?” “Not a jot,” said the Baronet; “the sounds, though of a hideous and preternatural character, rather resembled those of a man who sneezes

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violently than any other—One deep groan I certainly heard besides— and Dousterswivel assures me, that he beheld the spirit Peolphan, the Great Hunter of the North, (look for him in your Nicolus Remigius, or Petrus Thyræus, Mr Oldbuck,) who mimicked the motion of snuff­ taking and its effects.” “These indications, however singular as proceeding from such a personage, seem to have been apropos to the matter,” said the Anti­ quary; “for you see the case, which includes these coins, has all the appearance of being an old-fashioned Scottish snuff-mull—but you persevered, in spite of the terrors of this sneezing goblin?” “Why, I think it probable that a man of inferior sense of con­ sequence might have given way; but I was jealous of an imposture, conscious of the duty I owed to my family in maintaining my courage under every contingence, and therefore I compelled Dousterswivel, by actual and violent threats, to proceed with what he was about to do; and, sir, the proof of his skill and honesty is this parcel of gold and silver pieces, out of which I beg you to select such coins or medals as will suit your collection.” “Why, Sir Arthur, since you are so good, and on condition you will permit me to mark the value, according to Pinkerton’s catalogue and appreciation, against your account in my red book, I will with pleasure select”–— “Nay,” said Sir Arthur Wardour, “I do not mean you should con­ sider them as any thing but a gift of friendship, and least of all would I stand by the valuation of your friend Pinkerton, who has impugned the ancient and trust-worthy authorities, upon which, as upon venerable and moss-grown pillars, the credit of Scottish history reposed.” “Aye! aye!” rejoined Oldbuck, “you mean, I suppose, Mair and Boece, the Jachin and Boaz, not of history, but of falsification and forgery. And for all you have told me, I look on your friend Douster­ swivel to be as apocryphal as any of them.” “Why, then, Mr Oldbuck,” said Sir Arthur, “not to awaken old disputes, I suppose you think, that because I believe in the ancient history of my country, I have neither eyes nor ears to ascertain what modern events pass before me?” “Pardon me, Sir Arthur,” rejoined the Antiquary, “but I consider all the affectation of terror which this worthy gentleman, your coadju­ tor, chose to play off, as being merely one part of his trick or mystery. And, with respect to the gold and silver coins, they are so mixed and mingled in country and date, that I cannot suspect they could be any genuine hoard, and rather suppose them to be like the purses upon the table of Hudibras’s lawyer—

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–—Money placed for show, Like nest-eggs, to make clients lay, And for his false opinions pay.—

It is the trick of all professions, my dear Sir Arthur. Pray, may I ask how much this discovery cost you?” “About ten guineas.” “And you have gained what is equivalent to twenty in actual bullion, and what may be perhaps worth as much more to such fools as our­ selves, who are willing to pay for curiosity. This was allowing you a tempting profit on the first hazard, I must needs admit. And what is the next venture he proposes?” “An hundred and fifty pounds; I have given him one-third part of the money, and I thought it likely you might assist me with the balance.” “I should think that this cannot be meant as a parting blow—it is not of weight and importance sufficient; he will probably let us win this hand also, as sharpers manage a raw gamester.—Sir Arthur, I hope you believe I would serve you?” “Certainly, Mr Oldbuck; I think my confidence in you on this occasion leaves no room to doubt it.” “Well, then, allow me to speak to Dousterswivel. If the money can be advanced usefully and advantageously for you, why, for old neigh­ bourhood’s sake, you shall not want it; but if, as I think, I can recover the treasure for you without making such an advance, you will, I presume, have no objection?” “Unquestionably, I can have none whatsoever.” “Then, where is Dousterswivel?” continued the Antiquary. “To tell you the truth, he is in my carriage below; but knowing your prejudice against him”–— “I thank Heaven, I am not prejudiced against any man, Sir Arthur; it is systems, not individuals, that incur my reprobation.” He rung the bell. “Jenny, Sir Arthur and I offer our compliments to Mr Douster­ swivel, the gentleman in Sir Arthur’s carriage, and beg to have the pleasure of speaking with him here.” Jenny departed and delivered her message. It had been by no means a part of the project of Dousterswivel to let Mr Oldbuck into his supposed mystery. He had relied upon Sir Arthur obtaining the necessary accommodation without any discussion as to the nature of the application, and only waited below with the purpose of possessing himself of the deposit as soon as possible, for he foresaw that his career was drawing to a close. But when summoned to the presence of Sir Arthur and Mr Oldbuck, he resolved gallantly to put confidence in his powers of impudence, of which, the reader may have observed, his natural share was very liberal.

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Chapter Eight –—And this Doctor, Your sooty smoky-bearded compeer, he Will close you so much gold in a bolt’s head, And, on a turn, convey in the stead another With sublimed mercury, that shall burst i’ the heat, And all fly out in fumo–— The Alchemist

“How do you do, goot Mr Oldenbuck? and I do hope your young gentleman, Captain MacIntyre, is getting better again?—Ach! it is a bat business when young gentlemens will put lead balls into each other’s body.” “Lead adventures of all kinds are very precarious, Mr Douster­ swivel; but I am happy to learn,” continued the Antiquary, “from my friend, Sir Arthur, that you have taken up a better trade, and become a discoverer of gold.” “Ach, Mr Oldenbuck, mine goot and honoured patron should not have told a word about dat little matter; for, though I have all the reliance—yes, indeed, on goot Mr Oldenbuck’s prudence and dis­ cretion, and his great friendship for Sir Arthurs Wardour—yet, my heavens! it is an great ponderous secret.” “More ponderous than any of the metal we shall make by it, I fear,” answered Oldbuck. “Dat is just as you shall have de faith and de patience for de grand experiment—If you join wid Sir Arthur, as he is put in one hundred and fifty—see here is one fifty in your dirty Fairport bank-note—you put one other hundred and fifty in de dirty notes, and you shall have de pure gold and silver, I cannot tell how much.” “Nor any one for you, I believe,” said the Antiquary. “But hark you, Mr Dousterswivel, suppose, without troubling this same sneezing spirit with any further fumigations, we should go in a body, and having fair day-light and our good consciences to befriend us, using no other conjuring implements than good substantial pick-axes and shovels, fairly trench the area of the chancel in the ruins of St Ruth, from one end to t’other, and so ascertain the existence of this supposed treasure, without putting ourselves to any farther expence: the ruins belong to Sir Arthur himself, so there can be no objection. Do you think we shall succeed in this way of managing the matter?” “Bah!—you will not find one copper thimble—But Sir Arthur will do his pleashure—I have shewed him how it is possible—very possible to have de great sum of money for his occasions—I have shewed him

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de real experiment—If he likes not to believe, goot Mr Oldenbuck, it is nothing to Herman Dousterswivel—he only loses de money and de gold and de silvers—dat is all.” Sir Arthur Wardour cast an intimidated glance at Mr Oldbuck, who, especially when present, held, notwithstanding their frequent difference of opinion, no ordinary influence over his sentiments. In truth, the Baronet felt what he would not willingly have acknow­ ledged, that his genius stood rebuked before that of the Antiquary. He respected him as a shrewd, penetrating, sarcastic character, feared his satire, and had some confidence in the general soundness of his opinions. He therefore looked at him as if desiring his leave before indulging his credulity. Dousterswivel saw he was in danger of losing his dupe, unless he could make some favourable impression on the adviser. “I know, my goot Mr Oldenbuck, it is one vanity to speak to you about de spirit and de goblin. But look at this curious horn; I know you know de curiosity of all de countries, and how de great Oldenburgh horn, as they keep still in de Museum at Copenhagen, was given to de Duke of Oldenburgh by one female spirit of de wood. Now I could not put one trick on you if I were willing, you who know all de curiosity so well, and dere it is de horn full of coins—if it had been a box, or case, I would have said nothing.” “Being a horn,” said Oldbuck, “does indeed strengthen your argu­ ment. It was an implement of nature’s fashioning, and therefore much used among rude nations, although it may be the metaphorical horn is more frequent in proportion to the progress of civilization. And this present horn,” he continued, rubbing it upon his sleeve, “is a curious and venerable relique, and no doubt was intended to prove a cornuco­ pia, or horn of plenty, to some one or other, but whether to the adept or his patron may be justly doubted.” “Well, Mr Oldenbook, I see you still hard of belief—but let me assure you, de monksh understood de magisterium” “Let us leave talking of the magisterium, Mr Dousterswivel, and think a little about the magistrate. Are you aware that this occupation of yours is against the law of Scotland, and that both Sir Arthur and myself are in the commission of the peace?” “Mine Heaven! and what is dat to de purpose when I am doing you all de goot I can?” “Why, you must know, that when the legislature abolished the cruel laws against witchcraft, they had no hope of destroying the superstitious feelings of humanity on which such chimeras had been founded, and to prevent these feelings being tampered with by artful and designing persons, it is enacted by the Ninth of

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George the Second, chap.5. that whosoever shall pretend, by his alleged skill, in any occult or crafty science, to discover such goods as are lost, stolen, or concealed, he shall suffer punishment by pillory and imprisonment as a common cheat and impostor.” “And is dat de laws?” asked Dousterswivel, with some agitation. “Thyself shall see the act,” replied the Antiquary. “Den, gentlemens, I shall take my leave of you—dat is all—I do not like to stand on your what you call pillory—it is very bad way to take de air, I think; and I do not like your prisons no more, where one cannot take de air at all.” “If such be your taste, Mr Dousterswivel, I advise you to stay where you are, for I cannot let you go, unless it be in the society of a con­ stable ; and, moreover, I expect you will attend us just now to the ruins of St Ruth, and point out the place where you propose to find this treasure.” “Mine heaven! Mr Oldenbuck, what usage is this to your old friend, when I tell you so plain as I can speak, dat if you go now, you will get not so much treasure as one poor shabby sixpence?” “I will try the experiment, however, and you shall be dealt with according to its success,—always with Sir Arthur’s permission.” Sir Arthur, during this investigation, had looked extremely embar­ rassed, and, to use a vulgar but expressive phrase, chop-fallen. Old­ buck’s obstinate disbelief led him strongly to suspect the imposture of Dousterswivel, and the adept’s mode of keeping his ground was less resolute than he had expected. Yet he did not entirely give him up. “Mr Oldbuck,” said the Baronet, “you do Mr Dousterswivel less than justice. He has undertaken to make this discovery by the use of his art, and by applying characters descriptive of the Intelligences presiding over the planetary hour in which the experiment is to be made; and you require him to proceed, under pain of punishment, without allowing him the use of any of the preliminaries which he considers as the means of procuring success.” “I did not say that exactly—I only required him to be present when we make the search, and not to leave us during the interval. I fear he may have some intelligence with the Intelligences you talk of, and that whatever may be now hidden at Saint Ruth may disappear before we get there.” “Well, gentlemens,” said Dousterswivel sullenly, “I will make no objection to go with you; but I tell you beforehand, you shall not find so much of any thing as shall be worth your going twenty yard from your own gate.” “We will put that to a fair trial,” said the Antiquary; and the Bar­ onet’s equipage being ordered, Miss Wardour received an intimation

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from her father, that she was to remain at Monkbarns until his return from an airing. The young lady was somewhat at a loss how to recon­ cile this direction with the communication which she supposed must have passed between Sir Arthur and the Antiquary, but she was com­ pelled, for the present, to remain in a most unpleasant state of sus­ pense. The journey of the treasure-seekers was melancholy enough. Dousterswivel maintained a sulky silence, brooding at once over dis­ appointed expectation and the risk of punishment; Sir Arthur, whose golden dreams had been gradually fading away, surveyed, in gloomy prospect, the impending difficulties of his situation; and Oldbuck, who perceived that his having so far interfered in his neighbour’s affairs gave him a right to expect some actual and efficient assistance, sadly pondered to what extent it would be necessary to draw open the strings of his purse. Thus each being wrapped in his own unpleasant ruminations, there was hardly a word said on either side, until they reached the Four Horse-shoes, by which sign the little inn was distin­ guished. They procured at this place the necessary assistance and implements for digging, and, while they were busy about these pre­ parations, were suddenly joined by the old beggar, Edie Ochiltree. “Aha, old true-penny!” said Oldbuck, when he had heard “The Lord bless your honour, and long life to you—weel pleased am I to hear that young Captain MacIntyre is like to be on his legs again sune —think on your poor beadsman the day.” “Why, thou hast never come to Monkbarns since thy perils by rock and flood—here’s something for thee to buy snuff,”—and, fumbling for his purse, he pulled out at the same time the horn which inclosed the coins. “Aye, and there’s something to pit it in,” said the mendicant, eyeing the ram’s horn—“that loom’s an auld acquaintance o’ mine. I could take my aith to that sneeshing-mull amang a thousand—I carried it for mony a year, till I niffered it for this tin ane wi’ auld George Glen, the dammer and sinker, when he took a fancy till’t doun at Glen-Wither­ shins yonder.” “Aye! indeed?” said Oldbuck,—“so you exchanged it with a miner? but I presume you never saw it so well filled before?”—and, opening it, he showed the coins. “Troth, ye may swear that, Monkbarns, when it was mine it ne’er had abune the like o’ saxpenny worth o’ black rappee in’t at anes; but I reckon ye’ll be gaun to make an antic o’t, as ye hae dune wi’ mony an orra thing besides. Odd, I wish ony body wad mak an antic o’ me; but mony ane will find worth in auld bits o’ capper and horn and airn, that care unco little about an auld carle o’ their ain kintra and kind.”

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“You may now guess,” said Oldbuck, turning to Sir Arthur, “to whose good offices you were indebted the other night. To trace this cornucopia of yours to a miner is bringing it pretty near a friend of ours—I hope we shall be as successful this morning without paying for it.” “And whare is your honours gaun the day,” said the mendicant, “wi’ a’ your picks and shools?—Odd, this will be some o’ your tricks, Monkbarns; ye’ll be for whirling some o’ the auld monks down by yonder out o’ their graves afore they hear the last call—but I’se follow ye at ony rate, and see what ye make o’t.” The party soon arrived at the ruins of the priory, and, having gained the chancel, stood still to consider what course they were to pursue next. The Antiquary, mean time, addressed the adept. “Pray, Mr Dousterswivel, what is your advice in this matter?—Shall we have most likelihood of success if we dig from east to west, or from west to east?—or will you assist us with your triangular vial of May­ dew, or with your divining-rod of witches-hazel? Or will you have the kindness to supply us with a few thumping blustering terms of art, which, if they fail in our present service, may be useful to those who have not the happiness to be bachelors, to still their brawling children withal?” “Mr Oldenbuck,” said Dousterswivel doggedly, “I have told you already you will make no good work at all, and I will find some way of mine own to thank you for your civilities to me—yes, indeed.” “If your honours are thinking of tirling the floor,” said old Edie, “and wad but tak a puir body’s advice, I would begin below that muckle stane that has the man there streekit out upon his back in the midst o’t.” “I have some reason for thinking favourably of that plan myself,” said the Baronet. “And I have nothing to say against it,” said Oldbuck; “it was not unusual to hide treasure in the tombs of the deceased—many instances might be quoted of that from Bartholinus and others.” The tomb-stone, the same beneath which the coins had been found by Sir Arthur and the German, was once more forced aside, and the earth gave easy way to the spade. “It’s travell’d earth that,” said Edie, “it houks sae eithly—I ken’t weel, for anes I wrought a simmer wi’ auld Will Winnett, the bedral, and howkit mair graves than ane in my day; but I left him in winter, for it was unco cauld wark; and than it came a green Yule, and the folk died thick and fast—for ye ken a green Yule maks a fat kirk-yard—and I never dowed to bide a hard turn o’ wark in my life—sae aff I gaed, and left Will to delve his last dwellings by himsel for Edie.”

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The diggers were now so far advanced in their labour as to discover that the sides of the grave which they were clearing out had been originally secured by four walls of freestone, forming a parallelogram, for the reception, probably, of the coffin. “It is worth while proceeding in our labours,” said the Antiquary to Sir Arthur, “were it but for curiosity’s sake. I wonder on whose sepul­ chre they have bestowed such uncommon pains.” “The arms on the shield,” said Sir Arthur, and sighed as he spoke it, “are the same with those on Misticot’s tower, supposed to have been built by Malcolm the usurper. No man knew where he was buried, and there is an old prophecy in our family, that bodes us no good when his grave shall be discovered.” “Well I wot,” said the beggar, “I have often heard that when I was a bairn, If Malcolm the Misticot’s grave were fun’, The lands of Knockwinnock are lost and won.”

Oldbuck, with his spectacles on his nose, had already knelt down on the monument, and was tracing, partly with his eye, partly with his finger, the mouldered devices upon the effigy of the deceased warrior. “It is the Knockwinnock arms sure enough,” he exclaimed, “quarterly with the coat of Wardour.” “Richard, called the Red-handed Wardour, married Sybil Knock­ winnock, the heiress of the Saxon family, and by that alliance,” said Sir Arthur, “brought the castle and estate into the name of Wardour, in the year of God 1150.” “Very true, Sir Arthur, and here is the baton-sinister, the mark of illegitimacy, extended diagonally through both coats upon the shield. Where can our eyes have been, that they did not see this curious monument before?” “Na, whare was the through-stane, that it didna come before our een till e’now?” said Ochiltree; “for I hae ken’d this auld kirk, man and bairn, for saxty lang years, and I ne’er noticed it afore, and it’s nae sic mote neither but what ane might see it in their parritch.” All were now induced to tax their memory as to the former state of the ruins in that corner of the chancel, and all agreed in recollecting a considerable pile of rubbish which must have been removed and spread abroad in order to make the tomb visible. Sir Arthur might, indeed, have remembered seeing the monument on the former occa­ sion, but his mind was then too much agitated to attend to the circum­ stance as a novelty. While the assistants were engaged in these recollections and dis­ cussions, the workmen proceeded with their labour. They had already dug to the depth of nearly five feet, and as the flinging out the soil

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became more and more difficult, they began at length to tire of the job. “We’re down to the till now,” said one of them, “and the ne’er a coffin or ony thing else is here—some cunninger chiefs been afore us, I reckon;” and the labourer scrambled out of the grave. “Hout, lad,” said Edie, getting down in his room, “let me try my hand for an auld bedral—ye’re gude seekers but ill finders.” So soon as he got into the grave he struck his pike-staff forcibly down—it encountered resistance in its descent, and the beggar exclaimed, like a Scotch school-boy when he finds any thing, “Nae halves and quarters—hale o’ mine ain and nane o’ my neighbour’s.” Every body, from the dejected Baronet to the sullen adept, now caught the spirit of curiosity, crowded round the grave, and would have jumped into it could its space have contained them. The labourers, who had begun to flag in their monotonous and apparently hopeless task, now resumed their tools, and plied them with all the ardour of expectation. Their shovels soon grated upon a hard wooden surface, which, as the earth was cleared away, assumed the distinct form of a chest, but greatly smaller than a coffin. Now all hands were at work to heave it out of the grave, and all voices, as it was raised, proclaimed its weight and augured its value. They were not mistaken. When the chest or box was placed on the surface, and the lid forced up by a pick-axe, there was displayed first a coarse canvas cover, then a quantity of oakum, and beneath that a quantity of ingots of silver. A general exclamation hailed a discovery so surprising and unexpected. The Baronet threw his hands and eyes up to Heaven, with the silent rapture of one who is delivered from inexpressible distress of mind. Oldbuck, almost unable to credit his eyes, lifted one piece of silver after another. There was neither inscription nor stamp upon them, excepting one, which seemed to be Spanish. He could have no doubt of the purity and great value of the treasure before him. Still, however, removing piece by piece, he examined row by row, expecting to dis­ cover that the lower layers were of inferior value; but he could per­ ceive no difference in this respect, and found himself compelled to admit, that Sir Arthur had possessed himself of bullion to the value of perhaps a thousand pounds sterling. Sir Arthur now promised the assistants a handsome recompense for their trouble, and began to busy himself about the mode of conveying this rich windfall to the Castle of Knockwinnock, when the adept, recovering from his sur­ prise, which had at least equalled that exhibited by any other indi­ vidual of the party, twitched his sleeve, and having offered his humble congratulations, turned next to Oldbuck with an air of triumph. “I did tell you, my goot friend, Mr Oldenbuck, dat I was to seek opportunity to thank you for your civility; now do you not think I have

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found out vary goot way to return thank?” “Why, Mr Dousterswivel, do you pretend to have had any hand in our good success?—You forget you refused us all aid of your science, man. And you are here without your weapons that should have fought the battle which you pretend to have gained in our behalf. You have used neither charm, lamen, sigil, talisman, spell, chrystal, pentacle, magic mirror, or geomantic figure. Where be your periapts, and your abracadabras, man? your May-fearn, your vervain, Your toad, your crow, your dragon, and your panther, Your sun, your moon, your firmament, your adrop, Your Lato, Azoch, Zernich, Chibrit, Heautarit, With all your broths, your menstrues, your materials, Would burst a man to name?—

Ah! rare Ben Jonson! long peace to thy ashes for a scourge of the quacks of thy day!—who looked to see them revive in our own?” The answer of the adept to the Antiquary’s tirade we must defer to our next chapter.

Chapter Nine Clause. You now shall know the king o’ the beggars’ treasure:— Yes—ere to-morrow you shall find your harbour Here,—fail me not, for if I live I’ll fit you. The Beggars Bush

The German, determined, it would seem, to assert the vantage­ ground on which the discovery had placed him, replied with great pomp and stateliness to the attack of the Antiquary: “Maister Olden­ buck, all dis may be very witty and comedy, but I have nothing to say— nothing at all—to people dat will not believe deir own eye-sights. It is vary true dat I ave not any of de things of de art, and it makes de more wonder what I has done dis day.—But I would ask of you, mine honoured and goot and generous patron, to put your hand into your right-hand waistcoat pocket, and shew me what you shall see dere.” Sir Arthur obeyed his direction, and pulled out the small plate of silver which he had used under the adept’s auspices upon the former occasion. “It is very true,” said Sir Arthur, looking gravely at the Antiquary, “this is the graduated and calculated sigil by which Mr Dousterswivel and I regulated our first discovery.” “Pshaw! pshaw! my dear friend,” said Oldbuck, “you are too wise to believe in the influence of a trumpery crown-piece, beat out thin, and a parcel of scratches upon it. I tell thee, Sir Arthur, that if Dousterswivel had known how to get this treasure himself, you would have been lord of the least share of it.”

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“In troth, please your honours,” said Edie, who put in his word on all occasions, “I think, since Maister Dunkerswivel has had sae mickle merit in discovering a’ the gear, the least ye can do is to gie him a’ that’s left behint for his labour, for doubtless he that ken’d where to find sae mickle will hae nae difficulty to find mair.” Dousterswivel’s brow grew very dark at this proposal of leaving him to his “ain purchase,” as Ochiltree expressed it; but the beggar, draw­ ing him aside, whispered a word or two in his ear, to which he seemed to give serious attention. Meanwhile, Sir Arthur, his heart warm with his good fortune, said aloud, “Never mind our friend Monkbarns, Mr Dousterswivel, but come to the castle to-morrow, and I’ll convince you that I am not ungrateful for the hints you have given me about this matter, and the fifty Fairport dirty notes, as you call them, are heartily at your service. Come, my lads, get the cover ofthis precious chest fastened up again.” But the cover had in the confusion fallen aside amongst the rub­ bish, or the loose earth which had been removed from the grave—in short, it was not to be found. “Never mind, my good lads, tie the tarpaulin over it, and get it away to the carriage. Monkbarns, will you walk?—I must go back your way to take up Miss Wardour.” “And, I hope, to take up your dinner also, Sir Arthur, and drink a glass of wine for joy of our happy adventure. Besides you should write about the business to the Exchequer, in case of any interference on the part of the crown. It will be easy to get a deed of gift should they make any claim—we must talk about it though.” “And I particularly recommend silence to all who are present,” said Sir Arthur, looking round. All bowed and professed themselves dumb. “Why, as to that,” said Monkbarns, “recommending secrecy where a dozen of people are acquainted with the circumstance to be con­ cealed, is only putting the truth in masquerade, for the story will be circulated under twenty different shapes. But never mind, we will state the true one to the Barons, and that is all that is necessary.” “I incline to send off an express to-night,” said the Baronet. “I can recommend your honour to a sure hand,” said Ochiltree; “little Davie Mailsetter and the butcher’s reisting powney.” “We will talk over the matter as we go to Monkbarns,” said Sir Arthur. “My lads (to the work people) come with me to the Four Horse-shoes, that I may take down all your names. Dousterswivel, I won’t ask you to go down to Monkbarns, as the laird and you differ so widely in opinion; but do not fail to come to see me to-morrow.” Dousterswivel growled out an answer in which the words, “duty,”

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—“mine honoured patron,”—and “wait upon Sir Arthurs,”—were alone distinguishable; and after the Baronet and his friend had left the ruins, followed by the servants and workmen, who, in hope of reward and whisky, joyfully attended their leader, the adept remained in a brown study by the side of the open grave. “Who was it as could have thought this?” he ejaculated uncon­ sciously. “Mine heiligkeit! I have hear of such things, and often spoken of such things—but, sapperment! I never thought to see them! And if I had gone but some two or dree feet deeper down in de earth—mein himmel! it had been all mine own—so much more as I have been muddling about to get from this fool’s man.” Here the German ceased his soliloquy, for, raising his eyes, he encountered those of Edie Ochiltree, who had not followed the rest of the company, but, resting as usual on his pike-staff, had planted himself on the other side of the open grave. The features of the old man, naturally shrewd and expressive almost to an appearance of knavery, seemed in this instance so keenly knowing, that even the assurance of Dousterswivel, though a professed adventurer, sunk beneath their expression. But he saw the necessity of an eclaircisse­ ment, and, rallying his spirits, instantly began to sound the mendicant on the occurrences of the day. “Goot Maister Edies Ochiltrees!”–— “Edie Ochiltree, nae maister—your puir bedesman and the king’s,” answered the Blue-gown. “Awell den, goot Edie, what do ye think of all dis?” “A was just thinking that it was very kind (for I darena say vera simple) o’ your honour to gie thae twa rich gentles, wha hae lands and lairdships, and siller without end, this grand pose o’ silver and treas­ ure, (three times tried in the fire, as the Scripture expresses it,) that might hae made yoursel and ony twa three honest bodies beside, as happy and content as the day was lang.” “Indeed, Edie, mine honest friends, dat is very true, only I did not know, that is, I was not sure, where to find de gelt myself.” “What? was it not by your honour’s advice and counsel that Monk­ barns and the knight of Knockwinnock came here, then?” “Aha—yes—but it was by another circumstance ; I did not know dat dey would have found de treasure, mein friend; though I did guess, by such a tintamarre, and cough, and sneeze, and groan, among de spirit one other night here, dat there might be treasure and bullion hereabout. Ach, mein himmel! the spirit will hone and groan over his gelt, as if he were a Dutch burgomaster counting his dollars after a great dinner at the Stadt-haus.” “And do you really believe the like o’ that, Mr Dusterdivel?—a skeelfu’ man like you—hout fie!”

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“Mein friend, I believed it no more than you and no man at all, till I did hear them hone and moan and groan myself on de other night, and till I did this day see de cause, which was an great chest all full of de pure silver from Mexico—And what would you ave me think den?” “And what would you give to ony ane that would help you to such another kistfu’ o’ siller?” “Give?—mein himmel!—one great big quarter of it.” “Now, if the secret were mine,” said the mendicant, “I wad stand out for a half; for you see, though I am but a puir ragged body, and couldna carry silver or gowd to sell for fear o’ being ta’en up, yet I could find mony folk would pass it awa’ for me at an unco easier profit than ye’re thinking on.” “Ach, himmel!—Mein goot friend, what was it I said?—I did mean to say you should have de tree quarter for your half, and the onequarter to be my fair half.” “No, no! Mr Dusterdivel, we will divide equally what we find like brither and brither. Now look at this board that I just flung into the dark aisle out o’ the way, while Monkbarns was glowering ower a’ the silver yonder. He’s a sharp chiel Monkbarns. I was glad to keep the like o’ this out o’ his sight. Ye’ll maybe can read the character better than me—I am na that book-leared, at least I am na that mickle in practice.” With this modest declaration of ignorance, Ochiltree brought forth from behind a pillar the cover of the box or chest of treasure, which, when forced from its hinges, had been carelessly flung aside during the ardour of curiosity to ascertain the contents which it concealed, and had been afterwards, as it seems, secreted by the mendicant. There was a word and a number upon the plank, and the beggar made them more distinct by spitting upon his ragged blue handkerchief, and rubbing off the clay by which the inscription was obscured. It was in the ordinary black letter. “Can ye mak ought o’t?” said Edie to the adept. “S,” said the philosopher, like a child getting his lesson in the primer; “S, T, A, R, C, H,—Starch—dat is what de women-washers put into de neckerchers, and de shirt collar.” “Starch?” echoed Ochiltree; “na, na, Mr Dusterdivel, ye are mair of a conjuror than a clerk—its Search, man, Search—See there’s the Ye clear and distinc.” “Aha!—I see it now—it is Search Number I. Mein himmel, then there must be a number two, mein goot friend; for search is what you call to seek and dig, and this is but number one!—Mine wort, there is one great big prize in de wheel for us, goot Maister Ochiltree.” “ Aweel, it maybe sae—but we canna howk for’t enow—we hae nae

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shools, for they hae ta’en them a’ awa—and it’s like some o’ them will be sent back to fling the eard into the hole, and mak a’ things trig again. But an ye’ll sit down wi’ me a while in the wood, I’se satisfy your honour that ye hae just lighted on the only man in the kintra that could hae tauld ye about Malcolm Misticot and his hidden treasures—But first we’ll rub out the letters on this board for fear it tell tales.” And, by the assistance of his knife, the beggar erased and defaced the characters so as to make them quite unintelligible, and then daubed the board with clay so as to obliterate all traces of the erasure. Dousterswivel stared at him in ambiguous silence. There was an intelligence and alacrity about all the old man’s movements which indicated a person who could not easily be overreached, and yet (for even rogues acknowledge in some degree the spirit of precedence,) our adept felt the disgrace of playing a secondary part, and dividing winnings with so mean an associate. His appetite for gain, however, was sufficiently sharp to overpower his offended pride, and though far more an impostor than a dupe, he was not without a certain degree of personal faith even in the gross superstitions by means of which he imposed upon others. Still, being accustomed to act as a leader on such occasions, he felt humiliated at feeling himself in the situation of a vulture marshalled to his prey by a carrion-crow. Let me, however, hear his story to an end, thought Dousterswivel, and it will be hard if I do not make mine account in it better, as Maister Edie Ochiltrees makes proposes. The adept, thus transformed into a pupil from a teacher of the mystic art, followed Ochiltree in passive acquiescence to the Prior’s Oak—a spot, as the reader may remember, at a short distance from the ruins, where the German sat down, and in silence waited the old man’s communication. “Maister Dustandsnivel,” said the narrator, “it’s an unco while since I heard this business treated anent—for the lairds of Knockwin­ nock, neither Sir Arthur, nor his father, nor his grandfather, and I mind a wee bit about them a’, liked to hear it spoken about—nor they dinna like it yet—but nae matter, ye may be sure it was clattered about in the kitchen, like every thing else in a grit house, though it were forbidden in the ha’—and sae I hae heard the circumstance rehearsed by auld servants in the family, and in thir present days, when things o’ that auld warld sort are na keepit in mind round winter fire-sides as they used to be, I question if there’s ony body in the country can tell the tale but mysel—aye out-taken the laird himsel, for there’s a parch­ ment book about it, as I have heard, in the charter-room at Knockwin­ nock Castle.”

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“Well, all dat is vary well—but get you on with your stories, mine goot friend,” said Dousterswivel. “A weel, ye see,” continued the mendicant, “this was a job in the auld times o’ rugging and riving through the hail kintra, whan it was ilka ane for himsel, and God for us a’, when nae man wanted property if he had strength to take it, or had it langer than he had strength to keep it. It was just he ower her, and she ower him, which ever could win upmost, a’ through the east country here, and nae doubt through the rest o’ Scotland in the self and same manner. “Sae in these days Sir Richard Wardour came into the land, and that was the first o’ the name ever was in this country.—There’s been mony o’ them sin’ syne; and the maist, like him they ca’d Hell in harness, and the rest o’ them, are sleeping down in yon ruins. They were a proud dour set o’ men, but unco brave, and aye stood up for the weel o’ the country. God sain them a’—there’s no mickle popery in that wish. They ca’d them the Norman Wardours, though they came frae the south to this country—So this Sir Richard, that they ca’d Red-hand, drew up wi’ the auld Knockwinnock o’ that day, for then they were Knockwinnocks of that ilk, and wad fain marry his only daughter that was to have the castle and the land. Laith, laith was the lass—(Sybil Knockwinnock they ca’d her, that tauld me the tale,) laith, laith was she to gae into the match, for she had fa’an a wee ower thick wi’ a cousin o’ her ain that her father had some illwill to; and sae it was, that after she had been married to Sir Richard jimp four months,—for marry him she maun it’s like,—ye’ll no hinder her gi’eing them a present o’ a bonny knave bairn. Then there was siccan a ca’ thro’, as the like was ne’er seen; and she’s be burnt, and he’s be slain, was the best word o’ their mouths. But it was a’ sowdered up again some gait, and the bairn was sent awa’ and bred up near the Highlands, and grew up to be a fine wanle fallow, like mony ane that comes o’ the wrang side o’ the blanket; and Sir Richard wi’ the Red-hand, he had a fair offspring o’ his ain, and a’ was lound and quiet till his head was laid in the ground. But than down came Malcolm Misticot—(Sir Arthur says it should be Mis­ begot, but they aye ca’d him Misticot that spoke o’t lang syne,) down came this Malcolm, the love-begot, wi’ a string o’ lang-legged High­ landers at his heels, that’s aye ready for ony body’s mischief, and he threeps the castle and lands are his ain as his mother’s eldest son, and turns a’ the Wardours out and to the hill. There was a sort of fighting and blude-spilling about it, for the gentles took different sides, but Malcolm had the uppermost for a lang time, and keepit the castle of Knockwinnock and strengthened it, and built that mickle tower, that they ca’ Misticot’s tower to this day.”

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“Mine goot friend, old Mr Edie Ochiltree,” interrupted the Ger­ man, “this is all as one like de long histories of a baron of sixteen quarters in mine own countries, but I would as rather hear of de silver and gold.” “Why, ye see this Malcolm was weel helped by an uncle, a brother o’ his father’s, that was prior o’ St Ruth here, and mickle treasure they gathered between them, to secure the succession of their house in the lands of Knockwinnock—Folk said, that the monks in thae days had the arts of multiplying metals—at ony rate they were very rich. At last it came to this, that the young Wardour, that was Red-hand’s son, challenged Misticot to fight wi’ him in the lists as they ca’d them— that’s no lists or tailor’s runds and selvedges o’ claith, but a paling thing they set up for them to fight in like game-cocks. Aweel, Misticot was beaten, and at his brother’s mercy—but he wadna touch his life for the blood of Knockwinnock that was in baith their veins: so Mal­ colm was compelled to turn a monk, and he died soon after in the priory of pure despite and vexation. Naebody ever kend whare his uncle the prior earded him, or what he did wi’ his gowd and silver, for he stood on the right o’ halie kirk, and wad gie nae account to ony body. But the prophecy gat abread in the country, that whenever Misticot’s grave was fund out, the estate of Knockwinnock should be lost and won.” “Ach, mine goot old friend, Maister Edie, and dat is not so very unlikely, if Sir Arthurs will quarrel wid his goot friends to please Mr Oldenbuck—And so you do tink dat dis golds and silvers belonged to goot Mr Malcolm Mishdigoat?” “Troth do I, Mr Dousterdivel.” “And you do believe dat dere is more of dat sorts behind?” “By my certie do I—how can it be otherwise—Search Number I.— that is as mickle as to say, search and ye’ll find number twa—besides, your first has only silver, and I aye heard that Misticot’s pose had mickle yellow gowd in it.” “Den, mine goot friends,” said the adept, jumping up hastily, “why do we not set about our little job directly?” “For twa gude reasons,” answered the beggar, who quietly kept his sitting posture; “first, because, as I said before, we have naething to dig wi’, for they hae ta’en awa’ the picks and shools; and, secondly, because there will be a whin idle gowks coming to glower at the hole as lang as it is day-light, and maybe the laird may send somebody to fill it up—and ony way we wad be catched. But if you will meet me on this place at twal o’clock wi’ a dark lantern, I’ll hae tools ready, and we’ll gang quietly about our job our twa sells, and naebody the wiser for’t.” “Be—be—but mine goot friend,” said Dousterswivel, from whose

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recollection his former nocturnal adventure was not to be altogether erased, even by the splendid hopes which Edie’s narrative held forth, “it is not so goot or so safe to be about goot Maister Mistygoat’s grave at dat time of night—you have forgot how I told you de spirits did hone and moan dere. I do assure you, dere is disturbances dere.” “If ye’re afraid of ghaists,” answered the mendicant coolly, “I’ll do the job mysel, and bring your share o’ the siller to ony place ye like to appoint.” “No—no—mine excellent old Mr Edie,—too much trouble for you —I will not have dat—I will come myself—and it will be the better­ most; for, mine old friend, it was I, Herman Dousterswivel, discov­ ered Maister Mistygoat’s grave when I was looking for a place as to put away some little trumpery coins, just to play one little trick on my dear friend Sir Arthurs, for a little sport and pleasures—yes, I did take away some what you call rubbish, and did discover Maister Mistygoat’s own monumentsh—It is like dat he meant I should be his heirs—so it would not be civility in me not to come mineself for mine inheritance.” “At twal o’clock, then,” said the mendicant, “we meet under this tree—I’ll watch here for a while and see that naebody meddles wi’ the grave—it’s only saying the lairds forbade it—then get my bit supper frae Ringan the poinder up by, and leave to sleep in his barn, and I’ll slip out at night and ne’er be mist.” “Do so, mine goot Maister Edie, and I will meet you here on this very place, though all de spirits should moan and sneeze deir very brains out.” So saying, he shook hands with the old man, and, with this mutual pledge of fidelity to their appointment, they separated for the present.

Chapter Ten –—See thou shake the bags Of hoarding abbots; angels imprisoned Set thou at liberty–— Bell, book, and candle, shall not drive me back, If gold and silver beckon to come on–— KingJohn

The night set in stormy, with wind and occasional showers of rain. “Eh sirs,” said the old mendicant, as he took his place on the sheltered side of the large oak-tree to wait for his associate—“Eh sirs, but human nature’s a wilful and a wilyard thing!—is not it an unco lucre o’ gain wad bring this Dusterdivel out in a bleeze o’ wind like this, at twal o’clock at night, to thir wild gousty wa’s?—and am na I a bigger fule than himsel to bide here waiting for him?”

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Having made these sage reflections, he wrapped himself close in his cloak, and fixed his eye on the moon as she waded amid the stormy and dusky clouds, which the wind from time to time drove across her surface. The melancholy and uncertain gleams that she shot from between the passing shadows fell full upon the rifted arches and the shafted windows of the old building, which were thus for an instant made distinctly visible in their ruinous state, and anon became again a dark, undistinguished, and shadowy mass. The little lake had its share of these transient beams of light, and shewed its waters broken, whitened, and agitated under the passing storm, which, when the clouds swept over the moon, were only distinguished by their sullen and murmuring plash against the beach. The wooded glen repeated to every successive gust that hurried through its narrow trough, the deep and various groan with which the trees replied to the whirlwind, and the sound sunk again, as the blast passed away, into the faint and piping murmur, resembling the sighs of an exhausted criminal after the first pangs of his torture are over. In these sounds, superstition might have found ample gratification for that state of excited terror which she fears and yet loves. But such feelings made no part of Ochiltree’s composition. His mind wandered back to the scenes of his youth. “I have kept guard on the outposts baith in Germany and America,” he said to himself, “in mony a waur night than this, and when I kend there was maybe a dozen o’ their riflemen in the thicket before me. But I was aye gleg at my duty—naebody ever catched Edie sleeping.” As he muttered thus to himself, he instinctively shouldered his trusty pike-staff, assumed the port of a sentinel on duty, and as a step advanced towards the tree, called, with a tone assorting better with his military reminiscences than his present state—“Stand—who goes there?” “De devil, goot Edie,” answered Dousterswivel, “why does you speak so loud as a baarenhauter, or what you call a factionary—I mean a sentinel?” “Just because I thought I was a sentinel at that moment—Here’s an awsome night—hae ye brought the lantern and a pock for the siller?” “Aye—aye—mine goot friend, here it is—my pair of what you call saddle-bag—one side will be for you, one side for me—I will put dem up on my horse to save you de trouble as you’re old man.” “Have you a horse here, then?” “O yes, mine friend, tied yonder by de stile.” “Weel, I hae just ae word to the bargain—there sall nane o’ my gear gang on your beast’s back.” “What was it as you would be afraid of?”

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“Only of losing sight of horse, man, and money.” “Does you know dat you make one gentlemans out to be one great rogue?” “Mony gentlemen,” replied Ochiltree, “can make that out for themselves—but what’s the sense of quarrelling?—if ye want to gang on, gang on—if not, I’ll gae back to the gude ait-strae in Ringan Aikwood’s barn that I left wi’ right ill-will enow, and I’ll pit back the pick and shool whar I got them.” Dousterswivel deliberated a moment, whether, by suffering Edie to depart, he might not secure the whole of the expected wealth for his own exclusive use. But the want of digging implements, the uncer­ tainty whether, if he had them, he could clear out the grave to a sufficient depth without assistance, and, above all, the reluctance which he felt, owing to the experience of the former night, to venture alone on the terrors of Misticot’s grave, satisfied him the attempt would be hazardous. Endeavouring, therefore, to assume his usual cajoling tone, though internally incensed, he begged “his goot friend, Maister Edie Ochiltree, would lead the way, and assured him of his acquiescence in all such an excellent friend could propose.” “Aweel, aweel then,” said Edie, “tak gude care o’ your feet amang the lang grass and the loose stanes—I wish we may get the light keepit in neist wi’ this fearsome wind—but there’s a blink o’ moonlight at times.” Thus saying, old Edie, closely accompanied by the adept, led the way toward the ruins, but presently made a full halt in front of them. “Ye’re a learned man, Mr Dousterdrivel, and ken muckle o’ the mar­ vellous works o’ nature—now will ye tell me ae thing?—D’ye believe in ghaists and spirits that walk the earth?—aye, or no?” “Now, goot Mr Edie, is this a times or a places for such a question?” “Indeed is it, baith the tane and the tother, Mr Dustanshovel; for I maun fairly tell ye, there’s reports that auld Misticot walks. Now this wad be an uncanny night to meet him in, and wha kens if he wad be ower weel pleased wi’ our purpose of visiting his pose?” “Alle guten geister”—muttered the adept, the rest of the conjuration being lost in a tremulous warble of his voice,—“I do desires you not to speak so, Mr Edie—for, from all I heard dat one other night, I do much believes”–— “Now I,” said Ochiltree, entering the chancel, and flinging abroad his arm with an air of defiance, “I wadna gie the crack o’ my thumb for him if he was to appear at this moment—he’s but a disembodied spirit as we are embodied anes.” “For the lofe of heavens,” said Dousterswivel, “say nothing at all neither about somebodies or nobodies!”

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“Aweel,” said the beggar, (expanding the shade of the lantern,) “here’s the stane, and, spirit or no spirit, I’se be a wee bit deeper in the grave”—and he jumped into the place from which the precious chest had that morning been removed. After striking a few strokes, he tired, or affected to tire, and said to his companion, “I’m auld and failed now, and canna keep at it—Time about’s fair play, neighbour—ye maun get in and tak the shool a bit, and shool out the loose earth, and than I’ll tak turn about wi’ you.” Dousterswivel accordingly took the place which the beggar evacu­ ated, and toiled with all the zeal that awakened avarice, mingled with the anxious wish to finish the undertaking and leave the place as soon as possible, could inspire in a mind at once greedy, suspicious, and timorous. Edie, standing much at his ease by the side of the hole, contented himself with exhorting his associate to labour hard. “My certie! few ever wrought for siccan a day’s wage; an it be but—say the tenth part o’ the size o’ the kist No. I., it will double its value, being filled wi’ gowd stead o’ silver.—Odd, ye work as if ye had been bred to pick and shool—ye could win your round half-crown ilka day. Tak care o’ your taes wi’ that stane!” giving a kick to a large one which the adept had heaved out with difficulty, and which Edie pushed back again, to the great annoyance of his shins. Thus exhorted by the mendicant, Dousterswivel struggled and laboured among the stones and stiff clay, toiling like a horse, and internally blaspheming in German. When such an unhallowed syl­ lable escaped his lips, Edie changed his battery upon him. “O dinna swear, dinna swear!—wha kens wha’s listening?—Eh! gude guide us, what’s yon?—Hout, it is just a branch of ivy flightering awa frae the wa’; when the moon was on it, it looked unco like a dead man’s arm wi’ a taper in it; I thought it was Misticot himsel. But never mind, work you away—fling the earth weel up bye out o’ the gate— odd, if ye’re no as clean a worker at a grave as Will Winnett himsel! What gars ye stop now?—ye’re just at the very bit for a chance.” “Stop?” said the German in a tone of anger and disappointment, “why, I am down at de rocks dat de cursed ruins (God forgife me!) is founded upon.” “Weel,” said the beggar, “that’s the likeliest bit of ony—it will be but a mickle through-stane laid doun to kiver the gowd; tak the pick till’t, and pit mair strength, man—ae gude downright devel will spleet it, I’se warrant ye—Aye, that will do—Odd, he comes on wi’ Wallace’s straiks!” In fact, the adept, moved by Edie’s exhortations, fetched two or three desperate blows, and succeeded in breaking, not indeed that

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against which he struck, which, as he had truly conjectured, was the solid rock, but the implement which he wielded, jarring at the same time his arms up to the shoulder-blades. “Hurra, boys!—there goes Ringan’s pick-axe!” cried Edie; “it’s a shame o’ the Fairport folk to sell siccan frail gear. Try the shool—at it again, Mr Dusterdivel.” The adept, without reply, scrambled out of the pit, which was now about six feet deep, and addressed his associate in a voice that trembled with anger. “Does you know, Maister Edies Ochiltrees, who it is you puts off your gibes and your gests upon?” “Brawly, Maister Dusterdivel—brawly do I ken ye, and has done mony a day; but there’s nae jesting in the case, for I’m wearying to see a’ our treasures; we should hae had baith end o’ the pock-manky filled be this time—I hope it’s bowk aneugh to haud a’ the gear.” “Look you, you base old person, if you do put another jest upon me, I will cleave your skull-piece with this shovels!” “And whare wad my hands and my pike-staff be a’ the time?— Hout, tout, Maister Dusterdivel, I hae na lived sae lang in the warld neither to be shooled out o’t that gate. What ails ye to be cankered, man, wi’ your friends? I’ll wager I find out the treasure in a minute;” and he jumped into the pit and took up the spade. “I do swear to you,” said the adept, whose suspicions were now fully awake, “that if you have played me one big trick, I will give you one big beating, Mr Edies.” “Hear till him now,” said Ochiltree; “he kens how to gar folk find out the gear—Odd, I am thinking he’s been drilled that way himsel some day.” At this insinuation, which alluded obviously to the former scene betwixt himself and Sir Arthur, the philosopher lost the slender rem­ nant of patience he had left, and being a man of violent passions, heaved up the truncheon of the broken mattock to discharge it upon the old man’s head. The blow would in all probability have been fatal, had not he at whom it was aimed exclaimed in a stem and firm voice, “Shame to ye, man!—Do ye think Heaven or earth will suffer ye to murder an auld man that might be your father?—Look behint you, man.” Dousterswivel turned instinctively, and beheld, to his utter aston­ ishment, a tall dark figure standing close behind him. The apparition gave him no time to proceed by exorcism or otherwise, but, having instantly recourse to the voie de fait, took measure of the adept’s shoulders three or four times with blows so substantial, that he fell under the weight of them, and remained senseless for some minutes between fear and stupefaction. When he came to himself, he was

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alone in the ruined chancel, lying upon the soft and damp earth which had been thrown out of Misticot’s grave. He raised himself with a confused sensation of anger, pain, and terror, and it was not until he had sat upright for some minutes that he could arrange his ideas sufficiently to recollect how he came there, or with what purpose. As his recollection returned, he could have little doubt that the bait held out to him by Ochiltree to bring him into that solitary spot, the sar­ casms by which he had provoked him into a quarrel, and the ready assistance which he had at hand for terminating it in the manner in which it had ended, were all part of a concerted plan to bring disgrace and damage on Herman Dousterswivel. He could hardly suppose that he was indebted for the fatigue, anxiety, and beating which he had undergone, purely to the malice of Edie Ochiltree singly, but con­ cluded that the mendicant had acted a part assigned to him by some person of greater importance. His suspicions hesitated between Old­ buck and Sir Arthur Wardour. The former had been at no pains to conceal a marked dislike of him—but the latter he had deeply injured; and although he judged that Sir Arthur did not know the extent of his wrongs towards him, yet it was easy to suppose he had gathered enough of the truth to make him desirous of revenge. Ochiltree had alluded to at least one circumstance which the adept had every reason to suppose was private between Sir Arthur and himself, and therefore must have been learned from the former. The language of Oldbuck also intimated a conviction of his knavery, which Sir Arthur heard without making any animated defence. Lastly, the way in which Dousterswivel supposed the baronet to have exercised his revenge, was not inconsistent with the practices of other countries with which the adept was better acquainted than with those of North Britain. With him, as with many bad men, to suspect an injury, and to nourish the purpose of revenge, was one and the same movement. And before Dousterswivel had fairly recovered his legs, he had mentally sworn the ruin of his benefactor, which, unfortunately, he possessed too much the power of accelerating. But although a purpose of revenge floated through his brain, it was no time to indulge such speculations. The hour, the place, his own situation, and perhaps the presence or near neighbourhood of his assailants, made self-preservation the adept’s first object. The lantern had been thrown down and extinguished in the scuffle. The wind, which formerly howled so loudly through the aisles of the ruin, had now greatly fallen, lulled by the rain, which was descending very fast. The moon, from the same cause, was totally obscured, and though Dousterswivel had some experience of the ruins, and knew that he must endeavour to regain the western door of the chancel, yet the

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confusion of his ideas was such, that he hesitated for some time ere he could ascertain in what direction he was to seek it. In this perplexity, the suggestions of superstition taking the advantage of darkness and his evil conscience, began again to present themselves to his disturbed imagination. But “Bah!” quoth he valiantly to himself, “it is all non­ sense—all one part of de damn big trick and imposture. Deivil! that one thick-sculled Scotch baronet, as I have led by the nose four five year, should cheat Herman Dousterswivel!” As he had come to this conclusion, an incident occurred which tended greatly to shake the grounds on which he had adopted it. Amid the melancholy sough of the dying wind, and the plash of the rain­ drops on leaves and stones, arose, and apparently at no great distance from the listener, a strain of vocal music so sad and solemn, as if the departed spirits of the churchmen who had once inhabited these deserted ruins, were mourning the solitude and desolation to which their hallowed precincts had been abandoned. Dousterswivel, who had now got upon his feet, and was groping around the wall of the chancel, stood rooted to the ground on the occurrence of this new phenomenon. Each faculty of his soul seemed for the moment con­ centered in the sense of hearing, and all rushed back with the unanim­ ous information, that the deep, wild, and prolonged chaunt which he now heard, was the appropriate music of one of the most solemn dirges of the church of Rome. Why performed in such a fearful solitude, and by what class of choristers, were questions which the terrified imagination of the adept, stirred with all the German super­ stitions of nixies, oak-kings, were-wolves, hobgoblins, black spirits and white, blue spirits and grey, durst not even attempt to solve. Another of his senses was soon engaged in the investigation. At the extremity of one of the transepts of the church, at the bottom of a few descending steps, was a small iron-grated door, opening, as far as he recollected, to a sort of low vault or sacristy. As he cast his eye in the direction of the sound, he observed a strong reflection of red light glimmering through these bars, and against the steps which des­ cended to them. Dousterswivel stood a moment uncertain what to do; then, suddenly forming a desperate resolution, he moved down the aisle to the place from which the light proceeded. Fortified with the sign of the cross, and as many exorcisms as his memory could recover, he advanced to the grate, from which, unseen, he could see what passed in the interior of the vault. As he approached with timid and uncertain steps, the chaunt, after one or two wild and prolonged cadences, died away into profound silence. The grate, when he reached it, presented a singular spectacle in the interior of the sacristy—An open grave, with four tall flambeaus, each about six

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feet high, placed at the four comers—a bier, having a corpse in its shroud, the arms folded upon the breast, rested upon tressels at one side of the grave, as if ready to be interred—A priest, dressed in his cope and stole, held open the service-book—another churchman in his vestments bore a holy-water sprinkler—and two boys in white surplices held censors with incense—a man, of a figure once tall and commanding, but now bent with age or infirmity, stood alone and nearest to the coffin, attired in deep mourning—Such were the most prominent figures of the group. At a little distance, were two or three persons of both sexes, dressed in long mourning hoods and cloaks; and five or six others in the same lugubrious dress, still farther removed from the body, around the walls of the vault, stood ranged in motionless order, each bearing in his hand a huge torch of black wax. The smoky light from so many flambeaus, by the red and indistinct atmosphere which it spread around, gave a hazy, dubious, and, as it were, phantom-like appearance to the outlines of this singular appari­ tion. The voice of the priest—loud, clear, and sonorous, now recited from the breviary which he held in his hand, those solemn words which the ritual of the Catholic church has consecrated to the render­ ing of dust to dust. Meanwhile, Dousterswivel, the place, the hour, and the surprise considered, still remained uncertain, whether what he saw was substantial, or an unearthly representation of the rites, to which, in former times, these walls were familiar, but which are now rarely practised in Protestant countries, and almost never in Scotland. He was uncertain whether to abide the conclusion of the ceremony, or to endeavour to regain the chancel, when a change in his position made him visible through the grate to one of the attendant mourners. The person who first espied him, indicated his discovery to the indi­ vidual who stood apart and nearest to the coffin by a sign, and upon his making a sign in reply, two of the group detached themselves, and, gliding along with noiseless steps, as if fearing to disturb the service, unlocked and opened the grate which separated them from the adept. Each took him by an arm, and exerting a degree of force, which he would have been incapable of resisting had his fear permitted him to attempt it, they placed him on the ground in the chancel, and sat down one on each side of him as if to detain him. Satisfied he was in the power of mortals like himself, the adept would have put some ques­ tions to them; but while one pointed to the vault, from which the sound of the priest’s voice was distinctly heard, the other placed his finger upon his lips in token of silence, a hint which the German thought it most prudent to obey. And thus they detained him until a loud Alleluia, pealing through the deserted arches of St Ruth, closed the singular ceremony which it had been his fortune to witness.

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When the hymn had died away with all its echoes, the voice of one of the sable personages under whose guard the adept had remained, said, in a familiar tone and dialect, “Dear sirs, Mr Dousterswivel—is this you? could not ye have let us ken an ye wussed till hae been present at the ceremony?—My lord couldna tak it weel your coming blinking and jinking in, in that fashion.” “In de name of all dat is gootness, tell me what you are?” inter­ rupted the German in his return. “What I am? why, wha should I be but Ringan Aikwood, the Knock­ winnock poinder?—And what are you doing here at this time o’ night, unless ye were come to attend the leddy’s burial?” “I do declare to you, mine goot Poinder Aikwood,” said the Ger­ man, raising himself up, “that I have been this vary nights murdered, robbed, and put in fears of my life.” “Robbed? wha wad do sic a deed here?—Murdered? odd, ye speak out pretty blithe for a murdered man.—Put in fear? what put you in fear, Mr Dousterswivel?” “I will tell you, Maister Poinder Aikwood Ringan, just dat old mis­ creant dog villain, blue-gown, as you call Adie Ochiltrees.” “I’ll ne’er believe that,” answered Ringan; “Edie was ken’d to me, and my father before me, for a true, loyal, and soothfast man; and, mair by token, he’s sleeping up yonder in our barn, and has been since ten at e’en—Sae touch ye wha liket, Mr Dousterswivel, and whether ony body touched ye or no, I’m sure Edie’s sackless.” “Maister Ringan Aikwood Poinders, I do not know what you call sackless, but let alone all de oils and de soot dat you say he has, and I will tell you I was dis night robbed of fifty pounds and murdered by your oil and sooty friend, Edies Ochiltree; and he is no more in your barn even now dan I ever shall be in de kingdom of heafen.” “Weel, sir, if ye will gae up wi’ me, as the burial company has dispersed, we’se mak ye down a bed at the lodge, and we’se see if Edie’s at the barn. There were twa wild-looking chaps left the auld kirk when we were coming up wi’ the corpse, that’s certain, and the priest, wha likes ill that ony heretics should look on at our church ceremonies, sent twa o’ the riding sallees after them—Sae we’ll hear a’ about it frae them.” Thus speaking, the kindly apparition, with the assistance of the mute personage, who was his son, disencumbered himself of his cloak, and prepared to escort Dousterswivel to the place of that rest which the adept so much needed. “I will apply to the magistrates to-morrow,” said the adept; “oder, I will have de law put in force against all de peoples.” While he thus muttered vengeance against the cause of his injury,

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he tottered from among the ruins, supporting himself on Ringan and his son, whose assistance his state of weakness rendered very neces­ sary. When they were clear of the priory, and had gained the little meadow in which it stands, Dousterswivel could perceive the torches which had caused him so much alarm issuing in irregular procession from the ruins, and glancing their light, like that of the ignisfatuus, on the banks of the lake. After moving along the path for some short space with a fluctuating and irregular motion, the lights were at once extinguished. “We aye put out the torches at the halie-cross well upon sic occa­ sions,” said the forester to his guest; and accordingly no farther visible sign of the procession offered itself to Dousterswivel, although his ear could catch the distant and decreasing echo of horses’ hoofs in the direction towards which the mourners had bent their course.

Chapter Eleve n O weel may the boatie row, And better may she speed, And weel may the boatie row That wins the baimies’ bread. The boatie rows, the boatie rows, The boatie rows weel, And lightsome be their life that bear The merlin and the creel.

We must now introduce our reader to the interior of the fisher’s cottage mentioned in chapter eleventh of the first volume of this edify­ ing history. I wish I could say that its inside was well arranged, de­ cently furnished, or tolerably clean. On the contrary, I am compelled to admit, there was confusion,—there was dilapidation,—there was dirt good store. Yet, with all this, there was about the inmates, Luckie Meiklebackit and her family, an appearance of ease, plenty, and com­ fort, that seemed to warrant their own sluttish proverb, “The clartier the cosier.” A huge fire, though the season was summer, occupied the hearth, and served at once for affording light, heat, and the means of preparing food. The fishing had been successful, and the family, with customary improvidence, had, since unlading the cargo, continued an unintermitting operation of broiling and frying the part of the produce reserved for home consumption, and the bones and fragments lay on the wooden trenchers, mingled with morsels of broken bannocks and shattered mugs of half-drunk beer. The stout and athletic form of Maggie herself, bustling here and there among a pack of half-grown

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girls and younger children, of whom she chucked one now here and another now there, with an exclamation of “Get out o’ the gate, ye little sorrow!” was well contrasted with the passive and half-stupified look and manner of her husband’s mother, a woman advanced to the latest stage of human life, who was seated in her wonted chair close by the fire, the warmth of which she coveted, yet hardly seemed to be sens­ ible of, now muttering to herself, now smiling vacantly to the children as they pulled the strings of her toy or close cap, or twitched her blue checked apron. With her distaff in her bosom, and her spindle in her hand, she plied lazily and mechanically the old-fashioned Scottish thrift, according to the old-fashioned Scottish manner. The younger children, crawling among the feet of the elder, watched the progress of Grannie’s spindle as it twisted, and now and then ventured to interrupt its progress as it danced upon the floor in those vagaries which the more regulated spinning-wheel has now so universally superseded, that even the fated Princess of the fairy-tale might roam through all Scotland without the risk of piercing her hand with a spindle, and dying of the wound. Late as the hour was, (and it was long past midnight) the whole family were still on foot, and far from proposing to go to bed; the dame was still busy broiling car-cakes on the girdle, and the elder girl, the half-naked mermaid elsewhere com­ memorated, was preparing a pile of Findhorn haddocks, (that is, haddocks smoked with green wood) to be eaten along with these relishing provisions. While they were thus employed, a slight tap at the door, accompan­ ied with the question, “Are ye up yet, sirs?” announced a visitor. The answer, “Aye, aye,—come your ways ben, hinny,” occasioned the lifting of the latch, and Jenny Rintherout, the female domestic of our Antiquary, made her appearance. “Aye, aye,” exclaimed the mistress of the family,—“hegh, sirs! can this be you, Jenny? a sight o’ you’se gude for sair een, lass.” “O, woman, we’ve been a’ ta’en up wi’ Captain Hector’s wound up bye, that I have na had my fit out ower the door this fortnight; but he’s better now, and auld Caxon sleeps in his room in case he wants ony thing—sae, as sune as our auld folk gaed to bed, I e’en snooded my head up a bit, and left the house-door on the latch, in case ony body should be wanting in or out while I was awa, and just came doun the gate to see an’ there was ony cracks amang ye.” “Aye, aye,” answered Luckie Meiklebackit, “I see ye hae gotten a’ your braws on—ye’re looking about for Steenie now—but he’s no at hame the night and ye’ll no do for Steenie, lass—A feckless thing like you’se no fit to maintain a man.” “Steenie will no do for me,” retorted Jenny, with a toss of her head

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that might have become a higher-born damsel,—“I maun hae a man that can maintain his wife.” “Ow aye, hinny—thae’s your landward and burrows-town notions. My certie! fisher-wives ken better—they keep the man, and keep the house, and keep the siller too, lass.” “A whin poor drudges ye are,” answered the nymph of the land to the nymph of the sea.—“Sae sune as the keel o’ the coble touches the sand, de’il a bit mair will the lazy fisher loons work, but the wives maun kilt their coats, and wade into the surf to tak’ the fish ashore. And than the man casts aff the wat and pits on the dry, and sits doun wi’ his pipe and his gill-stoup ahint the ingle like ony auld howdie, and ne’er a turn will he do till the coble’s afloat again!—And the wife, she maun get the scull on her back, and awa wi’ the fish to the next burrows toun, and scauld and ban wi’ ilka wife that will scauld and ban wi’ her till it’s a’ sauld—And that’s the gait fisher-wives live, puir slaving bodies.” “Slaves? gae wa’, lass!—Ca’ the head o’ the house slaves? little ye ken about it, lass—Shew me a word my Saunders daur speak, or a turn he daur do about the house, without it be just tak his meat, and his drink, and his diversion like ony o’ the weans. He has mair sense than to ca’ ony thing about the bigging his ain, frae the rooftree doun to a crackit trencher on the bink. He kens weel aneugh wha feeds him and deeds him, and keeps a’ tight, thack and rape, when his coble is jowing awa’ in the Firth, poor fallow. Na, na, lass—thae that sell the gudes guide the purse—thae that guide the purse rule the house—Shew me ane o’ your bits o’ farmer-bodies wad let their wife drive the stock to market, and ca’ in the debts. Na, na.” “Aweel, aweel, Maggie, ilka land has its ain lauch—but whare’s Steenie the night, whan a’s come and gane?—and whare’s the gude­ man?” “I hae puttin’ the gudeman to his bed, for he was e’en sair forfairn, and Steenie’s awa’ out about some barns-breaking wi’ the auld gaber­ lunzie, Edie Ochiltree—they’ll be in sune, an’ ye can sit doun.” “Troth, gudewife, (taking a seat,) I hae na that meikle time to stop —but I maun tell ye about the news—Ye’ll hae heard o’ the mickle kist o’ gowd that Sir Arthur has fund down bye at St Ruth?—He’ll be grander than ever now—he’ll no can haud down his head to sneeze, for fear o’ seeing his shoon.” “Ou aye—a’ the kintra’s heard o’ that; but auld Edie says they ca’ it ten times mair than ever was o’t, and he saw them howk it up. Odd, it would be lang or a puir body that needed it got sic a windfa’.” “Na, that’s sure eneugh.—And ye’ll hae heard o’ the Countess o’ Glenallan being dead and lying in state, and how she’s to be buried at St Ruth’s this night, wi’ torch-light; and a’ the papist servants, and

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Ringan Aikwood, that’s a papist too, are to be there, and it will be the grandest shew ever was seen.” “Troth, hinny,” answered the Naiad, “if they let naebody but pap­ ists come there, it will no be mickle o’ a shew in this country; for the auld harlot, as honest Mr Blattergowl ca’s her, has few that drink o’ her cup of enchantments in this corner of our chosen lands.—But what can ail them to bury the auld carline (a rudas wife she was) in the night time?—I dare say our gudemither will ken.” Here she exalted her voice, and exclaimed twice or thrice, “Gude­ mither! gudemither!” But, lost in the apathy of age and deafness, the aged sybil she addressed continued plying her spindle without under­ standing the appeal made to her. “Speak to your grandmither, Jenny—odd, I wad rather hail the coble half a mile aff, and the nor-wast wind whistling again’ my teeth.” “Grannie,” said the little mermaid, in a voice to which the old woman was better accustomed, “minnie wants to ken what for thae Glenallan folk aye bury by candle-light in the ruins of St Ruth?” The old woman paused in the act of twirling the spindle, turned round to the rest of the party, lifted her withered, trembling, and clay-coloured hand, raised up her ashen-coloured and wrinkled face, which the quick motion of two light-blue eyes chiefly distin­ guished from the visage of a corpse, and, as if catching at any touch of association with the living world, answered, “What gars the Glenallan family inter their dead by torch-light, said the lassie?—Is there a Glenallan dead e’en now?” “We might be a’ dead and buried too,” said Maggie, “for ony thing ye wad ken about it;”—and then, raising her voice to the stretch of her mother-in-law’s comprehension, she added, “It’s the auld countess, gudemither.” “And is she ca’d hame then at last,” said the old woman, in a voice that seemed to be agitated with much more feeling than belonged to her extreme old age, and the general indifference and apathy of her manner—“is she then called to her last account after her lang race o’ pride and power?—O God forgie her!” “But minnie was asking ye,” resumed the lesser querist, “what for the Glenallan family aye bury their dead by torch-light?” “They hae aye dune sae,” said the grandmother, “since the time the Great Earl fell in the sair battle o’ the Harlaw, when they say the coronach was cried in ae day, from the mouth o’ the Tay to the Buck of the Cabrach, that ye wad hae heard nae other sound but that of lamentation for the great folks that had fa’an fighting against Donald of the Isles.—But the Great Earl’s mither was living—they were a doughty and a dour race the women o’ the house o’ Glenallan—and

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she wad hae nae coronach cried for her son, but had him laid in the silence o’ midnight in his place o’ rest, without either drinking the dirgé, or crying the lament.—She said he had killed enow that day he died, for the widows and daughters o’ the Highlanders he had slain to cry the coronach for them they had lost and for her son too, and sae she laid him in his grave wi’ dry eyes, and without a groan or a wail— And it was thought a proud word o’ the family, and they aye stickit by it —and the mair in the latter times, because in the night time they had freedom to perform their popish ceremonies by darkness and in secrecy—at least that was the case in my time—they wad hae been disturbed in the day-time baith by the law and by the commons of Fairport—they may hae mair freedom now—the warld’s changed—I whiles hardly ken whether I am standing or sitting, or dead or living.” And looking round the fire, as if in the state of unconscious uncer­ tainty of which she complained, old Elspeth relapsed into her habitual and mechanical occupation of twirling the spindle. “Eh sirs!” said Jenny Rintherout, under her breath to her gossip, “it’s awsome to hear your gudemither break out in that gait—it’s like the dead speaking to the living.” “Ye’re no that far wrang, lass; she minds naething o’ what passes the day—but set her on auld tales, and she can speak like a prent buke. She kens mair about the Glenallan family than maist folk—the gude­ man’s father was their fisher mony a day. Ye maun ken the papists make a great point o’ eating fish—it’s nae bad part o’ their religion that, whatever the rest is—I could aye sell the best o’ fish at the best o’ prices for the countess’s ain table, grace be wi’ her! especially on a Friday—But see as our gudemither’s hand and lips are ganging— now it’s working in her head like barm—she’ll speak aneuch the night —whiles she’ll no speak a word in a week, unless it is to the bits o’ bairns.” “Hegh, Mrs Meiklebackit, she’s an awsome wife!—d’ye think she’s a’ thegither right?—Folk says she downa gang to the kirk, or speak to the minister, and that she was anes a papist, but since her gudeman’s been dead naebody kens what she is—d’ye think yoursel that she’s no uncanny?” “Canny, ye silly tawpie! think ye ae auld wife’s less canny than anither, unless it be Alison Breck—I really couldna in conscience swear for her—I have kent the boxes she set filled wi’ partans, whan”–— “Whist, whisht, Maggie, your gudemither’s gaun to speak again.” “Was na there some ane o’ ye said,” asked the old sybil, “or did I dream, or was it revealed to me, that Joscelind, Lady Glenallan, is dead an’ buried this night?”

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“Yes, gudemither,” screamed the daughter-in-law, “it’s e’en sae.” “And e’en sae let it be,” said old Elspeth; “she’s made mony a sair heart in her day—aye, e’en her ain son’s—is he living yet?” “Aye, he’s living yet—but how lang he’ll live—however, dinna ye mind his coming and asking after you in the spring, and leaving siller?” “It may be sae, Maggie—I dinna mind it—but a handsome gentle­ man he was, and his father before him. Eh! if his father had lived, they might hae been happy folk!—But he was gane, and the lady carried it in-ower and out-ower wi’ her son, and gart him trow the thing he never suld hae trowed, and do the thing he has repented a’ his life, and will repent still, were his life as lang as this lang and wearisome ane o’ mine.” “O what was it, grannie?”—and “What was it, gudemither?”—and “What was it, Luckie Elspeth?” asked the children, the mother, and the visitor, in one breath. “Never ask what it was, but pray to God that ye are na left to the pride and wilfu’ness o’ your ain heart. They may be as powerful in a cabin as in a castle—I can bear a sad witness to that.—O that weary and fearfu’ night!—will it never out o’ my auld head?—Eh! to see her lying on the floor wi’ her lang hair dreeping wi’ the salt water!— Heaven will avenge on a’ that had to do wi’t.—Sirs! is my son out wi’ the coble this windy e’en?” “Na, na, mither—nae coble can keep the sea this wind—he’s sleep­ ing in his bed out ower yonder ahint the hallan.” “Is Steenie out at sea than?” “Na, grannie—Steenie’s awa out wi’ auld Edie Ochiltree, the gaberlunzie—maybe they’ll be gaun to see the burial.” “That canna be,” said the mother of the family,—“we kent nae­ thing o’t till Jock Rand came in, and tauld us the Aikwoods had warning to attend; they keep thae things unco private, and they were to bring the corpse a’ the way frae the castle, ten miles off, under cloud o’ night. She has lain in state this ten days at Glenallan-house, in a grand chamber, a’ hung wi’ black, and lighted wi’ wax cannle.” “God assoilzie her!” ejaculated old Elspeth, her head apparently still occupied by the event of the Countess’s death—“She was a hard­ hearted woman, but she’s gane to account for it a’, and His mercy is infinite—God grant she may find it sae!”—And she relapsed into silence, which she did not break again during the rest ofthe evening. “I wonder what that daft auld beggar carle and our son Steenie can be doing out in sic a night as this,” said Maggie Meiklebackit; and her expression of surprise was echoed by her visitor; “Gang away ane o’ ye, hinnies, up to the heugh-head, and gie a cry in case they’re within

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hearing—the car-cakes will be burned to a cinder.” The little emissary departed, but in a few minutes came running back with the loud exclamation, “Eh, minnie! eh, grannie! there’s a white bogle chasing twa black anes down the heugh!” A noise of footsteps followed this singular annunciation, and young Steenie Meiklebackit, closely followed by Edie Ochiltree, bounced into the hut. They were panting and out of breath. The first thing Steenie did was to look for the bar of the door, which his mother reminded him had been broken up for firewood in the hard winter three years ago; for what use, she said, had the like o’ them for bars? “There’s naebody chasing us,” said the beggar; “we’re e’en like the wicked, that flee when no one pursueth.” “Troth, but we were chased,” said Steenie, “by a spirit, or some­ thing little better.” “It was a man in white on horseback,” said Edie, “for the saft ground, that wadna bear the beast, flung him about, I wot that weel; but I didna think my auld legs could have brought me aff as fast; I ran amaist as fast as if I had been at Prestonpans.” “Hout, ye daft gowks,” said Luckie Meiklebackit, “it will hae been some o’ the riders at the Countess’s burial.” “What!” said Edie, “is the auld Countess buried the night at St Ruth? ou, that wad be the lights and the noise that scarr’d us awa; I wish I had ken’d—I wad hae stude them, and no left the man yonder —but they’ll take care o’ him. Ye strake ower hard, Steenie—I doubt ye foundered the chield.” “Ne’er a bit,” said Steenie, laughing; “he has braw broad shouthers, and I just took the measure o’ them wi’ the stang—odd, if I hadna been something short wi’ him, he wad hae knockit your auld harns out, lad.” “Weel, an’ I win clear o’ this scrape,” said Edie, “I’se tempt Provid­ ence nae mair. But I canna think it an unlawfu’ thing to pit a bit trick on sic a land-louping scoundrel as lives by tricking honester folk.” “But what are we to do with this?” said Steenie, producing a pocket­ book. “Odd guide us, man,” said Edie, in great alarm, “what gar’d ye touch the gear? a very leaf o’ that pocket-book wad be aneugh to hang us baith.” “A dinna ken,” said Steenie; “the book had fa’an out o’ his pocket, I fancy, for I fand it amang my feet when I was graping about to set him on his legs again, and just pat it in my pouch to keep it safe; and than came the tramp of horse, and you cried ‘Rin, rin,’ and I had nae mair thought o’ the book.” “We maun get it back to the loon some gait or other; ye had better

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take it yoursel, I think, wi’ peep o’ light, up to Ringan Aikwood’s. I wadna for a hundred pounds that it was fund in our hands.” Steenie undertook to do as he was directed. “A bonny night ye hae made o’t, Mr Steenie,” said Jenny Rinther­ out, who, impatient of remaining so long unnoticed, now presented herself to the young fisherman—“A bonny night ye hae made o’t, tramping about wi’ gaberlunzies, and getting yoursel hunted wi’ worricows, when ye suld hae been sleeping in your bed like your father, honest man!” This attack called forth a suitable response of rustic raillery from the young fisherman. An attack was now commenced upon the car­ cakes and smoked fish, and sustained with great perseverance by assistance of a bicker or two of twopenny ale and a bottle of gin. The mendicant then retired to the straw of an out-house adjoining,—the children had one by one crept into their nests,—the old grandmother was deposited in her flock bed,—Steenie, notwithstanding his pre­ ceding fatigue, had the gallantry to accompany Miss Rintherout to her own mansion, and at what hour he returned the story saith not,—and the matron of the family, having laid the gathering-coal upon the fire, and put things to some sort of order, retired to rest the last of the family.

Chapter Twelve –—Many great ones Would part with half their states, to have the plan And credit to beg in the first stile–— Beggar’s Bush

Old Edie was stirring with the lark, and his first enquiry was after Steenie and the pocket-book. The young fisherman had been under the necessity of attending his father before daybreak to avail them­ selves of the tide, but he had promised, that, immediately on his return, the pocket-book, with all its contents, carefully wrapped up in a piece of sail-cloth, should be delivered by him to Ringan Aikwood, for Dousterswivel, the owner. The matron had prepared the morning meal for the family, and, shouldering her basket of fish, tramped sturdily away towards Fair­ port. The children were idling around the door, for the day was fair and sun-shiny. The ancient grandame, again seated in her wicker­ chair by the fire, had resumed her eternal spindle, wholly unmoved by the yelling and screaming of the children, and the scolding of the mother, which had preceded the dispersion of the family. Edie had arranged his various bags, and was bound for the renewal of his

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wandering life, but first advanced with due courtesy to take his leave of the ancient crone. “Gude day to ye, cummer, and mony ane o’ them. I will be back about the fore-end o’ har’st, and I trust to find ye baith haill and fere.” “Pray that ye may find me in my quiet grave,” said the old woman in a hollow and sepulchral voice, but without the agitation of a single feature. “Ye’re auld, cummer, and sae am I mysel; but we maun abide His will—we’ll no be forgotten in his good time.” “Nor our deeds neither,” said the crone; “what’s dune in the body maun be answered in the spirit.” “I wot that’s true; and I may weel tak the tale hame to mysel, that hae led a misruled and roving life. But ye were aye a canny wife. We’re a’ frail—but ye canna hae sae mickle to bow ye down.” “Less than I might have had—but mair, O far mair, than wad sink the stoutest brig e’er sailed out o’ Fairport harbour!—Didna some­ body say yestreen—at least it is sae borne in on my mind—but auld folk hae weak fancies—did na somebody say that Joscelind, Countess of Glenallan, was departed frae life?” “They said the truth whaever said it,” answered the mendicant; “she was buried yestreen by torch-light at St Ruth, and I, like a fule, gat a gliff wi’ seeing the lights and the riders.” “It was aye their fashion since the days of the Great Earl that was killed at Harlaw—They did it to shew scorn they should die and be buried like other mortals—The wives o’ the house of Glenallan wailed nae wail for the husband, nor the sister for the brother.—But is she e’en ca’d to the lang account?” “As sure,” answered Edie, “as we maun a’ abide it.” “Then I’ll unlade my mind, come o’t that will.” This she spoke with more alacrity than usually attended her expres­ sions, and accompanied her words with an attitude of the hand, as if throwing something from her. She then raised up her form, once tall, and still retaining the appearance of having been so, though bent with age and rheumatism, and stood before the beggar like a mummy animated by some wandering spirit into a temporary resurrection. Her light-blue eye wandered to and fro, as if she occasionally forgot and again remembered the purpose for which her long and withered hand was searching among the miscellaneous contents of an ample oldfashioned pocket. At length, she pulled out a small chip-box, and opening it, took out a handsome ring, in which was set a braid of hair, composed of two different colours, black and light-brown, twined together, encircled with brilliants of considerable value. “Gude man,” she said to Ochiltree, “as ye wad e’er deserve mercy

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by doing a deed of mercy, ye maun gang my errand to the house of Glenallan, and ask for the Earl.” “The Earl of Glenallan, cummer! ow, he winna see ony o’ the gentles in the country, and what likelihood is there that he wad see the like o’ an auld gaberlunzie?” “Gang your ways and try—and tell him that Elspeth o’ the Craig­ burnfoot—he’ll mind me best by that name—maun see him or she be relieved frae her lang pilgrimage, and that she sends him that ring in token of the business she wad speak o’.” Ochiltree looked on the ring with some admiration of its apparent value, and then carefully replacing it in the box, and wrapping it in an old ragged handkerchief, he deposited the token in his bosom. “Weel, gude-wife,” he said, “I’se do your bidding, or it’s no be my fault—But surely there was never sic a braw propine as this sent to a yerl by an auld fish-wife, and through the hands of a gaberlunzie beggar.” With this reflection, Edie took up his pike-staff, put on his broad­ brimmed bonnet, and set forth upon his pilgrimage. The old woman remained for some time standing in a fixed posture, her eyes directed to the door through which her ambassador had departed. The appear­ ance of excitation, which the conversation had occasioned, gradually left her features—she sunk down upon her accustomed seat, and resumed the mechanical labour of the distaff and spindle with her wonted air of apathy. Edie Ochiltree meanwhile advanced in his journey—the distance to Glenallan was ten miles, a march which the old soldier accomplished in about four hours. With the curiosity belonging to his idle trade and animated character, he tortured himself the whole way to consider what could be the meaning of the mysterious errand with which he was entrusted, or what connection the proud, wealthy, and powerful Earl of Glenallan could have with the crimes or penitence of an old doating woman, whose rank in life did not greatly exceed that of her messenger. He endeavoured to call to memory all that he had ever known or heard of the Glenallan family, yet, having done so, remained altogether unable to form a conjecture on the subject. He knew that the whole extensive estate of this ancient and powerful family had descended to the Countess lately deceased, who inherited, in a most remarkable degree, the stern, fierce, and unbending character which had distinguished the house of Glenallan since they first figured in Scottish annals. Like the rest of her ancestors, she adhered zealously to the Roman Catholic faith, and was married to an English gentleman of the same communion, and of large fortune, who did not survive their union two years. The Countess was, therefore, left an early

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widow, with the uncontrouled management of the large estates of her two sons. The elder, Lord Geraldin, who was to succeed to the title and fortune of Glenallan, was totally dependent on his mother during her life. The second, when he came of age, assumed the name and arms of his father, and took possession of his estates, according to the provisions of the Countess’s marriage-settlement. After this period, he chiefly resided in England, and paid very few and brief visits to his mother and brother; and these at length were altogether dispensed with, in consequence of his becoming a convert to the reformed religion. But even before this mortal offence was given to its mistress, his residence at Glenallan offered few inducements to a gay young man like Edward Geraldin Neville, though its gloom and seclusion seemed to suit the retired and melancholy habits of his elder brother. Lord Geraldin, in the outset of life, had been a young man of accom­ plishment and hopes. Those who knew him upon his travels enter­ tained the highest expectations of his future career. But such fair dawns are often strangely overcast. The young nobleman returned to Scotland, and after living about a year in his mother’s society at Glenallan-house, he seemed to have adopted all the stern gloom and melancholy of her character. Excluded from politics by the incapa­ cities attached to those of his religion, and from all lighter avocations by choice, Lord Geraldin led a life of the strictest retirement. His ordinary society was composed of the clergymen of his communion, who occasionally visited his mansion; and very rarely, upon stated occasions of high festival, one or two families who still professed the Catholic religion were formally entertained at Glenallan-house. But this was all—their heretic neighbours knew nothing of the family whatever; and even the Catholics saw little more than the sumptuous entertainment and solemn parade which was exhibited on those formal occasions, from which all returned without knowing whether most to wonder at the stern and stately demeanour of the Countess, or the deep and gloomy dejection which never ceased for a moment to cloud the features of her son. The late event had put him in possession of his fortune and title, and the neighbourhood had already begun to conjecture whether gaiety would revive with independence, when those who had some occasional acquaintance with the interior of the family spread abroad a report, that the earl’s constitution was under­ mined by religious austerities, and that, in all probability, he would soon follow his mother to the grave. This event was the more probable as his brother had died of a lingering complaint, which, in the latter years of his life, had affected at once his frame and his spirits: so that heralds and genealogists were already looking back into their records

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to discover the heir of this ill-fated family, and lawyers were talking with gleesome anticipation of the probability of a “great Glenallan cause.” As Edie Ochiltree approached the front of Glenallan-house, an ancient building of great extent, the most modern part of which had been designed by the celebrated Inigo Jones, he began to consider in what way he would be most likely to gain access for delivery of his message; and, after much consideration, resolved to send the token to the earl by one of the domestics. With this purpose he stopped at a cottage where he obtained the means of making up the ring in a sealed packet like a petition, addressed, Forr his hounor the Yerl of Glenllan— These. But being aware that missives delivered at the door of great houses by such persons as himself, do not always make their way according to address, Edie determined, like an old soldier, to recon­ noitre the ground before he made his final attack. As he approached the porter’s-lodge, he discerned, by the number of poor ranked before it,—some of them being indigent persons in the vicinity, and others itinerants of his own begging profession,—that there was about to be a general dole or distribution of charity. “A good turn,” said Edie to himself, “never goes unrewarded—I’ll maybe get a gude awmous that I wad hae missed but for trotting on this auld wife’s errand.” Accordingly, he ranked up with the rest of the ragged regiment, assuming a station as near the front as possible,—a distinction due, as he conceived, to his blue gown and badge, no less than to his years and experience; but he soon found there was another principle of preced­ ence in this assembly to which he had not adverted. “ Are ye a triple man, friend, that ye press forward sae bauldly?—I am thinking no, for there’s nae Catholics wear that badge.” “Na, na, I am no a Roman,” said Edie. “Then shank yoursel awa’ to the double or single folk, that’s to the Episcopals or Presbyterians yonder—it’s a shame to see a heretic wi’ sic a lang white beard, that would do credit to a hermit.” Ochiltree, thus rejected from the society of the Catholic mendic­ ants, or those who called themselves such, went to station himself with the paupers of the communion of the church of England, to whom the noble donor allotted a double portion in his charity. But never was a poor occasional conformist more roughly rejected by a High-church congregation, even when that matter was furiously agitated in the days of good Queen Anne. “See to him wi’ his badge!” they said; “he hears ane o’ the king’s Presbyterian chaplains sough out a sermon on the morning of every birth-day, and now he would pass himsel for ane o’ the Episcopal

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church! Na, na! We’ll take care o’ that.” Edie, thus rejected by Rome and prelacy, was fain to shelter himself from the laughter of his brethren among die thin group of Presbyter­ ians, who had either disdained to disguise their religious opinions for the sake of an augmented dole, or perhaps knew they could not attempt the imposition without the certainty of detection. The same degree of precedence was observed in the mode of distributing the charity, which consisted in bread, beef, and a piece of money, to each individual of all the three classes. The almoner, an ecclesiastic of grave appearance and demeanour, superintended in person the accommodation of the Catholic mendicants, asking a question or two at each as he delivered the charity, and recommend­ ing to their prayers the soul ofJoscelind, late Countess of Glenallan, mother of their benefactor. The porter, distinguished by his long staff headed with silver, and his black gown tufted with lace of the same colour, which he had assumed upon the general mourning in the family, overlooked the distribution of the dole among the prelatists. The less-favoured kirk-folk were committed to the charge of an aged domestic. As this last discussed some disputed point with the porter, his name, as it chanced to be occasionally mentioned, and then his fea­ tures, struck Ochiltree, and awakened recollections of former times. The rest of the assembly were now retiring, when the domestic, again approaching the place where Edie still lingered, said, in a strong Aberdeenshire accent, “Fat is the auld feel-body deeing that he canna gang avay, now that he’s gotten baith meat and siller?” “Francie Macraw,” answered Edie Ochiltree, “d’ye no mind Fon­ tenoy, and ‘Keep thegither, front and rear?’ ” “Ohon, ohon!” cried Francie, with a true north-country yell of recognition, “naebody could hae said that word but my auld front­ rank man, Edie Ochiltree! But I’m sorry to see ye in sic a peer state, man.” “No sae ill aff as ye may think, Francie. But I’m laith to leave this place without a crack wi’ you, and I kenna when I may see you again, for your folk dinna mak protestants welcome, and that’s ae reason that I hae never been here before.” “Fusht, fusht,” said Francie, “let that flee stick i’ the wa’—when the dirt’s dry it will rub out—and come you awa wi’ me, and I’ll gie ye something better than that beef bane, man.” Having then spoke a confidential word with the porter, (probably to request his connivance,) and having waited until the almoner had returned into the house with slow and solemn steps, Francie Macraw introduced his old comrade into the court of Glenallan-house, the

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gloomy gateway of which was surmounted by a huge scutcheon, in which the herald and undertaker had mingled, as usual, the emblems of human pride and of human nothingness; the countess’s hereditary coat-of-arms, with all its numerous quarterings, disposed in a loz­ enge, and surrounded by the separate shields of her paternal and maternal ancestry, intermingled with scythes, hour-glasses, sculls, and other symbols of that mortality which levels all distinctions. Con­ ducting his friend as speedily as possible along the large paved court, Macraw led the way through a side-door to a small apartment near the servants’-hall, which, in virtue of his personal attendance upon the Earl of Glenallan, he was entitled to call his own. To produce cold meat of various kinds, strong beer, and even a glass of spirits, was no difficulty to a personage of Francie’s importance, who had not lost, in his sense of conscious dignity, the keen northern prudence which recommended a good understanding with the butler. Our mendicant envoy ate, drunk, and talked over old stories with his comrade, until, no other topic of conversation occurring, he resolved to take up the theme of his embassy, which had for some time escaped his memory. “He had a petition to present to the Earl,” he said;—for he judged it prudent to say nothing of the ring, not knowing, as he afterwards observed, how far the manners of a single soldier might be corrupted by service in a great house. “Hout, tout, man,” said Francie, “the Earl will look at nae petitions —but I can gie’t to the almoner.” “But it relates to some secret, that maybe my lord wad like best to see’t himsel.” “I’m jeedging that’s the very reason that the almoner will be for seeing it the first and foremost.” “But I hae come a’ this way on purpose to deliver it, Francie, and ye really maun help me at a pinch.” “Ne’er speed than if I dinna,” answered the Aberdeenshire man; “let them be as cankered as they like, they can but turn us awa, and I was just thinking to ask my discharge, and gang down to end my days at Inverurie.” With this doughty resolution of serving his friend at all ventures, since none was to be encountered which could much inconvenience himself, Francie Macraw left the apartment. It was long before he returned, and when he did come back, his manner indicated wonder and agitation. “I am na seere gin ye be Edie Ochiltree o’ Carrick’s company in the Forty-twa, or gin ye be the de’il in his likeness!” “And what makes ye speak in that gait?” demanded the astonished mendicant.

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“Because my lord has been in sic a distress, and sic a seerpreese, as I ne’er saw man in my life. But he’ll see you—I got that job cookit. He was like a man awa frae himsel for mony minutes, and I thought he wad hae swarv’t a’ thegither—And fan he came to himsel, he asked fae brought the packet—and fat trow ye I said?” “An auld soldier,” says Edie; “that does likeliest at a gentle’s door —at a farmers it’s best to say ye’re an auld tinkler, if ye need ony quarters, for maybe the gudewife will hae something to souther.” “But I said ne’er ane o’ the twa,” answered Francie; “my lord cares as little about the tane as the tother—for he’s best to them that can souther up our sins. Sae I e’en said the bit paper was brought by an auld man wi’ a lang fite beard—he might be a capeechin freer for fat I ken’d, for he was dress’d like an auld palmer. Sae ye’ll be sent for up fanever he can find mettle to face ye.” “I wish I was weel through this business,” thought Edie to himself; “mony folk surmise that the Earl’s no very right in the judgment, and wha can say how far he may be offended wi’ me for taking upon me sae mickle?” But there was now no room for retreat—a bell sounded from a distant part of the mansion, and Macraw said with a smothered accent, as if already in his master’s presence, “That’s my lord’s bell! —follow me, and step lightly and cannily, Edie.” Edie followed his guide, who seemed to tread as if afraid of being overheard, through a long passage, and up a back stair, which admit­ ted them into the family apartments. They were ample and extensive, furnished at such cost as showed the ancient importance and splend­ our of the family. But all the ornaments were in the taste of a former and distant period, and one would have almost supposed himself traversing the halls of a Scottish nobleman before the union of the crowns. The late Countess, partly from a haughty contempt of the times in which she lived, partly from her sense of family pride, had not permitted the furniture to be altered or modernized during her resid­ ence at Glenallan-house. The most magnificent part of the decora­ tions was a valuable collection of pictures by the best masters, whose massive frames were somewhat tarnished by time. But in this particu­ lar also the gloomy taste of the family seemed to predominate. There were some fine family portraits by Vandyke and other artists of emin­ ence; but the collection was richest in the Saints and Martyrdoms of Domenichino, Velasquez, and Murillo, and other subjects of the same kind, which had been selected in preference to landscapes or histor­ ical pieces. The manner in which these awful, and sometimes disgust­ ing, subjects were represented, harmonized with the gloomy state of the apartments; a circumstance which was not altogether lost on the

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old man, as he traversed them under the guidance of his quondam fellow-soldier. He was about to express some sentiment of this kind, but Francie imposed silence on him by signs, and, opening a door at the end of the long picture-gallery, ushered him into a small anti­ chamber hung with black. Here they found the almoner, with his ear turned to a door opposite that by which they entered, in the attitude of one who listens with attention, but is at the same time afraid of being detected in the act. The old domestic and the churchman started when they perceived each other. But the almoner first recovered his recollection, and, advancing towards Macraw, said under his breath, but with an author­ itative tone, “How dare you approach the Earl’s apartment without knocking? and who is this stranger, or what has he to do here?— Retire to the gallery, and wait for me there.” “It’s impossible just now to attend your reverence,” answered Mac­ raw, raising his voice so as to be heard in the next room, being confid­ ent that the monk would not maintain the altercation within hearing of his patron,—“the Earl’s bell has rung.” He had scarce uttered the words, when it was rung again with greater violence than before; and the ecclesiastic, perceiving further expostulation impossible, lifted his finger at Macraw with a menacing attitude, as he left the apartment. “I tell’d ye sae,” said the Aberdonian in a whisper to Edie, and then proceeded to open the door near which they had observed the chap­ lain stationed.

Chapter Thirteen ———This ring,— This little ring, with necromantic force, Has raised the ghost of Pleasure to my fears, Conjured the sense of honour and of love Into such shapes, they fright me from myself. The Fatal Marriage

The ancient forms of mourning were observed in Glenallanhouse, notwithstanding the obduracy with which the members of the family were popularly supposed to refuse to the dead the usual tribute of lamentation. It was remarked, that when the old countess received the fatal letter announcing the death of her second, and, as was once believed, her favourite son, her hand did not shake, nor her eye-lid twinkle, any more than upon perusal of a letter of ordinary business. Heaven only knows whether the compression of feeling, which her pride commanded, might not have some effect in hastening her own

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death. It was at least generally supposed, that the apoplectic stroke, which so soon afterwards terminated her existence, was, as it were, the vengeance of outraged Nature for the restraint to which her feelings had been subjected. But although Lady Glenallan forbore the usual external signs of grief, she had caused many of the apartments, amongst others her own and that of the Earl, be hung with the exterior trappings of woe. The Earl of Glenallan was therefore seated in an apartment hung with black cloth, which waved in dusky folds along its lofty walls. A screen, also covered with black baize, placed towards the high and narrow window, intercepted much of the broken light which found its way through the stained glass, that represented, with such skill as the fourteenth century possessed, the life and sorrows of the prophet Jeremiah. The table at which the Earl was seated was lighted by two lamps wrought in silver, shedding that unpleasant and doubtful light which arises from the mingling of artificial lustre with that of general day-light. The same table displayed a silver crucifix, and one or two clasped parchment books. A large picture, exquisitely painted by Spagnoletto, represented the martyrdom of St Stephen, and was the only ornament of the apartment. The inhabitant and lord of this disconsolate chamber was a man not past the prime of life, yet so broken down with disease and mental misery, so gaunt and ghastly, that he seemed but a wreck of manhood; and when he hastily arose to meet his visitor, the exertion seemed almost to overpower his emaciated frame. As they met in the midst of the apartment, the contrast seemed yet more remarkable. The hale cheek, firm step, erect stature, and undaunted presence and bearing of the old mendicant, indicated patience and content in the extremity of age, and in the lowest station to which humanity is liable; while the sunken eye, pallid cheek, and tottering frame of the nobleman with whom he was confronted, shewed how little wealth, power, and even the advantages of youth, have to do with that, which gives repose to the mind, and firmness to the frame. The Earl met Ochiltree in the middle of the room, and having com­ manded his attendant to withdraw into the gallery, and suffer no one to enter the anti-chamber till he rung the bell, awaited, with hurried yet fearful impatience, until he heard first the door of his apartment, and then that of the anti-chamber, shut and fastened by the spring­ bolt. When he was satisfied with this security against being overheard, Lord Glenallan came close up to the mendicant, whom he probably mistook for some person of a religious order in disguise, and said, in a hasty yet faultering tone, “In the name of all our religion holds most holy, tell me, reverend father, what I am to expect from a communica­

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tion, opened by a token connected with such horrible recollections?” The old man, appalled by a manner so different from what he had expected from the proud and powerful nobleman, was at a loss how to answer, and in what manner to undeceive him—“Tell me,” continued the Earl, in a tone of increasing trepidation and agony—“tell me, do you come to say, that all that has been done to expiate guilt so horrible, has been too little and too trivial for the offence, and to point out new and more efficacious modes of severer penance?—I will not blench from it, father—let me suffer the pains of my crime here in the body, rather than hereafter in the spirit!” Edie had now recollection enough to perceive, that if he did not interrupt the frankness of Lord Glenallan’s admissions, he was likely to become the confidant of more than might be safe for him to know. —He therefore uttered with a hasty and trembling voice—“Your lordship’s honour is mistaken—I am not of your persuasion, nor a clergyman, but, with all reverence, only puir Edie Ochiltree, the king’s beadsman and your honour’s.” This explanation he accompanied by a profound bow after his manner, and then drawing himself up erect, rested his arm on his staff, threw back his long white hair, and fixed his eyes upon the Earl, as he waited for an answer. “And you are not, then,” said Lord Glenallan, after a pause of surprise, “you are not then a Catholic priest?” “God forbid!” said Edie, forgetting in his confusion to whom he was speaking, “I am only the king’s puir beadsman and your honour’s, as I said before.” The Earl turned hastily away, and paced the room twice or thrice, as if to recover the effects of his mistake, and then, coming close up to the mendicant, demanded, in a stern and commanding tone, what he meant by intruding himself on his privacy, and from whom he had got the ring which he had thought proper to send him. Edie, a man of much spirit, was less daunted at this mode of interrogation than he had been confused by the tone of confidence in which the earl had opened their conversation. To the reiterated question from whom he had obtained the ring, he answered composedly, “from one who was better known to the Earl than to him.” “Better known to me, fellow?” said Lord Glenallan, “what is your meaning? Explain yourself instantly, or you shall experience the con­ sequence of breaking in upon the hours of family distress.” “It was auld Elspeth Meiklebackit that sent me here,” said the beggar, “in order to say”–— “Meiklebackit?” said the Earl, “I never heard the name—but this dreadful token reminds me”–—

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“I mind now, my lord,” said Ochiltree; “she tauld me your lordship would be mair familiar wi’ her, if I ca’d her Elspeth o’ the Craigburn­ foot—She had that name when she lived on your honour’s land, that is, your honour’s worshipful mother’s that was then—Grace be wi’ her!” “Aye,” said the appalled nobleman, as his countenance sunk, and his cheek assumed a hue yet more cadaverous; “that name is indeed written in the most tragic page of a deplorable history—But what can she desire of me? Is she dead or living?” “Living, my lord; and entreats to see your lordship before she dies, for she has something to communicate that hangs upon her very soul, and she says she canna flit in peace until she sees you.” “Not until she sees me?—What can this mean?—but she is doating with age and infirmity—I tell thee, friend, I called at her cottage myself, not a twelvemonth since, from a report that she was in distress, and she did not even know my face or voice.” “If your honour wad permit me,” said Edie, to whom the length of the conference restored a part of his professional audacity and native talkativeness; “if your honour wad but permit me, I wad say, under correction of your lordship’s better judgment, that auld Elspat is like some of the ancient ruined strengths and castles that ane sees amang the hills. There are mony parts of her mind that appear, as I may say, laid waste and decayed, but than there’s parts that look the steever, and the stronger, and the grander, because they are rising just like to fragments amang the ruins o’ the rest—She’s an awsome woman.” “She always was so,” said the Earl, almost unconsciously echoing the observation of the mendicant; “she always was different from other women—likest perhaps to her who is now no more, in her temper and turn of mind.—She wishes to see me, then?” “Before she dies,” said Edie, “she earnestly entreats that pleasure.” “It will be pleasure to neither of us,” said the Earl sternly, “yet she shall be gratified—She lives, I think, on the sea-shore to the south­ ward of Fairport?” “Just between Monkbarns and Knockwinnock Castle, but nearer to Monkbarns. Your lordship’s honour will ken the laird and Sir Arthur, doubtless?” A stare, as if he did not comprehend the question, was Lord Glen­ allan’s answer. Edie saw his mind was elsewhere, and did not venture to repeat a query which was so little germain to the matter. “Are you a Catholic, old man?” demanded the Earl. “No, my lord,” said Ochiltree stoutly, for the remembrance of the unequal division of the dole rose in his mind at the moment; “I thank Heaven, I am a good Protestant.”

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“He who can conscientiously call himselfgood, has indeed reason to thank Heaven, be his form of Christianity what it will!—But who is it that shall dare to do so?” “Not I,” said Edie; “I trust to beware of the sin of presumption.” “What was your trade in your youth?” continued the Earl. “A soldier, my lord; and mony a sair day’s kemping I’ve seen. I was to have been made a serjeant, but”–— “A soldier! then you have slain and burned, and sacked and spoiled?” “I winna say,” replied Edie, “that I have been better than my neigh­ bours—it’s a rough trade—war’s sweet to them that never tried it.” “And you are an old and a miserable beggar, asking, from precar­ ious charity, the food which in your youth you tore from the hand of the poor peasant?” “I am a beggar it is true, my lord; but I am na just sae miserable neither—for my sins, I hae had grace, if I might say sae, to repent o’ them, —and to lay them where they may be better borne than by me— and, for my food, naebody grudges an auld man a bit and a drink—Sae I live as I can, and am contented to die when I am ca’d upon.” “And thus, then, with little to look back upon that is pleasant or praise-worthy in your past life, with less to look forward to on this side of eternity, you are contented to drag out the rest of your existence— Go, begone; and in your age and poverty and weariness never envy the lord of such a mansion as this, either in his sleeping or waking moments—Here is something for thee.” The Earl put into the old man’s hand five or six guineas. Edie would, perhaps, have stated his scruples, as upon other occasions, to the amount of the benefaction, but the tone of Lord Glenallan was too absolute to admit of either answer or dispute. The Earl then called his servant—“See this old man safe from the castle—let no one ask him any questions—and you, friend, begone, and forget the road that leads to my house.” “That would be difficult for me,” said Edie, looking at the gold which he still held in his hand, “that would be e’en difficult, since your honour has gi’en me such gude cause to remember it.” Lord Glenallan stared, as hardly comprehending the old man’s boldness in daring to bandy words with him, and, with his hand, made him another signal of departure, which the mendicant instantly obeyed.

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Chapter Fourteen For he was one in all their idle sport, And, like a monarch, ruled their little court; The pliant bow he formed, the flying ball, The bat, the wicket, were his labours all. Crabbe’s Village

Francis Macraw, agreeably to the commands of his master, attended the mendicant in order to see him fairly out of the estate, without permitting him to have conversation, or intercourse, with any of the Earl’s dependants or domestics. But, judiciously considering that the restriction did not extend to himself, who was the person intrusted with the convoy, he used every measure in his power to extort from Edie the nature of his confidential and secret interview with Lord Glenallan. But Edie had been in his time accustomed to cross-examination, and easily evaded those of his quondam comrade. “The secrets of grit folk,” said Ochiltree within himself, “are just like the wild beasts that are shut up in cages. Keep them hard and fast snecked up, and it’s a’ very weel or better—but anes let them out, they will turn and rend you. I mind how ill Dugald Gunn came aff for letting loose his tongue about the major’s leddy and Captain Bandi­ lier.” Francie was, therefore, foiled in his assaults upon the fidelity of the mendicant, and, like an indifferent chess-player, became, at every unsuccessful movement, more liable to the counter-checks of his opponent. “Sae ye uphauld ye had nae particulars to say to my lord but about your ain matters?” “Aye, and about the wee bits o’ things I had brought frae abroad. I ken’d you papist folk are unco set on the relics that are fetched frae far-awa’ kirks and sae forth.” “Troth, and my lord maun be turned feel outright, an he pits himsel into sic a curfuffle for ony thing ye could bring him, Edie.” “I doubtna ye may say true in the main, neighbour—but maybe he’s had some hard play in his younger days, Francie, and that whiles unsettles folk sair.” “Troth, Edie, and ye may say that—and since it’s like ye’ll ne’er come back to the estate, or, if ye dee, that ye’ll no find me there, I’se e’en tell you he had a heart in his young time sae wrecked and rent, that it’s a wonder it hasna broken outright lang afore this day.” “Ay, say ye sae?” said Ochiltree; “that maun hae been about a woman, I rackon?”

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“Troth, and ye hae guessed it—jeest a cusin o’ his nain—Miss Eveline Neville, as they suld hae ca’d her—there was a sough in the country about it, but it was hushed up as the grandees were concerned —it’s mair than twenty years syne—aye, it will be three-and-twenty.” “Aye, I was in America then,” said the beggar, “and no in the way to hear the country clash.” “There was little clash about it, man,” replied Macraw; “he liked this young leddy, and suld hae married her, but his mither fand it out, and than the de’il gaed ower Jock Wabster. At last, the peer lass clodded hersel ower the scaur at the Craigburnfoot into the sea, and there was an end o’t.” “An end o’t wi’ the puir leddy, but, as I rackon, nae end o’t wi’ the yerl.” “Nae end o’t till his life maks an end,” answered the Aberdonian. “But what for did the auld Countess forbid the marriage?” con­ tinued the persevering querist. “Fat for?—She maybe didna weel ken for fat hersel, for she gar’d a’ bow to her bidding, right or wrang—But it was ken’d the young leddy was inclined to some o’ the heresies of the country—mair by token, she was sib to him nearer than our Church’s rules admit of—Sae the leddy was driven to the desperate act, and the yerl has never since held his head up like a man.” “Weel away!” replied Ochiltree; “it’s e’en queer I ne’er heard this tale afore.” “It’s e’en queer that ye hear it now, for de’il ane o’ the servants durst hae spoken o’t had the auld Countess been living—Eh! man, Edie, but she was a trimmer—it wad hae ta’en a skeely man to hae squared wi’ her!—But she’s in her grave, and we may loose our tongues a bit fan we meet a friend.—But fare ye weel, Edie, I maun be back to the evening service—An ye come be Inverurie maybe sax months awa’, dinna forget to ask after Francie Macraw.” What one kindly pressed the other as firmly promised, and the friends having thus parted, with every testimony of mutual regard, the domestic of Lord Glenallan took his road back to the seat of his master, leaving Ochiltree to trace onward his habitual pilgrimage. It was a fine summer evening, and the world, that is, the little circle which was all in all to the individual by whom it was trodden, lay before Edie Ochiltree, for the chusing of his night’s quarters. When he had passed the less hospitable domains of Glenallan, he had in his option so many places of refuge for the evening, that he was nice and even fastidious in the choice. Ailie Sim’s public was on the road-side about a mile before him; but there would be a parcel of young fellows there on the Saturday night, and that was a bar to civil conversation.

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Other “gudemen and gudewives,” as the farmers and their spouses are termed in Scotland, successively presented themselves to his ima­ gination. But one was deaf, and could not hear him; another toothless, and could not make him hear; a third had a cross temper; and a fourth an ill-natured house-dog. At Monkbarns or Knockwinnock he was sure of a favourable and hospitable reception, but they lay too distant to be conveniently reached that night. “I dinna ken how it is,” said the old man, “but I am nicer about my quarters this night than ever I mind having been in my life. I think having seen a’ the braws yonder, and finding out ane may be happier without them, has made me proud o’ my ain lot—But I wuss it bode me gude, for pride goeth before destruction. At ony rate, the warst barn man e’er lay in wad be a pleasanter abode than Glenallan-house, wi’ a’ the pictures and black velvet, and silver bonnie wawlies belang­ ing to it—Sae I’ll e’en settle’t at anes, and put on for Ailie Sim’s.” As the old man descended the hill above the little hamlet to which he was bending his course, the setting sun had relieved its inmates from their labour, and the young men, availing themselves of the fine evening, were engaged in the sport of long-bowls on a patch of com­ mon, while the women and elders sat on the turf and looked on. The shout, the laugh, the exclamations of winners and losers, came in blended chorus up the path which Ochiltree was descending, and awakened in his recollection the days when he himself had been a keen competitor, and frequently victor in games of strength and agil­ ity. These remembrances seldom fail to excite a sigh, even when the evening of life is cheered by brighter prospects than those of our poor mendicant. “At that time of day,” was his natural reflection, “I would have thought as little about ony auld palmering body that was coming down the edge of Kinblythemont, as ony o’ thae stalwart young chiels does e’enow about auld Edie Ochiltree.” He was, however, presently cheered, by finding that more import­ ance was attached to his arrival than his modesty had anticipated. A disputed cast had occurred between the bands of players, and as the gauger favoured the one party, and the schoolmaster the other, the matter might be said to be taken up by the higher powers. The miller and smith had also espoused different sides, and, considering the vivacity of two such disputants, there was reason to doubt whether the strife would be amicably terminated. But the first person who caught a sight of the mendicant exclaimed, “Ah! here comes auld Edie, that kens the rules of a’ country games better than ony man that ever drave a bowl, or threw an axle-tree, or putted a stane either—let’s hae nae quarrelling, callants—we’ll stand by auld Edie’s judgment.” Edie was accordingly welcomed, and installed as umpire, with a

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general shout of gratulation. With all the modesty of a bishop to whom the mitre is proffered, and of a new Speaker called to the chair, the old man declined the high trust and responsibility with which it was pro­ posed to invest him, and, in requital for his self-denial and humility, had the pleasure of receiving the reiterated assurances of young, old, and middle-aged, that he was simply the best qualified person for the office of arbiter “in the haill country-side.” Thus encouraged, he proceeded gravely to the execution of his duty, and, strictly forbidding all aggravating expressions on either side, he heard the smith and gauger on the one side, the miller and schoolmaster on the other, as junior and senior counsel. Edie’s mind, however, was fully made up on the subject before the pleading began; like that of many a judge, who must, nevertheless, go through all the forms, and endure, in its full extent, the eloquence and argumentation of the bar. For when all had been said on both sides, and much of it said over oftener than once, our senior, being well and ripely advised, pronounced the mod­ erate and healing judgment, that the disputed cast was a drawn one, and should therefore count to neither party. This judicious decision restored concord to the field of players; they began anew to arrange their match and their bets, with the clamorous mirth usual on such occasions of village sport, and the more eager were already stripping their jackets, and committing them, with their coloured handker­ chiefs, to the care of wives, sisters, and mistresses. But their mirth was singularly interrupted. On the outside of the group of players began to arise sounds of a description very different from those of sport—that sort of suppressed sigh and exclamation, with which the first news of calamity is received by the hearers, began to be heard indistinctly. A buz went about among the women of “Eh, sirs! sae young and sae suddenly sum­ moned!”—It then extended itself among the men, and silenced the sounds of sportive mirth. All understood at once that some disaster had happened in the country, and each enquired the cause at his neighbour, who knew as little as the querist. At length the rumour reached, in a distinct shape, the ears of Edie Ochiltree, who was in the very centre of the assembly. The boat of Meiklebackit, the fisherman whom we have so often mentioned, had been swamped at sea, and four men had perished, it was affirmed, including Meiklebackit and his son. Rumour had in this, however, as in other cases, gone far beyond the truth. The boat had indeed been overset, but Stephen, or, as he was called, Steenie Meiklebackit, was the only man who had been drowned. Although the place of his residence and his mode of life removed the young man from the society of the country folks, yet they failed not to pause in their rustic mirth to pay that tribute to

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sudden calamity, which it seldom fails to receive in cases of infrequent occurrence. To Ochiltree, in particular, the news came like a knell, the rather that he had so lately engaged this young man’s assistance in an affair of sportive mischief; and though neither loss nor injury was designed to die German adept, yet the work was not precisely one in which the latter hours of life ought to be occupied. Misfortunes never come alone. While Ochiltree, pensively leaning upon his staff, added his regrets to those of the hamlet which bewailed the young man’s sudden death, and internally blamed himself for the transaction in which he had so lately engaged him, the old man’s collar was seized by a peace-officer, who displayed his baton in his right hand, and exclaimed, “In the king’s name.” The gauger and schoolmaster united their rhetoric, to prove to the constable and his assistant that he had no right to arrest a king’s bedesman as a vagrant; and the mute eloquence of the miller and smith, which was vested in their clenched fists, was prepared to give Highland bail for their arbiter; his blue gown, they said, was his warrant for travelling the country. “But his blue gown,” answered the officer, “is no protection for assault, robbery, and murder; and my warrant is against him for thae crimes.” “Murder?” said Edie, “wha did I e’er murder?” “Mr German Doustercivil, the agent at Glen-Withershins mining­ works.” “Murder Doustersnivel!—he’s living, and life-like, man!” “Nae thanks to you if he be; he had a sair struggle for his life, if a’ be true he tells, and ye maun answer for’t at the bidding o’ the law.” The defenders of the mendicant shrunk back at hearing the atrocity of the charges against him, but more than one kind hand thrust meat and bread and pence upon Edie, to maintain him in the prison, to which the officers were about to conduct him. “Thanks to ye—God bless ye a’, bairns—I’ve gotten out o’ mony a snare whan I was waur deserving o’ deliverance—I shall escape like a bird from the fowler. Play out your play, and never mind me—I am mair grieved for the puir lad that’s gane than about aught they can do to me.” Accordingly the unresisting prisoner was led off, while he mechan­ ically accepted and stored in his wallets the alms which poured in on every hand, and, ere he left the hamlet, was as deep laden as a govern­ ment victualler. The labour of bearing this accumulating burden was however abridged, by the officer procuring a cart and horse to convey the old man to a magistrate for examination and committal. The disaster of Steenie, and the arrest of Edie, put a stop to the

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sports of the village, the pensive inhabitants of which began to specu­ late upon the vicissitudes of human affairs, which had so suddenly consigned one of their comrades to the grave, and placed their master of the revels in some danger of being hanged. The character of Dousterswivel being pretty generally known, which was in his case equivalent to being pretty generally detested, there were many specu­ lations upon the probability of the accusation being malicious. But all agreed, that, if Edie Ochiltree behoved in all events to suffer upon this occasion, it was a great pity he had not better merited his fate by killing Dousterswivel outright. END OF VOLUME SECOND

THE ANTIQUARY VOLUME III

Chapter One Who is he ?—One that for the lack of land Shall fight upon the water—he hath challenged Formerly the grand whale; and by his titles Of Leviathan, Behemoth, and so forth. He tilted with a sword-fish—Marry, sir, Th’ aquatic had the best—the argument Still galls our champion’s breech.

Old Play

“And the poor young fellow, Steenie Meiklebackit, is to be buried this morning,” said our old friend the Antiquary, as he exchanged his quilted night-gown for an old-fashioned black coat in lieu of that snuff-coloured vestment which he ordinarily wore, “and, I presume, it is expected that I should attend the funeral?” “Ow aye,” answered the faithful Caxon, officiously brushing the white threads and specks from his patron’s habit; “the body, God help us, was sae broken against the rocks that they’re fain to hurry the burial. The sea’s a kittle cast, as I tell my daughter, puir thing, when I want her to get up her spirits—the sea, says I, Jenny, is as uncertain a calling”—— “As the calling of an old periwig-maker, that’s robbed of his busi­ ness by crops and the powder-tax. Caxon, thy topics of consolation are as ill chosen as they are foreign to the present purpose. Quid mihi cum fæmina? What have I to do with thy womankind, who have enough and to spare of mine own?—I pray of you again, am I expected by these poor people to attend the funeral of their son?” “O, doubtless, your honour is expectit,” answered Caxon; “weel I wot ye are expectit. Ye ken in this country ilka gentleman is wussed to be sae civil as to see the corpse aff his grounds—Ye needna gang higher than the loan-head—it’s no expected your honour suld leave the land

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—it’s just a Kelso convoy, a step and a half ower the door-stane.” “A Kelso convoy!” echoed the inquisitive Antiquary; “and why a Kelso convoy more than any other?” “Dear sir,” answered the simple Caxon, “how should I ken? it’s just a bye-word.” “Caxon,” answered Oldbuck, “thou arta—a—mere periwig-maker —Had I asked Ochiltree the question, he would have had a legend ready made to my hand.” “My business,” replied Caxon, with more animation than he com­ monly displayed, “is with the outside of your honour’s head, as ye are accustomed to say.” “True, Caxon, true; and it is no reproach to a thatcher that he is not an upholsterer.” He then took out his memorandum-book and wrote down, “Kelso convoy—said to be a step and a half over the threshold. Authority— Caxon. Quære—Whence derived? Mem. To write to Dr Graysteel upon the subject.” Having made this entry, he resumed—“And truly, as to this custom of the landlord attending the body of the peasant, I approve it, Caxon. It comes from ancient times, and was founded deep in the notions of mutual aid and dependence between the lord and cultivator of the soil. And herein I must say, the feudal system (as also in its courtesy towards womankind in which it exceeded)—herein, I say, the feudal usages mitigated and softened the sternness of classical times. No man, Caxon, ever heard of a Spartan attending the funeral of a Helot —yet I dare be sworn, that John of the Girnell—ye have heard of him, Caxon?” “Aye, aye, sir,” answered Caxon; “naebody can hae been lang in your honour’s company without hearing of that gentleman.” “Well,” continued the Antiquary, “I would bet a trifle there was not a kolb kerl, or bondsman, or peasant, ascriptus glebæ, died upon the monks’ territories down here, but John of the Girnell saw them fairly and decently interred.” “Aye, but if it like your honour, they say he had mair to do wi’ the births than the burials. Ha! ha! ha!” with a gleeful chuckle. “Good, Caxon! very good! why, you shine this morning.” “And besides,” added Caxon, slily, encouraged by his patron’s approbation, “they say too that the Catholic priests in thae times gat something for ganging about to burials.” “Right, Caxon, right as my glove—by the bye, I fancy that phrase comes from the custom of pledging a glove as the signal of irrefragable faith—right, I say, as my glove, Caxon—but we of the Protestant ascendancy have the more merit in doing that duty for nothing which

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cost money in the reign of that empress of superstition, whom Spen­ ser, Caxon, terms, in his allegorical phrase, ——The daughter of that woman blind, Abessa, daughter of Corecca slow——

But why do I talk of these things to thee?—my poor Lovel has spoiled me, and taught me to speak aloud when it is much the same as speaking to myself—Where’s my nephew, Hector MacIntyre?” “He’s in the parlour, sir, wi’ the leddies.” “Very well,” said the Antiquary, “I will betake me thither.” “Now, Monkbarns,” said his sister, on his entering the parlour, “ye manna be angry.” “My dear uncle!” began Miss MacIntyre. “What’s the meaning of all this?” said Oldbuck, in alarm of some impending bad news, and arguing upon the supplicating tone of the ladies, as a fortress apprehends an attack from the very first flourish of the trumpet which announces the summoner;—“What’s all this? What do you bespeak my patience for?” “No particular matter I should hope, sir,” said Hector, who, with his arm in a sling, was seated at the breakfast-table; “however, what­ ever it may amount to I am answerable for it, as I am for much more trouble that I have occasioned, and for which I have little more than thanks to offer.” “No, no! heartily welcome, heartily welcome—only let it be a warn­ ing to you,” said the Antiquary, “against your fits of anger, which is a short madness—Ira furor brevis—but what is this new disaster?” “My dog, sir, has unfortunately thrown down”—— “If it please Heaven, not the lachrymatory from Clochnaben!” interjected Oldbuck. “Indeed, uncle,” said the young lady, “I am afraid—it was that jar which stood upon the sideboard—the poor thing only meant to eat the pat of fresh butter.” “In which she has fully succeeded, I presume, for I see that on the table is salt—but that is nothing—my lachrymatory, the main pillar of my theory, on which I rested to shew, in despite of the ignorant obstinacy of Mac-Cribb, that the Romans had passed the defiles of these mountains, and left behind them traces of their arts and arms, is gone—annihilated—reduced to such fragments as might be the shreds of a broken——flowerpot! ——Hector, I love thee, But never more be officer of mine.”

“Why, really, sir, I am afraid I should make a bad figure in a regiment of your raising.” “At least, Hector, I would have you dispatch your camp train, and

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travel expeditus—or relictis impedimentis. You cannot conceive how I am annoyed by this beast—She commits burglary I believe, for I heard her charged with breaking into the kitchen after all the doors were locked, and eating up a shoulder of mutton.”—(Our readers, if they chance to remember Jenny Rintherout’s precaution of leaving the door open when she went down to the fisher’s cottage, will probably acquit poor Juno of that aggravation of guilt which the lawyers call a claustrum fregit, and which makes the distance between burglary and privately stealing.) “I am truly sorry, sir,” said Hector, “that Juno has committed so much disorder; but Jack Muirhead, the breaker, was never able to bring her under command. She has more travel than any bitch I ever knew, but”—— “Then, Hector, I wish the bitch would travel herself out of my grounds.” “We will both of us retreat to-morrow, or to-day, but I would not willingly part from my mother’s brother in unkindness about a paltry pipkin.” “O brother, brother!” ejaculated Miss MacIntyre, in utter despair at this vituperative epithet. “Why, what would you have me call it?” continued Hector; “it was just such a thing as they use in Egypt to cool wine, or sherbet, or water —I brought home a pair of them—I might have brought him twenty. ” “What!” said Oldbuck eagerly, “shaped such as that your dog threw down?” “Yes, sir, much such a sort of earthen jar as that which was on the sideboard. They are in my lodgings at Fairport; we brought a parcel of them to cool our wine on the passage—they answer wonderfully well —if I could think they would in any degree repay your loss, or rather that they would afford you pleasure, I am sure I should be much honoured by your accepting them.” “Indeed, my dear boy, I should be highly gratified by possessing them. To trace the connection of nations by their usages, and the similarity of the implements which they employ, has been long my favourite study. Every thing that can illustrate such connections is most valuable to me.” “Well, sir, I will be much gratified by your acceptance of them, and a few trifles of the same kind.—And now, am I to hope you have forgiven me?” “O, you, my dear boy, are only thoughtless and foolish.” “But Juno—she is only thoughtless too, I assure you—the breaker tells me she has no vice or stubbornness.” “Well, I grant Juno also a free pardon—conditioned, that you will

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imitate her in avoiding vice and stubbornness, and that henceforward she banish herself forth of Monkbarns’ parlour.” “Then, uncle,” said the soldier, “I should have been very sorry and ashamed to propose to you any thing in the way of expiation of my own sins, or those of my follower, that I thought worth your accept­ ance; but now, as all is forgiven, will you permit the orphan-nephew to whom you have been a father, to offer you a trifle, which I have been assured is really curious, and which only the cross accident of my wound has prevented my delivering to you before. I got it from a French Savant to whom I rendered some service after the Alexandria affair.” The captain put a small ring-case into the Antiquary’s hands, which, when opened, was found to contain an antique ring of massive gold, with a cameo, most beautifully executed, bearing a head of Cleopatra. The Antiquary broke forth into unrepressed ecstacy, shook his nephew cordially by the hand, thanked him an hundred times, and shewed the ring to his sister and niece, the latter of whom had the tact to give it sufficient admiration; but Miss Griselda (though she had the same affection for her nephew) had not address enough to follow the lead. “It’s a bonny thing,” she said, “Monkbarns, and, I dare say, a valu­ able—but it’s out o’ my way—ye ken I am nae judge o’ sic matters.” “There spoke all Fairport in one voice!” exclaimed Oldbuck; “it is the very spirit of the borough has infected us all; I think I have smelled the smoke these two days, that the wind has stuck, like a remora, in the north-east—and its prejudices fly farther than its vapours. Believe me, my dear Hector, were I to walk up the High-street of Fairport, displaying this inestimable gem in the eyes of each one I met, no human creature, from the provost to the town-crier, would stop to ask me its history. But if I carried a bale of linen cloth under my arm, I could not penetrate to the Horse-Market ere I would be overwhelmed with queries about its precise texture and price. O, one might parody their brutal ignorance in the words of Gray: Weave the warp and weave the woof, The winding-sheet of wit and sense, Dull garment of defensive proof ’Gainst all that doth not gather pence.”

The most remarkable proof of this peace-offering being quite acceptable, was, that while the Antiquary was in full declamation, Juno, who held him in awe, according to the remarkable instinct by which dogs instantly discover those who like or who dislike them, had peeped several times into the room, and, encountering nothing very forbidding in his aspect, had at length presumed to introduce her full

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person, and finally, become bold by impunity, she actually ate up Mr Oldbuck’s toast, as, looking first at one, then at another of his audi­ ence for applause, he repeated with a tone of self-complacence, “Weave the warp and weave the woof,——

You remember the passage in the Fatal Sisters, which, by the way, is not so fine as in the original——But, hey-day! my toast has vanished! —I see which way—Ah, thou type ofwomankind, no wonder they take offence at thy generic appellation!”—(So saying, he shook his fist at Juno, who scoured out of the parlour.)—“However, as Jupiter, according to Homer, could not rule Juno in Heaven, and as Jack Muirhead, according to Hector MacIntyre, has been equally unsuc­ cessful on earth, I suppose she must have her own way.” And this mild censure the brother and sister justly accounted a full pardon for Juno’s offences, and they sate down well pleased to the morning meal. When breakfast was over, the Antiquary proposed to his nephew to go down with him to attend the funeral. The soldier pleaded his want of a mourning habit. “O that does not signify—your presence is all that is requisite. I assure you, you will see something that will entertain—no, that’s an improper phrase—but that will interest you, from the resemblances which I will point out betwixt the popular customs on such occasions and those of the ancients.” “Heaven forgive me!” thought MacIntyre; “I shall certainly misbe­ have, and lose all the credit I have so lately and accidentally gained.” When they set out, schooled as he was by the warning and entreat­ ing looks of his sister, the soldier made his resolution strong to give no offence by evincing inattention or impatience. But our best resolu­ tions are frail, when opposed to our predominant inclinations. Our Antiquary, to leave nothing unexplained, had commenced with the funeral rites of the ancient Scandinavians, when his nephew inter­ rupted him in a discussion upon the “age of hills,” to remark, that a large sea-gull, which flitted around them, had come twice within shot. This error being acknowledged and pardoned, Oldbuck resumed his disquisition. “Those are circumstances you ought to attend to and be familiar with, my dear Hector; for, in the strange contingencies of the present war which agitates every corner of Europe, there is no knowing where you may be called upon to serve. If in Norway, for example, or Den­ mark, or any part of the ancient Scandia, or Scandinavia, as we term it, what could be more convenient than to have at your fingers’ ends the history and antiquities of that ancient country, the officina gentium, the mother of modern Europe, the nursery of those heroes,

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Stern to resolve, and stubborn to endure, Who smiled in death?——

How animating, for example, at the conclusion of a weary march, to find yourself in the vicinity of a Runic monument, and discover that you had pitched your tent beside the tomb of a hero!” “I am afraid, sir, our mess would be better supplied if it chanced to be in the neighbourhood of a good poultry yard.” “Alas, that you will say so!—No wonder the days of Cressy and Agincourt are no more, when respect for ancient valour has died away in the breasts of the British soldiery.” “By no means, sir—by no manner of means. I dare say that Edward and Henry, and the rest of these heroes, thought of their dinner, however, before they thought of examining an old tombstone. But I assure you, we are by no means insensible to the memory of our fathers’ fame; I used often of an evening to get old Rory MacAlpine to sing us songs out of Ossian about the battles of Fingal and Lamon Mor, and Magnus and the spirit of Muirartach.” “And did you believe,” asked the aroused Antiquary, “did you absolutely believe that stuff of Macpherson’s to be really ancient, you simple boy?” “Believe it, sir?—how could I but believe it, when I have heard the songs sung from my infancy?” “But not the same as Macpherson’s English Ossian—you’re not absurd enough to say that, I hope?” said the Antiquary, his brow darkening with wrath. But Hector stoutly abode the storm; like many a sturdy Celt, he imagined the honour of his country and native language connected with the authenticity of these popular poems, and would have fought knee-deep, or forfeited life and land, rather than have given up a line of them. He therefore undauntedly maintained that Rory MacAlpine could repeat the whole book from one end to another; and it was only upon cross-examination that he explained an assertion so general, by adding, “At least, if he was allowed whiskey enough, he could repeat as long as any body would hearken to him.” “Aye, aye,” said the Antiquary; “and that, I suppose, was not very long.” “Why, we had our duty, sir, to attend to, and could not sit listening all night to a piper.” “But do you recollect now,” said Oldbuck, setting his teeth firmly together, and speaking without opening them, which was his custom when contradicted—“Do you recollect, now, any of these verses you thought so beautiful and interesting—being a capital judge, no doubt, of such things?”

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“I don’t pretend to much skill, uncle; but it’s not very reasonable to be angry with me for admiring the antiquities of my own country more than those of the Harolds, Harfagers, and Hacos you are so fond of.” “Why, these, sir,—these mighty and unconquered Goths,—were your ancestors!—the bare-breeched Celts whom they subdued, and suffered only to exist, like a fearful people, in the crevices of the rock, were but their Mancipia and Serfs!” Hector’s brow now grew red in his turn. “Sir, I don’t understand the meaning of Mancipia and Serfs, but I conceive such names are very improperly applied to Scotch Highlanders. No man but my mother’s brother dared to have used such language in my presence; and I pray you will observe, that I consider it as neither hospitable, handsome, kind, nor generous usage towards your guest and your kinsman. My ancestors, Mr Oldbuck”—— “Were great and gallant chiefs, I dare say, Hector; and I did not really mean to give you such immense offence in treating a point of remote antiquity, a subject on which I always am myself cool, deliber­ ate, and unimpassioned. But you are as hot and hasty, as if you were Hector and Achilles, and Agamemnon to boot.” “I am sorry I expressed myself hastily, uncle, especially to you, who have been so generous and good—But my ancestors”—— “No more about it, lad; I meant them no affront—none.” “I am glad of it, sir; for the house of MacIntyre”—— “Peace be with them all, every man of them,” said the Antiquary. “But to return to our subject—Do you recollect, I say, any of those poems which afforded you such amusement?” “Very hard this,” thought MacIntyre, “that he will speak with such glee of every thing which is ancient, excepting my family.”—Then, after some efforts at recollection, he added aloud, “Yes, sir,—I think I do remember some lines; but you do not understand the Gaelic.” “And will readily excuse hearing it. But you can give me some idea of the sense in our own vernacular idiom?” “I shall prove a wretched interpreter,” said MacIntyre, running over the original, well garnished with aghes, aughs, and oughs, and similar gutturals, and then coughing and hawking as if the translation stuck in his throat. At length, having premised that the poem was a dialogue between the poet Oisin, or Ossian, and Patrick, the tutelar Saint of Ireland, and that it was difficult, if not impossible, to render the exquisite felicity of the first two or three lines, he said the sense was to this purpose: “Patrick the psalm-singer, Since you will not listen to one of my stories, Though you never heard it before,

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I am sorry to tell you You are little better than an ass.”–—

“Good! good!” exclaimed the Antiquary, “but go on. Why, this is, after all, the most admirable fooling—I dare say the poet was very right. What says the Saint?” “He replies in character,” said MacIntyre; “but you should hear MacAlpine sing the original. The speeches of Ossian come in upon a strong deep bass—those of Patrick are upon a tenor key.” “Like MacAlpine’s drone and small pipes, I suppose,” said Old­ buck. “Pray, go on.” “Well then, Patrick replies to Oisin: Upon my word, son of Fingal, While I am warbling the psalms, The clamour of your old women’s tales Disturbs my devotional exercises.”

“Excellent!—why, this is better and better. I hope Saint Patrick sung better than Blattergowl’s precentor, or it would be hang-choice between the poet and the psalmist. But what I admire is the courtesy of these two eminent persons towards each other. It is a pity there should not be a word of this in Macpherson’s translation.” “If you are sure of that,” said MacIntyre, gravely, “he must have taken very unwarrantable liberties with his original.” “It will go near to be thought so shortly—but pray proceed.” “Then,” said MacIntyre, “this is the answer of Oisin: Dare you compare your psalms, You son of a”——

“Son of a what?” exclaimed Oldbuck. “It means, I think,” said the young soldier, with some reluctance, “son of a female dog: Do you compare your psalms To the tales of the bare-arm’d Fenians?”

“Are you sure you are translating that last epithet correctly, Hec­ tor?” “Quite sure, sir,” answered Hector, doggedly. “Because I should have thought the nudity might have been quoted as existing in a different part of the body.” Disdaining to reply to this insinuation, Hector proceeded in his recitation: “I shall think it no great harm To wring your bald head from your shoulders.——

“But what is that yonder?” said Hector, interrupting himself. “One of the herd of Proteus,” said the Antiquary—“a.Phoca, or seal, lying asleep on the beach.”

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Upon which MacIntyre, with the eagerness of a young sportsman, totally forgot both Ossian, Patrick, his uncle, and his wound, and, exclaiming “I shall have him! I shall have him!” snatched the walkingstick out of the hand of the astonished Antiquary, at some risk of throwing him down, and set off at full speed to get between the animal and the sea, to which element, having caught the alarm, she was rapidly retreating. Not Sancho, when his master interrupted his account of the com­ batants of Pentapolin with the naked arm, to advance in person to the charge of the flock of sheep, stood more confounded than Oldbuck at this sudden escapade of his nephew. “Is the devil in him,” was his first exclamation, “to go to disturb the brute that was never thinking of him!”—Then elevating his voice, “Hector—nephew—fool—let alone the Phoca—let alone the Phoca— they bite, I tell you, like furies—he minds me no more than a post— there—there they are at it—Gad, the Phoca has the best of it—I am glad to see it,” said he, in the bitterness of his heart, though really alarmed for his nephew’s safety; “I am glad to see it, with all my heart and spirit.” In truth, the seal, finding her retreat intercepted by the light-footed soldier, confronted him manfully, and having sustained a heavy blow without injury, she knitted her brows, as is the fashion of the animal when incensed, and making use at once of her fore paws and her unwieldy strength, she wrenched the weapon out of the assailant’s hand, overturned him on the sands, and scuttled away into the sea without doing him any farther injury. Captain MacIntyre, a good deal out of countenance at the issue of his exploit, just rose in time to receive the ironical congratulations of his uncle, upon a single combat, worthy to be commemorated by Ossian himself, “since,” said the Antiquary, “your magnanimous opponent hath fled, though not quite upon eagle’s wings, from the foe that was low—Egad, she wallopped away with all the grace of triumph—and has carried my stick off also, by way of spolia opima.” MacIntyre had little to answer for himself, except that a Highlander could never pass a deer, a seal, or a salmon, where there was a possib­ ility of having a trial of skill with them, and that he had forgot one of his arms was in a sling. He also made his fall an apology for returning back to Monkbarns, and thus escaped the farther raillery of his uncle, as well as his lamentations for his walking-stick. “I cut it,” he said, “in the classic woods of Hawthornden, when I did not expect always to have been a bachelor—I would not have given it for an ocean of seals—O, Hector, Hector!—thy namesake was born to be the prop of Troy, and thou to be the plague of Monkbarns!”

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Chapter Cmo Tell me not of it, friend—when the young weep, Their tears are luke-warm brine;—from our old eyes Sorrow falls down like hail-drops of the North, Chilling the furrows of our wither’d cheeks, Cold as our hopes, and harden’d as our feeling— Theirs, as they fall, sink sightless—ours recoil, Heap the fair plain, and bleaken all before us.

Old Play

The Antiquary, being now alone, hastened his pace, which had been retarded by these various discussions, and the rencontre which had closed them, and soon arrived before the half-dozen cottages at Mussel-crag. They now had, in addition to their usual squalid and uncomfortable appearance, the melancholy attributes of the house of mourning. The boats were all drawn up on the beach; and, though the day was fine, and the season favourable, the chaunt, which is used by the fishers when at sea, was silent, as well as the prattle of the children, and the shrill song of the mother, as she sits mending her nets by the door. A few of the neighbours, some in their antique and well-saved suits of black, others in their ordinary clothes, but all bearing an expression of mournful sympathy with distress so sudden and unexpected, stood gathered around the door of Meiklebackit’s cot­ tage, waiting till “the body was lifted.” As the Laird of Monkbarns approached, they made way for him to enter, doffing their hats and bonnets as he passed, with an air of melancholy courtesy, and he returned their salutes in the same manner. In the inside of the cottage was a scene, which our Wilkie alone could have painted, with that exquisite feeling of nature that charac­ terizes his enchanting productions. The body was laid in its coffin within the wooden bedstead which the young fisher had occupied while alive. At a little distance stood the father, whose rugged weather-beaten countenance, shaded by his grizzled hair, had faced many a stormy night and night-like day. He was apparently revolving his loss in his mind with that strong feeling of painful grief, peculiar to harsh and rough characters, which almost breaks forth into hatred against the world, and all that remains in it, after the beloved object is withdrawn. The old man had made the most desperate efforts to save his son, and had only been withheld by main force from renewing them at a moment, when, without the possibility of assisting the sufferer, he must himself have perished. All this apparently was boiling in his recollection. His glance was directed

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sidelong towards the coffin, as to an object on which he could not steadfastly look, and yet from which he could not withdraw his eyes. His answers to the necessary questions which were occasionally put to him, were brief, and almost harsh and fierce. His family had not yet dared to address to him a word, either of sympathy or consolation. His masculine wife, virago as she was, and absolute mistress of the family, as she justly boasted herself on all ordinary occasions, was, by this great loss, terrified into silence and submission, and compelled to hide from her husband’s observation the bursts of her female sorrow. As he had rejected food ever since the disaster had happened, not daring herself to approach him, she had that morning, with affection­ ate artifice, employed the youngest and favourite child to present her husband with some nourishment. His first action was to push it from him with an angry violence, which frightened the child; his next, to snatch up the boy and devour him with kisses. “Ye’ll be a bra’ fallow an ye be spared, Patie,—but ye’ll never—never can be—what he was to me!—He has sailed the coble wi’ me since he was ten years auld, and there wasna the like o’ him drew a net betwixt this and Buchan-ness— They say folks maun submit—I shall try.” And he had been silent from that moment until compelled to answer the necessary questions we have already noticed. Such was the disconsolate state of the father. In another comer of the cottage, her face covered by her apron, which was flung over it, sat the mother, the nature of her grief suffici­ ently indicated, by the wringing of hands, and the convulsive agitation of the bosom which the covering could not conceal. Two of her gossips, officiously whispering into her ear the common-place topic of resignation under irremediable misfortune, seemed as if they were endeavouring to stem the grief which they could not console. The sorrow of the children was mingled with wonder at the pre­ parations they beheld around them, and at the unusual display of wheaten bread and wine, which the poorest peasant, or fisher, offers to the guests on these mournful occasions; and thus their grief for their brother’s death was almost already lost in admiration of the splendour of his funeral. But the figure of the old grandmother was the most remarkable of the sorrowing group. Seated in her accustomed chair, with her usual air of apathy, and want of interest in what surrounded her, she seemed every now and then mechanically to resume the motion of twirling the spindle—then to look towards her bosom for the distaff—then to be caught by the black colour of the gown in which they had dressed her —then to appear embarrassed as if by the number ofpersons by whom she was surrounded—then, finally, to raise her head with a ghastly

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look, as if she had at once, and for the first time, acquired sense to comprehend her inexpressible calamity and fixed her eyes upon the bed which contained the coffin of her grandson. But she spake not a word, neither had she shed a tear, nor did those of the family under­ stand, either from look or expression, to what extent she compre­ hended the uncommon bustle around her. So she sat among them like a connecting link between the surviving mourners and the dead corpse which they bewailed—a being in whom the light of existence was already obscured by the encroaching shadows of death. When Oldbuck entered this melancholy house of mourning, he was received by a general and silent inclination of the head, and, according to the fashion of Scotland on such occasions, wine and spirits and bread were offered round to the guests. Elspeth, as these refresh­ ments were presented, surprised and startled the whole company by motioning to the person who bore them to stop; then, taking a glass in her hand, she rose up, and, as the smile of dotage played upon her shrivelled features, she pronounced with a hollow and tremulous voice, “Wishing a’ your healths, sirs, and often may we hae such merry meetings.” All shrunk from the ominous pledge, and set down the untasted liquor with a degree of shuddering horror, which will not surprise those who know how many superstitions are still common on such occasions among the Scottish vulgar. But, as the old woman tasted the liquor, she suddenly exclaimed with a sort of shriek, “What’s this?— this is wine—how should there be wine in my son’s house?—Aye,” she continued, with a suppressed groan, “I mind the sorrowful cause now,” and, dropping the glass from her hand, she stood a moment gazing fixedly on the bed in which the coffin of her grandson was deposited, and then sinking gradually into her seat, she covered her eyes and forehead with her withered and pallid hand. At this moment the clergyman entered the cottage. Mr Blattergowl, though a dreadful proser, particularly on the subject of augmenta­ tions, localities, tiends, and overtures in that session of the General Assembly, to which, unfortunately for his auditors, he chanced to act as moderator, was nevertheless a good man, in the old Scottish presbyterian phrase, God-ward and man-ward. No divine was more attentive in visiting the sick and afflicted, in catechizing the youth, in instructing the ignorant, and in reproving the erring. And hence, notwithstanding impatience of his prolixity and prejudices, personal or professional, and notwithstanding, moreover, a certain habitual contempt for his understanding, especially in affairs of genius and taste, on which Blattergowl was apt to be diffuse, from his hope of one day fighting his way to a chair of rhetoric or belles lettres,—

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notwithstanding, I say, all the prejudices excited against him by those circumstances, our friend the Antiquary looked with great regard and respect on the said Blattergowl, though I own he could seldom, even by his sense of decency and the remonstrances of his womankind, be hounded out, as he called it, to hear him preach. But he regularly took shame to himself for his absence when Blattergowl came to Monk­ barns to dinner, to which he was always invited of a Sunday, a mode of testifying his respect which the proprietor probably thought fully as agreeable to the clergyman, and rather more congenial to his own habits. But to return from a digression which can only serve to introduce this honest parson more particularly to our readers, Mr Blattergowl had no sooner entered the hut, and received the mute and melancholy salutations of the company whom it contained, than he edged himself towards the unfortunate father, and seemed to endeavour to slide in a few words of condolence or of consolation. But the old man was as yet incapable of receiving either; he nodded, however, gruffly, and shook the clergyman’s hand in acknowledgment of his good intentions, but was either unable or unwilling to make any verbal reply. The minister next passed to the mother, moving along the floor as slowly, silently, and gradually, as if he had been afraid that the ground would, like unsafe ice, break beneath his feet, or that the first echo of a footstep was to dissolve some magic spell, and plunge the hut, with all its inmates, into a subterranean abyss. The tenor of what he said to the poor woman could only be judged by her answers, as, half-stifled by sobs ill-repressed, and by the covering which she still kept over her countenance, she faintly answered at each pause in his speech—“Yes, sir, yes!—Ye’re very gude—ye’re very gude!—Nae doubt, nae doubt! —It’s our duty to submit!—But, O dear, my poor Steenie, the pride o’ my very heart, that was sae handsome and comely, and a help to his family, and a comfort to us a’, and a pleasure to a’ that lookit on him!— O my bairn, my bairn, my bairn! What for is thou lying there, or what for am I left to greet for ye!” There was no contending with this burst of sorrow and natural affection. Oldbuck had repeated recourse to his snuff-box to conceal the tears which, despite his shrewd and caustic temper, were apt to start on such occasions. The female assistants whimpered, the men held their bonnets to their faces and spoke apart with each other. The clergyman meantime addressed his ghostly consolation to the aged grandmother. At first she listened, or seemed to listen, to what he said, with the apathy of her usual unconsciousness. But as, pressing this theme, he approached so near to her ear, that the sense of his words became distinctly intelligible to her, though unheard by those who

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stood more distant, her countenance at once assumed that stem and expressive cast which characterized her intervals of intelligence. She drew up her head and body, shook her head in a manner that showed at least impatience, if not scorn, of his counsel, and waved her hand slightly, but with a gesture so expressive, as to indicate to all who witnessed it a marked and disdainful rejection of the ghostly consola­ tion proffered to her. The minister stepped back as if repulsed, and, by lifting gently and dropping his hand, seemed to show at once wonder, sorrow, and compassion for her dreadful state of mind. The rest of the company sympathized, and a stifled whisper went through them, indicating how much her desperate and determined manner impressed them with awe and even horror. In the mean time the funeral company was completed, by the arrival of one or two persons who had been expected from Fairport. The wine and spirits again circulated, and the dumb show of greeting was anew interchanged. The grandame a second time took a glass in her hand, drank its contents, and exclaimed with a sort of laugh, “Ha! ha! I hae tasted wine twice in ae day—Whan did I that before, think ye, cummers ?—Never since”—— And the transient glow vanishing from her countenance, she set the glass down, and sunk upon the settle from whence she had risen to snatch at it. As the general amazement subsided, Mr Oldbuck, whose heart bled to witness what he considered as the errings of the enfeebled intellect struggling with the torpid chill of age and of sorrow, observed to the clergyman that it was time to proceed to the ceremony. The father was incapable of giving directions, but the nearest relation of the family made a sign to the carpenter, who in such cases goes through the duty of the undertaker, to proceed in his office. The creak of the screw-nails presently announced that the lid of the last mansion of mortality was in the act of being secured above its tenant. The last act which separates us for ever, even from the mortal reliques of the person we assemble to mourn, has usually its effect upon the most indifferent, selfish, and hard-hearted. With a spirit of contradiction, which we may be pardoned for esteeming narrow-minded, the fathers of the Scottish kirk rejected, even on this most solemn occasion, the form of an address to the Divinity, lest they should be thought to give countenance to the rituals of Rome or of England. With much better and more liberal judgment, it is the present practice of most of the Scottish clergymen to seize this opportunity of offering a prayer, and exhortation, suitable to make an impression upon the living, while they are yet in the very presence of the reliques of him, whom they have but lately seen such as they themselves, and who now is such as

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they must in their time become. But this decent and praiseworthy practice was not adopted at the time of which I am treating, or, at least, Mr Blattergowl did not act upon it, and the ceremony proceeded without any devotional exercise. The coffin, covered with a pall, and supported upon handspikes by the nearest relatives, now only waited the father to support the head, as is customary. Two or three of these privileged persons spoke to him, but he only answered by shaking his hand and his head in token of refusal. With better intention than judgment, the friends, who considered this as an act of duty on the part of the living, and of decency towards the deceased, would have proceeded to enforce their request, had not Oldbuck interfered between the distressed father and his well-meaning tormentors, and informed them, that he him­ self, as landlord and master to the deceased, “would carry his head to the grave.” In spite of the sorrowful occasion, the hearts of the relat­ ives swelled within them at so marked a distinction on the part of the Laird; and old Alison Breck, who was present among other fishwomen, swore almost aloud, “His honour Monkbarns should never want sax warp of oysters in the season, (of which fish he was under­ stood to be fond,) if she should gang to sea and dredge for them hersel, in the foulest wind that ever blew.” And such is the temper of the Scottish common people, that, by this instance of compliance with their customs, and respect for their persons, Mr Oldbuck gained more popularity than by all the sums which he had yearly distributed in the parish for purposes of private or general charity. The sad procession now moved slowly forward, preceded by the beadles, or sallies, with their batons,—miserable-looking old men, tottering as if on the edge of that grave to which they were marshalling another, and clad, according to Scottish guise, with threadbare black coats, and hunting-caps decorated with rusty crape. Monkbarns would probably have remonstrated against this superfluous expence, had he been consulted; but, in doing so, he would have given more offence than he gained popularity by condescending to perform the office of chief mourner. Of this he was quite aware, and wisely withheld rebuke, where rebuke and advice would have been equally unavailing. In truth, the Scottish peasantry are still infected with that rage for funeral ceremonial, which once distinguished the grandees of the kingdom so much, that a sumptuary law was made by the parlia­ ment of Scotland for the purpose of restraining it. And I have known many in the lowest stations, who have denied themselves not merely the comforts, but almost the necessaries of life, in order to save such a sum of money as might enable their surviving friends to bury them like Christians, as they termed it, nor could these faithful executors be

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prevailed upon, though equally necessitous, to turn to the use and maintenance of the living, the money vainly wasted upon the inter­ ment of the dead. The procession to the church-yard, at about half a mile’s distance, was made with the mournful solemnity usual on these occasions,—the body was confided to the bosom of its parent earth,—and when the labour of the grave-diggers had filled up the trench, and covered it with fresh sod, Mr Oldbuck, taking his hat off, saluted the assistants, who had stood by in mournful silence, and with that action dispersed the mourners. The clergyman offered our Antiquary his company to walk home­ ward; but Mr Oldbuck had been so much struck with the deportment of the fisherman and his mother, that, moved by compassion, and perhaps also, in some degree, by that curiosity which induces us to seek out even what gives us pain to witness, he preferred a solitary walk by the coast, for the purpose of again visiting the cottage as he passed.

Chapter Three What is this secret sin,—this untold tale, That art cannot extract, nor penance cleanse? ———Her muscles hold their place; Nor discomposed, nor formed to steadiness, No sudden flushing, and no faultering lip——

Mysterious Mother

The coffin had been borne from the place where it rested. The mourners, in regular gradation, according to their rank or their rela­ tionship to the deceased, had filed from the cottage, while the younger male children were led along to totter after the bier of their brother, and to view with wonder a ceremonial which they could hardly com­ prehend. The female gossips next rose to depart, and, with considera­ tion for the situation of the parents, carried along with them the girls of the family, to give the unhappy pair time and opportunity to open their hearts to each other, and soften their grief by communicating it. But their kind intention was without effect. The last of them had darkened the entrance of the cottage, as she went out, and drawn the door softly behind her, when the father, first ascertaining by a hasty glance that no stranger remained, started up, clasped his hands wildly above his head, uttered a cry of the despair which he had hitherto repressed, and, in all the impotent impatience of grief, half rushed half staggered forward to the bed on which the coffin had been deposited, threw himself down upon it, and smothering, as it were, his head

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among the bed-clothes, gave vent to the full passion of his sorrow. It was in vain that the wretched mother, terrified by the vehemence of her husband’s affliction—affliction still more fearful as agitating a man of hardened manners and a robust frame—suppressed her own sobs and tears, and, pulling him by the skirts of his coat, implored him to rise and remember, that, though one was removed, he had still a wife and children to comfort and support. The appeal came at too early a period of his anguish, and was totally unattended to; he con­ tinned to remain prostrate, indicating, by sobs so bitter and violent that they shook the bed and partition against which it rested, by clenched hands which grasped the bed-clothes, and by the vehement and convulsive motion of his legs, how deep and how terrible was the agony of a father’s sorrow. “O, what a day is this? what a day is this?” said the poor mother, her womanish affliction already exhausted by sobs and tears, and now almost lost in terror for the state in which she beheld her husband; “O, what an hour is this! and naebody to help a poor lone woman—O, gudemither, could ye but speak ae word to him!—wad ye but bid him be comforted!” To her astonishment, and even to the increase of her fear, her husband’s mother heard and answered the appeal. She rose and walked across the floor without support, and without much apparent feebleness, and, standing by the bed on which her son had extended himself, she said, “Rise up, my son, and sorrow not for him that is beyond sin and sorrow and temptation—Sorrow is for those that remain in this vale of sorrow and darkness—I, wha dinna sorrow, and wha canna sorrow, for ony ane, hae maist need that ye should a’ sorrow for me.” The voice of his mother, not heard for years as taking part in the active duties of life, or offering advice or consolation, produced its effect upon her son. He assumed a sitting posture on the side of the bed, and his appearance, attitude, and gestures, changed from those of angry despair to deep grief and dejection. The grandmother retired to her nook, the mother mechanically took in her hand her tattered Bible, and seemed to read, though her eyes were dimmed with tears. They were thus occupied when a loud knock was heard at the door. “Hegh sirs!” said the poor mother, “wha is it that can be coming in that gate e’enow?—They canna hae heard o’ our misfortune, I’m sure.” The knock being repeated, she rose and opened the door, saying querulously, “Whatna gait is that to disturb a sorrowfu’ house?” A tall man in black stood before her, whom she instantly recognised to be Lord Glenallan.

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“Is there not,” he said, “an old woman lodging in this or one of the neighbouring cottages, called Elspeth, who was long resident at Craig­ burnfoot of Glenallan?” “It’s my gudemither, my Lord,” said Margaret; “but she canna see ony body e’enow—Ohon! we’re dreeing a sair weird—we hae had a heavy dispensation.” “God forbid,” said Lord Glenallan, “that I should on light occasion disturb your sorrow—but my days are numbered—your mother-inlaw is in the extremity of age, and, if I see her not to-day, we may never meet on this side of time.” “And what wad ye see at an auld decayed woman, broken down wi’ age and sorrow and heartbreak?—Gentle or semple shall na darken my doors the day my bairn’s been carried out a corse.” While she spoke thus, indulging the natural irritability of her dis­ position and profession, which began to mingle itself in some degree with her grief when its first uncontrouled bursts were gone by, she held the door about one-third part open, and placed herself in the gap, as if to render the visitor’s entrance impossible. But the voice of her husband was heard from within—“Wha’s that, Maggie? what for are ye steeking them out?—let them come in—it doesna signify an auld rope’s end wha comes in or wha gaes out o’ this house frae this day forward.” The woman stood aside at her husband’s command, and permitted Lord Glenallan to enter the hut. The dejection exhibited in his broken frame and emaciated countenance, formed a strong contrast with the effects of grief, as they were displayed in the rude and weatherbeaten visage of the fisherman, and the masculine features of his wife. He approached the old woman as she was seated in her usual settle, and asked her, in a tone as audible as his voice could make it, “Are you Elspeth of the Craigburnfoot of Glenallan?” “Wha is it that asks about the unhallowed residence of that evil woman?” was the answer returned to his query. “The unhappy Earl of Glenallan.” “Earl—Earl of Glenallan?” “He who was called William, Lord Geraldin,” said the Earl; “and whom his mother’s death has made Earl of Glenallan.” “Open the bole,” said the old woman firmly and hastily to her daughter-in-law, “open the bole wi’ speed, that I may see if this be the right Lord Geraldin—the son of my mistress—him that I received in my arms within the hour after he was born—him that has reason to curse me that I didna smother him before the hour was past!” The window, which had been shut, in order that a gloomy twilight might add to the solemnity of the funeral meeting, was opened as she

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commanded, and threw a sudden and strong light through the smoky and misty atmosphere of the stifling cabin. Falling in a stream upon the chimney, the rays illuminated, in the way that Rembrandt would have chosen, the features of the unfortunate nobleman, and those of the old sybil, who now, standing upon her feet, and holding him by one hand, peered anxiously on his features with her light-blue eyes, and holding her long and withered fore-finger within a small distance of his face, moved it slowly as if to trace the outlines, and reconcile what she recollected with what she now beheld. As she finished her scrutiny, she said, with a deep sigh, “It’s a sair—sair change—and wha’s fault is it?—but that is written down where it will be remem­ bered—it’s written on tablets of brass with a pen of steel, where all is recorded that is done in the flesh.—And what,” she said, after a pause, “what is Lord Geraldin seeking from a puir auld creature like me that’s dead already, and only belangs sae far to the living that she is na yet laid in the moulds?” “Nay,” answered Lord Glenallan, “in the name of Heaven, why was it that you requested so urgently to see me? and why did you back your request by sending a token, which you know well I dared not refuse?” As he said this, he took from his purse the ring which Edie Ochil­ tree had delivered to him at Glenallan-house. The sight of this token produced a strange and instantaneous effect upon the old woman. The palsy of fear was immediately added to that of age, and she began instantly to search her pockets with the tremulous and hasty agitation of one who becomes first apprehensive of having lost something of great importance—then, as if convinced of the reality of her fears, she turned to the Earl, and demanded, “And how came ye by it, then?— how came ye by it?—I thought I had kept it sae securely—What will the Countess say?” “You know,” said the Earl, “at least you must have heard, that my mother is dead.” “Dead! are ye no imposing upon me? has she left a’ at last, lands and lordship and lineages?” “All, all,” said the Earl, “as mortal men must leave all human vanities.” “I mind now,” answered Elspeth, “I heard of it before; but there has been sic distress in our house since, and my memory is sae mickle impaired—But ye are sure your mother, the Lady Countess, is gane hame?” The Earl again assured her that her former mistress was no more. “Then,” said Elspeth, “it shall burthen my mind nae langer!— When she lived, wha dared to speak what it would hae displeased her to hae had noised abroad?—But she’s gane—and I will confess all.”

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Then, turning to her son and daughter-in-law, she commanded them imperatively to quit the house, and leave Lord Geraldin (for so she still called him) alone with her. But Maggie Meiklebackit, her first burst of grief being over, was by no means disposed in her own house to pay passive obedience to the commands of her mother-in-law, an authority which is peculiarly obnoxious to persons in her rank of life, and which she was the more astonished at hearing revived, when it seemed to have been so long relinquished and forgotten. “It was an unco thing,” she said, in a grumbling tone of voice,—for the rank of Lord Glenallan was somewhat imposing—“it was an unco thing to bid a mother leave her ain house wi’ the tear in her e’e, the moment her oldest son has been carried a corpse out at the door o’t.” The fisherman, in a stubborn and sullen tone, added to the same purpose, “This is nae day for your auld warld stories, mither—My Lord, if he be a Lord, may ca’ some other day—or he may speak out what he’s got to say if he likes it—there’s nane here will think it worth their while to listen to him or you either. But neither for laird or loon, gentle or semple, will I leave my ain house to pleasure ony body on the very day my poor”—— Here his voice choked, and he could proceed no further; but as he had risen when Lord Glenallan came in, and had since remained standing, he now threw himself doggedly upon a seat, and remained in the sullen posture of one who was determined to keep his word. But the old woman, whom this crisis seemed to repossess in all those powers of mental superiority with which she had once been eminently gifted, arose, and, advancing towards him, said with a sol­ emn voice, “My son, as ye wad shun hearing of your mother’s shame, —as ye wad not willingly be a witness of her guilt,—as ye wad deserve her blessing and avoid her curse, I charge ye, by the body that bore and that nursed ye, to leave me at freedom to speak with Lord Geraldin, what nae mortal’s ears but his ain maun listen to. Obey my words, that when ye lay the moulds on my grey head, (and O, that the day were come!) ye may remember this hour without the reproach of having disobeyed the last earthly command that ever your mother wared on you.” The terms of this solemn charge revived in the fisher’s heart the habit of instinctive obedience, in which his mother had trained him up, and to which he had submitted implicitly while her powers of exacting it remained entire. The recollection mingled also with the prevailing passion of the moment, for, glancing his eye at the bed on which the dead body had been laid, he muttered to himself, “He never disobeyed me, in reason or out o’ reason, and what for should I vex her?” Then, taking his reluctant spouse by the arm, he led her gently

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out of the cottage, and latched the door behind them as he left it. As the unhappy parents withdrew, Lord Glenallan, to prevent the old woman from relapsing into her lethargy, again pressed her on the subject of the communication which she proposed to make to him. “Ye will have it sune eneugh,” she replied; “my mind’s clear eneugh now, and there is not—I think there is not—a chance of my forgetting what I have to say. My dwelling at Craigburnfoot is before my een, as it were present in reality—The green bank, just where the burn met wi’ the sea—the twa little barks, wi’ their sails furled, lying in the natural cove which it formed—the high cliff that joined it with the pleasure-grounds of the house of Glenallan, and hung right ower the stream—Ah, yes! I may forget that I had a husband and have lost him —that I hae but ane alive of our four fair sons—that misfortune upon misfortune has devoured our ill-gotten wealth—that they carried the corpse of my son’s eldest-born frae the house this morning—But I never can forget the days I spent at bonny Craigburnfoot!” “You were a favourite of my mother,” said Lord Glenallan, desir­ ous to bring her back to the point, from which she was wandering. “I was, I was,—ye needna mind me o’ that. She brought me up abune my station, and wi’ knowledge mair than my fellows—but, like the tempter of auld, wi’ the knowledge of gude she taught me the knowledge of evil.” “For Godsake, Elspeth,” said the astonished Earl, “proceed, if you can, to explain the dreadful hints you have thrown out!—I well know you are confidant to one dreadful secret, which should split this roof even to hear it named—but speak on farther.” “I will,” she said,—“I will—just bear wi’ me for a little;”—and again she seemed lost in recollection, but it was no longer tinged with imbecillity or apathy. She was now entering upon the topic which had long loaded her mind, and which doubtless often occupied her whole soul at times when she appeared dead to all that passed around her. And I may add, as a remarkable fact, that such was the intense opera­ tion of mental energy upon her physical powers and nervous system, that, notwithstanding her infirmity of deafness, each word that Lord Glenallan spoke during this remarkable conference, although in the lowest tone of horror or agony, fell as full and distinct upon Elspeth’s ear as it could have done at any period of her life. She spoke also herself clearly, distinctly, and slowly, as if anxious that the intelligence she communicated should be fully understood; concisely at the same time, and with none of the verbiage or circumlocutory additions nat­ ural to those of her sex and condition. In short, her language bespoke a better education, as well as an uncommonly firm and resolved mind, and a character of that marked sort from which great virtues or great

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crimes may be naturally expected. The tenor of her communication is disclosed in the next chapter.

Chapter Four Remorse—she ne’er forsakes us— A bloodhound staunch—she tracks our rapid step Through the wild labyrinth of youthful frenzy, Unheard, perchance, until old age hath tamed us; Then in our lair, when Time hath chill’d our joints, And maim’d our hope of combat, or of flight, We hear her deep-mouthed bay, announcing all Of wrath and woe and punishment that bides us.

Old Play

“I need not tell you,” said the old woman, addressing the Earl of Glenallan, “that I was the favourite and confidential attendant of Joscelind, Countess of Glenallan, whom God assoilzie!”—(here she crossed herself)—“and, I think farther, ye may not have forgotten, that I shared her regard for mony years. I returned it by the maist sincere attachment, but I fell into disgrace frae a trifling act of dis­ obedience, reported to your mother by ane that thought, and she wasna wrang, that I was a spy upon her actions and yours.” “I charge thee, woman,” said the Earl, in a voice trembling with passion, “name not her name in my hearing!” “I must,” returned the penitent firmly and calmly, “or how can you understand me?” The Earl leaned upon one of the wooden chairs of the hut, drew his hat over his face, clenched his hands together, set his teeth like one who summons up courage to undergo a painful operation, and made a signal to her to proceed. “I say, then,” she resumed, “that my disgrace with my mistress was chiefly owing to Miss Eveline Neville, then bred up in Glenallanhouse as the daughter of a cousin-german and intimate friend of your father that was gane. There was muckle mystery in her history, but wha dared to enquire farther than the Countess liked to tell?—All in Glenallan-house loved Miss Neville—all but twa—your mother and mysel—we baith hated her.” “God! for what reason, since a creature so mild, so gentle, so formed to inspire affection, never walked on this wretched world?” “It may hae been sae,” rejoined Elspeth, “but your mother hated a’ that came of your father’s family—a’ but himsel.—her reasons related to strife which fell between them soon after her marriage; the particu­ lars are naething to this purpose. But, O, doubly did she hate Eveline Neville when she perceived that there was a growing kindness atween

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you and that unfortunate young leddy! Ye may mind that the Count­ ess’s dislike did na gang farther at first than just shewing o’ the cauld shouther—at least it wasna seen farther; but at the lang run it brak out into such downright violence that Miss Neville was even fain to seek refuge at Knockwinnock castle with Sir Arthur’s leddy, who (God sain her) was then wi’ the living.” “You rend my heart by recalling these particulars—but go on, and may my present agony be accepted as additional penance for the involuntary crime!” “She had been absent some months,” continued Elspeth, “when I was ae night watching in my hut the return of my husband from fishing, and shedding in private those bitter tears that my proud spirit wrung frae me whenever I thought on my disgrace. The sneck was drawn, and the Countess, your mother, entered my dwelling. I thought I had seen a spectre, for, even in the height of my favour, this was an honour she had never done me, and she looked as pale and ghastly as if she had risen frae the grave. She sate down and wrung the draps from her hair and cloak, for the night was drizzling, and her walk had been through the plantations, that were a’ loaded with dew. I only mention these things that you may understand how weel that night lives in my memory, and weel it may. I was surprised to see her, but I durstna speak first mair than if I had seen a phantom—Na, I durst not, my lord, I that hae seen mony sights of terror, and never shook at them —Sae, after a silence, she said, ‘Elspeth Cheyne, (for she always gave me my maiden name,) are not ye the daughter of that Reginald Cheyne, who died to save his master, Lord Glenallan, on the field of Sheriffmuir?’ and I answered her as proudly as hersel nearly—‘As sure as you are the daughter of that Earl of Glenallan whom my father saved that day by his own death.’ ” Here she made a deep pause. “And what followed?—what followed?—For heaven’s sake, good woman——But why should I use that word?—Yet, good or bad, I command you to tell me.” “And little I should value earthly command,” answered Elspeth, “were there not a voice that has spoken to me, sleeping and waking, that drives me forward to tell this sad tale.—Aweel, my Lord—the Countess said to me, ‘My son loves Eveline Neville—they are agreed —they are plighted;—should they have a son, my right over Glen­ allan merges—I sink from that moment from a Countess into a miser­ able stipendiary dowager—I, who brought land and vassals, and high blood and ancient fame, to my husband, I must cease to be mistress when my son has an heir-male. But I care not for that—had he married ony but ane of the hated Nevilles I had been patient—but for

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them—that they and their descendants should enjoy the rights and honours of my ancestors, goes through my heart like a two-edged dirk. And this girl—I detest her!’—And I answered, for my heart kindled at her words, that her hate was equalled by mine.” “Wretch!” exclaimed the Earl, in spite of his determination to preserve silence,—“Wretched woman! what cause of hate could have arisen from a being so innocent and gentle?” “I hated what my mistress hated, as was the use with the liege vassals of the house of Glenallan; for though, my Lord, I married under my degree, yet an ancestor of yours never went to the field of battle, but an ancestor of the frail, demented, auld, useless wretch wha now speaks with you, carried his shield before him.—But that was not a’,” continued the beldame, her earthly and evil passions rekindling as she became heated in her narration; “that was not a’—I hated Miss Eveline Neville for her ain sake—I brought her frae England, and, during our whole journey, she gecked and scorned at my northern speech and habit, as her southland leddies and kimmers had done at the boarding-school as they ca’d it (and, strange as it may seem, she spoke of an affront offered by a heedless school-girl without intention, with a degree of inveteracy, which, at such a distance of time, a mortal offence would neither have authorised or excited in any well-consti­ tuted mind)—Yes, she scorned and jested at me—but let them that scorn the tartan fear the dirk!” She paused, and then went on. “But I deny not that I hated her mair than she deserved. My mistress, the Countess, persevered and said, ‘Elspeth Cheyne, this unruly boy will marry with the false English blood—were days as they have been, I could throw her into the Massymore of Glenallan, and fetter him in the Keep of Strathbonnall—But these times are past, and the authority which the nobles of the land should exercise, is delegated to quibbling lawyers and their baser dependants. Hear me, Elspeth Cheyne, if you are your father’s daughter as I am mine, I will find means that they shall not marry—She walks often to that cliff that overhangs your dwelling to look for her lover’s boat, (ye may remember the pleasure ye then took on the sea, my Lord)—let him find her forty fathom lower than he expects!’—Yes!—ye may stare and frown and clench your hand, but, as sure as I am to face the only Being I ever feared, —and O that I had feared him mair!—these were your mother’s words—What avails it to me to lie to you?—But I wadna consent to stain my hand with blood.—Then she said, ‘By the religion of our holy Church they are ower sibb thegither. But I expect nothing but that both will become heretics as well as disobedient reprobates,’ that was her addition to that argument—And then, as the fiend is

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ever ower busy wi’ brains like mine, that are subtle beyond their use and station, I was unhappily permitted to add—‘But they might be brought to think themselves sae sibb as no Christian law will permit their wedlock.’ ” Here the Earl of Glenallan echoed her words with a shriek so piercing, as almost to rend the roof of the cottage—“Ah! then Eveline Neville was not the—the——” “The daughter, ye would say, of your father?” continued Elspeth; “No—be it a torment or be it a comfort to you—ken the truth, she was nae mair a daughter of your father’s house than I am.” “Woman, deceive me not—make me not curse the memory of the parent I have so lately laid in the grave, for sharing in a plot the most cruel, the most infernal”—— “Bethink ye, my Lord Geraldin, ere ye curse the memory of a parent that’s gane, is there none of the blood of Glenallan living, whase faults have led to this dreadfu’ catastrophe?” “Mean you my brother?—he, too, is gone,” said the Earl. “No,” replied the sybil, “I mean yoursel, Lord Geraldin. Had you not transgressed the obedience of a son by wedding Eveline Neville in secret while a guest at Knockwinnock, our plot might have separated you for a time, but would have left at least your sorrows without remorse to canker them—But your ain conduct had put poison in the weapon that we threw, and it pierced you with the mair force, because ye came rushing to meet it. Had your marriage been a proclaimed and acknowledged action, our stratagem to throw an obstacle into your way that couldna be got ower, neither wad nor could hae been prac­ tised against ye.” “Great Heaven!” said the unfortunate nobleman; “it is as if a film fell from my obscured eyes!—Yes, I now well understand the doubt­ ful hints of consolation thrown out by my wretched mother, tending indirectly to impeach the evidence of the horrors of which her arts had led me to believe myself guilty.” “She could not speak mair plainly,” answered Elspeth, “without confessing her ain fraud, and she would have submitted to be torn by wild horses, rather than unfold what she had done; and, if she had still lived, so would I for her sake. They were stout hearts the race of Glenallan, male and female, and sae were a’ that in auld times cried their gathering-word of Clochnaben—they stood shouther to shouther —nae man parted frae his chief for love of gold or of gain, or of right or of wrang—the times are changed, I hear, now.” The unfortunate nobleman was too much wrapped up in his own confused and distracting reflections to notice the rude expressions of savage fidelity, in which, even in the latest ebb of life, the unhappy

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author of his misfortunes seemed to find a stern and stubborn source of consolation. “Great Heaven!” he exclaimed, “I am then free from a guilt the most horrible with which man can be stained, and the sense of which, however involuntary, has wrecked my peace, destroyed my health, and bowed me down to an untimely grave. Accept,” he fervently uttered, lifting his eyes upwards, “accept my humble thanks!—If I live miser­ able, at least I shall not die stained with that unnatural guilt!—And thou—proceed if thou hast more to tell—proceed while thou hast voice to speak it, and I have powers to listen.” “Yes,” answered the beldame, “the hour when you shall hear, and I shall speak, is indeed passing rapidly away—Death has crossed your brow with his bony finger, and I find his grasp turning every day caulder at my withering heart.—Interrupt me nae mair with exclama­ tions and groans and accusations, but hear my tale to an end! And then—if ye be indeed sic a Lord of Glenallan as I hae heard of in my day—make your merrymen gather the thorn, and the briar, and the green hollin, till they heap them as high as the house-riggin’, and burn! burn! burn! the auld witch Elspeth, and a’ that can put ye in mind that sic a creature ever crawled upon the land!” “Go on,” said the Earl, “go on—I will not again interrupt you.” He spoke in a half-suffocated yet determined voice, resolved that no irritability on his part should deprive him of this opportunity of acquiring proofs of the wonderful tale he then heard. But Elspeth had become exhausted by a continuous narration of such unusual length; the subsequent part of her story was more broken, and, though still distinctly intelligible in most parts, had no longer the lucid concise­ ness which the first part of her narrative had displayed to such an astonishing degree. Lord Glenallan found it necessary, when she had made some attempts to continue her narrative without success, to prompt her memory, by demanding, what proofs she could propose to bring of the truth of a narrative so different from that which she had originally told? “The evidence,” she replied, “of Eveline Neville’s real birth was in the Countess’s possession, with reasons for its being, for some time, kept private. They may yet be found, if she has not destroyed them, in the left-hand drawer of the ebony cabinet that stood in her dressingroom—these she meant to suppress for the time until you again went abroad, when she trusted, before your return, to send Miss Neville back to her ain country, or to get her settled in marriage.” “But did you not shew me letters of my father’s, which seemed to me, unless my senses altogether failed me in that horrible moment, to avow his relationship to—to the unhappy”——

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“We did; and, with my testimony, how could you doubt the fact, or her either?—But we suppressed the true explanation of these letters, and that was, that your father thought it right the young leddy should pass for his daughter for a while, on account o’ some family reasons that were amang them.” “But wherefore, when you learned our union, was this dreadful artifice persisted in?” “It wasna,” she replied, “till Lady Glenallan had communicated this fause tale that she suspected ye had actually made a marriage— nor even then did you avow it sae as to satisfy her, whether the ceremony had in verity passed atween ye or no—But ye remember, O ye canna but remember weel, what passed in that awfu’ meeting!” “Woman! you swore upon the gospels to the fact which you now disavow.” “I did, and I wad hae ta’en a yet mair holy pledge on it, if there had been ane—I wad not hae spared the blood of my body, or the guilt of my soul, to serve the house of Glenallan.” “Wretch! do you call that horrid perjury, attended with con­ sequences yet more dreadful—do you esteem that a service to the house of your benefactors?” “I served her, wha was then the head of Glenallan, as she required me to serve her. The cause was between God and her conscience— the manner between God and mine—She is gane to her account, and I maun follow—Have I tauld you a’?” “No,” answered Lord Glenallan; “you have yet more to tell—you have to tell me of the death of the angel whom your perjury drove to despair, stained, as she thought herself, with a crime so horrible —Speak truth—was that dreadful—was that horrible incident”—he could scarcely articulate the words—“was it as reported? or was it an act of yet further, though not more atrocious cruelty, inflicted by others?” “I understand you,” said Elspeth; “but report spoke truth—our false witness was indeed the cause, but the deed was her ain distracted act—On that fearfu’ disclosure, when ye rushed frae the Countess’s presence, and saddled your horse, and left the castle like a fireflaught, the Countess hadna yet discovered your private marriage; she hadna fund out that the union, which she had framed this awfu’ tale to prevent, had e’en ta’en place. Ye fled from the house as if the fire o’ Heaven was about to fa’ upon it, and Miss Neville, atween reason and the want o’t, was put under sure ward. But the ward sleep’t, and the prisoner waked—the window was open—the way was before her— there was the cliff, and there was the sea!—O, when will I forget that!”

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“And thus died,” said the Earl, “even so as was reported?” “No, my Lord. I had gane out to the cove—the tide was in, and it flowed, as ye’ll remember, to the foot of that cliff—it was a great convenience that for my husband’s trade—Where am I wandering?— I saw a white object dart frae the tap o’ the cliff like a sea-maw through the mist, and then a heavy flash and sparkle of the waters shewed me it was a human creature that had fa’en into the waves. I was bold and strong, and familiar with the tide. I rushed in and grasped her gown, and drew her out and carried her on my shouthers—I could hae carried twa sic then—carried her to my hut, and laid her on my bed. Neighbours came and brought help—but the words she uttered in her ravings, when she got back the use of speech, were such, that I was fain to send them awa’, and get up word to Glenallan-house. The Count­ ess sent down her Spanish servant Teresa—if ever there was a fiend on earth in human form, that woman was ane—She and I were to watch the unhappy leddy, and let no other person approach. God knows what Teresa’s part was to hae been—she tauld it not to me— But Heaven took the conclusion in its ain hand. The poor leddy! she took the pangs of travail before her time, bore a male child, and died in the arms of me—of her mortal enemy!—Aye, ye may weep—she was a sightly creature to see to—but think ye, if I didna mourn her then, that I can mourn her now?—nа, na!—I left Teresa wi’ the dead corpse and new-born babe, till I gaed up to take the Countess’s commands what was to be done. Late as it was, I ca’d her up, and she gar’d me ca’ up your brother”—— “My brother?” “Yes, Lord Geraldin, e’en your brother, that some said she aye wished to be her heir. At ony rate, he was the person maist concerned in the succession and heritance of the house of Glenallan.” “And is it possible to believe, then, that my brother, out of avarice to grasp at my inheritance, would lend himself to such a base and dread­ ful stratagem?” “Your mother believed it,” said the old beldame with a fiendish laugh—“it was nae plot of my making—But what they did or said I will not say, because I did not hear—lang and sair they consulted in the black wainscot dressing-room; and when your brother passed through the room where I was waiting, it seemed to me (and I have often thought sae sin-syne) that the fire of hell was in his cheek and e’e. But he had left some of it with his mother at ony rate. She entered the room like a woman demented, and the first words she spoke were, ‘Elspeth Cheyne, did ye ever pull a new-budded flower?’ I answered, as ye may believe, that I aften had; ‘then,’ said she, ‘ye will ken the better how to blight the spurious and heretical blossom that has

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sprung forth this night to disgrace my father’s noble house—See here;’—(and she gave me a golden bodkin)—‘Nothing but gold must shed the blood of Glenallan. This child is already as one of the dead, since thou and Teresa alone ken that it lives—Let it be dealt upon as ye will answer to me!’ and she turned away in her fury, and left me with the bodkin in my hand. Here it is; that and the ring of Miss Neville are a’ I hae preserved of my ill-gotten gear—for muckle was the gear I got. And weel hae I keepit the secret, but no for the gowd or gear either.” Her long and bony hand held out to Lord Glenallan a gold bodkin, down which in fancy he saw the blood of his infant trickling. “Wretch! had you the heart?” “I ken na if I could hae had it or no. I returned to my cottage without feeling the ground that I trode on; but Teresa and the child were gane —a’ that was alive was gane—naething left but the lifeless corpse.” “And did you never learn my infant’s fate?” “I could but guess. I have tauld ye your mother’s purpose, and I ken Teresa was a fiend. She was never mair seen in Scotland, and I have heard that she returned to her ain land. A dark curtain has fa’an ower the past, and the few that witnessed ony part of it could only surmise something of seduction and suicide. You yoursel”—— “I know—I know it all,” answered the Earl. “You do indeed know all that I can say—And now, heir of Glen­ allan, can you forgive me?” “Ask forgiveness of God, and not of man,” said the Earl, turning away. “And how shall I ask of the pure and unstained what is denied to me by a sinner like mysel?—If I hae sinned, hae I not suffered?—Hae I had a day’s peace or an hour’s rest since these lang wet locks of hair first lay upon my pillow at Craigburnfoot?—Has not my house been burned, wi’ my bairn in the cradle?—Has not my boats been wrecked when a’ others weathered the gale?—Has not a’ that were near and dear to me dree’d penance for my sin?—Has not the fire had its share o’ them—the winds had their part—the sea had her part?—And oh!” (she added, with a lengthened groan, looking first upwards towards Heaven, and then bending her eyes on the floor)—“Oh! that the earth would take her part, that’s been lang lang wearying to be joined to it!” Lord Glenallan had reached the door of the cottage, but the gener­ osity of his nature did not permit him to leave the unhappy woman in that state of desperate reprobation. “May God forgive thee, wretched woman,” he said, “as sincerely as I do!—turn for mercy to Him, who can alone grant mercy, and may your prayers be heard as if they were mine own!—I will send a religious man.”

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“Na, na, nae priest! nae priest!” she ejaculated; and the door of the cottage opening as she spoke, prevented her from proceeding.

Chapter Five Still in his dead hand clench’d remain the strings That thrill his father’s heart—e’en as the limb, Lopp’d off and laid in grave, retains, they tell us, Strange commerce with the mutilated stump, Whose nerves are twinging still in maim’d existence.

Old Play

The Antiquary, as we informed the reader in the end of chapter second, had shaken off the company of worthy Mr Blattergowl, al­ though he offered to entertain him with an abstract of the ablest speech he had ever known in the Tiend Court, delivered by the procurator for the Church in the remarkable case of the parish of Gatherem. Resisting this temptation, our senior preferred a solitary path, which again conducted him to the cottage of Meiklebackit. When he came in front of the fisherman’s hut, he observed a man working intently, as if to repair a shattered boat which lay upon the beach, and, going up to him, was surprised to find it was Meiklebackit himself. “I am glad,” he said, in a tone of sympathy—“I am glad, Saunders, that you feel yourself able to make this exertion.” “And what would ye have me do,” answered the fisher gruffly, “unless I wanted to see four children starve, because ane is drowned? It’s weel wi’ you gentles, that can sit in the house wi’ handkerchers at your een when ye lose a friend; but the like o’ us maun to our wark again, if our hearts were beating as hard as my hammer.” Without taking more notice of Oldbuck he proceeded in his labour, and the Antiquary, to whom the display of human nature under the influence of agitating passions was never indifferent, stood beside him, in silent attention, as if watching the progress of the work. He observed more than once the man’s hard features, as if by the force of association, prepare to accompany the sound of the saw and hammer with his usual symphony of a rude tune hummed or whistled, and as often a slight twitch of convulsive expression showed that, ere the sound was uttered, the cause of suppressing it rushed upon his mind. At length, when he had patched a considerable rent, and was begin­ ning to mend another, his feelings appeared altogether to derange the power of attention necessary for his work. The piece ofwood which he was about to nail on was at first too long; then he sawed it off too short; then chose another equally ill adapted for the purpose. At length, throwing it down in anger, after wiping his dim eye with his quivering

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hand, he exclaimed, “There is a curse either on me or on this auld black bitch of a boat, that I have hauled up high and dry, and patched and clouted sae топу years, that she might drown my poor Steenie at the end of them, an’ be d—d to her!” And he flung his hammer against the boat, as if she had been the intentional cause of his misfor­ tune. Then recollecting himself, he added, “Yet what needs me to be angry at her, that has neither soul nor sense?—though I am no that mickle better mysel. She’s but a rickle o’ auld rotten deals nailed thegither, and warped wi’ the wind and the sea—and I am a dour carle, battered by foul weather at sea and land till I am almaist as senseless as hersel. She maun be mended though again the morning tide—that’s a thing o’ necessity.” Thus speaking, he went to gather together his instruments and attempt to resume his labour, but Oldbuck took him kindly by the arm. “Come, come,” he said, “Saunders, this is no work for you this day— I’ll send down Shavings the carpenter to mend the boat, and he may put the day’s work onto my account—and you had better not rise to­ morrow, but stay to comfort your family under this dispensation, and the gardener will bring you some vegetables and meal from Monk­ barns.” “I thank ye, Monkbarns,” answered the poor fisher; “I am a plainspoken man, and hae little to say for mysel; I might hae learned fairer fashions frae my mither lang syne, but I never saw mickle gude they did her; however, I thank ye. Ye were aye kind and neighbourly, whatever folk says o’ your being near and close; and I hae often said in thae times when they were ganging to raise up the puir folk again the gentles—I hae often said, ne’er a man should steer a hair touching to Monkbarns while Steenie and I could wag a finger—and so said Steenie too. And, Monkbarns, when ye laid his head in the grave, (and mony thanks for the respect,) ye saw the mouls laid on an honest lad that likit you right weel, though he made little phrase about it.” Oldbuck, beaten from the pride of his affected cynicism, would not willingly have had any one by upon that occasion to quote to him his favourite maxims of the Stoic philosophy. The large drops fell fast from his own eyes, as he begged the father, who was now melted at recollecting the bravery and generous sentiments of his son, to forbear useless sorrow, and led him by the arm towards his own home, where another scene awaited our Antiquary. As he entered, the first person whom he beheld was Lord Glenallan. Mutual surprise was on their countenance as they saluted each other, with haughty reserve on the part of Mr Oldbuck, and embar­ rassment on that of the Earl. “My Lord Glenallan, I think?” said Mr Oldbuck.

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“Yes—much changed from what he was when he knew Mr Old­ buck.” “I do not mean,” said the Antiquary, “to intrude upon your lordship —I only came to see this distressed family.” “And you have found me, sir, who has still greater claims on your compassion.” “My compassion? Lord Glenallan cannot need my compassion—if Lord Glenallan could need it, I think he would hardly ask it.” “Our former acquaintance,” said the Earl—— “Is of such an ancient date, my Lord—was of such short duration, and was connected with circumstances so exquisitely painful, that I think we may dispense with renewing it.” So saying, the Antiquary turned away, and left the hut; but Lord Glenallan followed him into the open air, and, in spite of a hasty “Good morning, my Lord,” requested a few minutes conversation, and the favour of his advice in an important matter. “Your Lordship will find many more capable to advise you, my Lord, and with whom your intercourse will be deemed an honour. For me, I am a man retired from business and the world, and not very fond of raking up the past events of my useless life; and forgive me if I say, I have particular pain in reverting to that period of it when I acted like a fool, and your Lordship like a”——He stopped short. “Like a villain, you would say,” said Lord Glenallan, “for such I must have appeared to you.” “My Lord—my Lord, I have no desire to hear your shrift,” said the Antiquary. “But, sir, if I can shew you that I am more sinned against than sinning—that I have been a man miserable beyond the power of description, and look forward at this moment to an untimely grave as to a haven of rest, you will not refuse the confidence which, accepting your appearance at this critical moment as a hint from Heaven, I venture thus to press on you.” “Assuredly, my Lord, I shall shun no longer the continuation of this extraordinary interview.” “I must then recall to you our occasional meetings—upwards of twenty years since—at Knockwinnock castle, and I need not remind you who was then a member of that family.” “The unfortunate Miss Eveline Neville, my Lord—I remember it well.” “Towards whom you entertained sentiments”—— “Very different from those with which I before and since have regarded her sex; her gentleness, her docility, her pleasure in the studies which I pointed out to her, attached my affections more than

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became my age (though that was not then much advanced,) or the solidity of my character. But I need not remind your Lordship of the various modes in which you indulged your gaiety at the expence of an awkward and retired student, embarrassed by the expression of feel­ ings so new to him, and I have no doubt that the young lady joined you in the well-deserved ridicule—It is the way of womankind. I have spoke at once to the painful circumstances of my addresses and their rejection, that your Lordship may be satisfied every thing is full in my memory, and may, so far as I am concerned, tell your story without scruple or needless delicacy.” “I will,” said Lord Glenallan; “but first let me say, you do injustice to the memory of the gentlest and kindest, as well as the most unhappy of women, to suppose she could make a jest of the honest affection of a man like you. Frequently did she blame me, Mr Oldbuck, for indul­ ging my levity at your expence—may I now presume you will excuse the gay freedoms which then offended you?—my state of mind has never since laid me under the necessity of apologizing for the inad­ vertencies of a light and happy temper.” “My Lord, you are fully pardoned,” said Mr Oldbuck. “You will be aware, that, like all others at the time I was ignorant that I placed myself in competition with your Lordship, and understood that Miss Neville was in a state of dependence which might make her prefer a competent independence and the hand of an honest man—But I am wasting time—I would I could believe that the views entertained towards her by others were as fair and honest as mine!” “Mr Oldbuck, you judge harshly.” “Not without cause, my Lord; when I only, of all the magistrates of this county, having neither, like some of them, the honour to be connected with your powerful family, nor, like others, the meanness to fear it—when I made some enquiry into the manner of Miss Neville’s extraordinary death—I shake you, my Lord, but I must be plain —I do own I had every reason to believe that she had met most unfair dealing, and had either been imposed upon by a counterfeit marriage, or that very strong measures had been adopted to stifle and destroy the evidence of a real union. And I cannot doubt in my own mind, that this cruelty on your Lordship’s part, whether coming ofyour own free will, or proceeding from the influence of the late Countess, hurried the unfortunate young lady to the desperate act by which her life was terminated.” “You are deceived, Mr Oldbuck, into conclusions which are not just, however naturally they flow from the circumstances. Believe me, I respected you even when I was most embarrassed by your active attempts to investigate our family misfortunes. You shewed yourself

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more worthy of Miss Neville than I, by the spirit with which you persisted in vindicating her reputation even after her death. But the firm belief, that your well-meant efforts could only serve to bring to light a story too horrible to be detailed, induced me to join my unhappy mother in schemes to remove or destroy all evidence of the legal union which had taken place between Eveline and myself. And now let us sit down on this bank, for I feel unable to remain longer standing, and have the goodness to listen to the extraordinary discov­ ery which I have this day made.” They sate down accordingly, and Lord Glenallan briefly narrated his unhappy family history—his concealed marriage—the horrible invention by which his mother had designed to render impossible that union which had already taken place. He detailed the arts by which the Countess, having all the documents relative to Miss Neville’s birth in her hands, had produced those only relating to a period during which, for family reasons, his father had consented to own that young lady as his natural daughter, and shewed how impossible it was that he could either suspect or detect the fraud put upon him by his mother, and vouched by the oaths of her attendants, Teresa and Elspeth. “I left my paternal mansion,” he concluded, “as if the furies of hell had driven me forth, and travelled with frantic velocity I know not whither. Nor have I the slightest recollection of what I did or whither I went, until I was discovered by my brother. I will not trouble you with an account of my sick-bed and recovery, nor how, long afterwards, I ventured to enquire after the sharer of my misfortunes, and heard that her despair had found a dreadful remedy for all the ills of life. The first thing that roused me to thought was hearing of your enquiries into this cruel business; and you will hardly wonder, that, believing what I did believe, I should join in those expedients to stop your investigation, which my brother and mother had actively commenced. The informa­ tion which I gave them concerning the circumstances and witnesses of our private marriage enabled them to baffle your zeal. The clergyman, therefore, and witnesses, as persons who had acted in the matter only to please the powerful heir of Glenallan, were accessible to his prom­ ises and threats, and were so provided for, that they had no objections to leave this country for another. For myself, Mr Oldbuck,” pursued this unhappy man, “from that moment I considered myself as blotted out of the book of the living, and as having nothing left to do with this world. My mother tried to reconcile me to life by every art—even by intimations which I can now interpret as calculated to produce a doubt of the horrible tale she herself had fabricated. But I construed all she said as the fictions of maternal affection.—I will forbear all reproach —she is no more—and, as her wretched associate said, she knew not

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how the dart was poisoned, or how deep it must sink, when she threw it from her hand. But, Mr Oldbuck, if ever, during these twenty years, there crawled upon earth a living being deserving of your pity, I have been that man. My food has not nourished me—my sleep has not refreshed me—my devotions have not comforted me—all that is cheering and necessary to man has been to me converted into poison. The rare and limited intercourse which I have held with others has been most odious to me. I felt as if I were bringing the contamination of unnatural and inexpressible guilt among the gay and the innocent. There have been moments when I have had thoughts of another description—to plunge into the adventures of war, or to brave the dangers of the traveller in foreign and barbarous climates—to mingle in political intrigue, or to retire to the stern seclusion of the anchorets of our religion—all these are thoughts which have alternately passed through my mind, but each required an energy, which was mine no longer after the withering stroke I had received. I vegetated on as I could in the same spot,—fancy, feeling, judgment, and health, gradu­ ally decaying, like a tree whose bark has been destroyed,—when first the blossoms fade, then the boughs, until its state resembles the decayed and dying trunk that is now before you. Do you now pity and forgive me?” “My Lord,” answered the Antiquary, much affected, “my pity—my forgiveness, you have not to ask, for your dismal story is of itself not only an ample excuse for whatever appeared mysterious in your con­ duct, but a narrative that might move your worst enemies (and I, my Lord, was never of the number) to tears and to sympathy. But permit me to ask what you now mean to do, and why you have honoured me, whose opinion can be of little consequence, with your confidence on this occasion?” “Mr Oldbuck,” answered the Earl, “as I could never have foreseen the nature of that confession which I have heard this day, I need not say, that I had no formed plan of consulting you or any one upon affairs, the tendency of which I could not even have suspected. But I am without friends, unused to business, and, by long retirement, unacquainted alike with the laws of the land and the habits of the living generation; and when, most unexpectedly, I find myself immersed in the matters of which I know least, I catch, like a drowning man, at the first support that offers. You are that support, Mr Oldbuck. I have always heard you mentioned as a man of wisdom and intelligence—I have known you myself as a man of a resolute and independent spirit —and there is one circumstance,” said he, “which ought perhaps to combine us in some degree—our having paid tribute to the same excellence of character in poor Eveline. You offered yourself to me in

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my need, and were already acquainted with the beginning of my misfortunes. To you, therefore, I have recourse for advice, for sym­ pathy, for support.” “You shall seek none of them in vain, my Lord,” said Oldbuck, “so far as my slender ability extends; and I am honoured by the prefer­ ence, whether it arises from choice or is prompted by chance. But this is a matter to be ripely considered. May I ask what are your principal views at present?” “To ascertain the fate of my child,” said the Earl, “be the con­ sequences what they may, and to do justice to the honour of Eveline, which I have only permitted to be suspected to avoid discovery of the yet more horrible taint to which I was made to believe it liable.” “And the memory of your mother?” “Must bear its own burthen,” answered the Earl, with a sigh; “better that she were justly convicted of deceit, should that be found necessary, than that others should be unjustly accused of crimes so much more dreadful.” “Then, my Lord,” said Oldbuck, “our first business must be to put the information of the old woman, Elspeth, into a regular and authen­ ticated form.” “That,” said Lord Glenallan, “will be at present, I fear, impossible —She is exhausted herself, and surrounded by her distressed family. To-morrow, perhaps, when she is alone—and yet I doubt, from her imperfect sense of right and wrong, whether she would speak out in any presence but my own—I too am sorely fatigued.” “Then, my Lord,” said the Antiquary, whom the interest of the moment elevated above points of expence and convenience, which had generally more than enough of weight with him, “I would propose to your Lordship, instead of returning, fatigued as you are, so far as to Glenallan-house, or taking the more uncomfortable alternative of going to a bad inn at Fairport, to alarm all the busy bodies of the town —I would propose, I say, that you should be my guest at Monkbarns for this night—By to-morrow these poor people will have renewed their out-of-doors vocations, for sorrow with them affords no respite from labour, and we will visit the old woman, Elspeth, alone, and take down her examination.” After a formal apology for the encroachment, Lord Glenallan agreed to go with him, and underwent with patience in their return home the whole history of John of the Girnell, a legend which Mr Oldbuck was never known to spare any one who crossed his threshold. The arrival of a stranger of such note, with two saddle horses and a servant in black, which servant had holsters on his saddle-bow, and a coronet upon the holsters, created a general commotion in the house

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of Monkbarns. Jenny Rintherout, scarce recovered from the hys­ terics which she had taken upon hearing of poor Steenie’s misfortune, chased about the turkeys and poultry, cackled and screamed louder than they did, and ended by killing one-half too many. Miss Griselda made many wise reflections on the hot-headed wilfulness of her brother, who had occasioned such a devastation, by suddenly bringing in upon them a papist nobleman. And she ventured to transmit to Mr Blattergowl some hint of the unusual slaughter which had taken place in the basse-cour, which brought the honest clergyman to enquire how his friend Monkbarns had got home, and whether he was not the worse of being at the funeral, at a period so near to the ringing of the bell for dinner, that the Antiquary had no choice left but to invite him to stay and bless the meat. Miss MacIntyre had on her part some curiosity to see this mighty peer of whom all had heard, as an eastern caliph or sultan is heard of by his subjects, and felt some degree of timidity at the idea of encountering a person, of whose unsocial habits and stern manners so many stories were told, that her fear kept at least pace with her curiosity. The aged housekeeper was no less flustered and hurried in obeying the numerous and contradictory commands of her mistress, concerning preserves, pastry, and fruit, the mode of marshalling and dishing the dinner, the necessity of not permitting the melted butter to run to oil, and the danger of allowing Juno,—who, though formally banished from the parlour, failed not to maraud about the out-settlements of the family,—to enter the kitchen. The only inmate of Monkbarns who remained entirely indifferent on this momentous occasion was Hector MacIntyre, who cared no more for an Earl than he did for a commoner, and who was only interested in his visit, as it would afford some protection against his uncle’s displeasure, if he harboured any, for his not attending the funeral, and still more against his satire upon the subject of his gallant but unsuccessful single combat with the phoca, or seal. To these, the inmates of his household, Oldbuck presented the Earl of Glenallan, who underwent, with meek and subdued civility, the prosing speeches of the honest divine, and the lengthened apolo­ gies of Miss Griselda Oldbuck, which her brother in vain endeav­ oured to abridge. Before the dinner hour, Lord Glenallan requested permission to retire awhile to his chamber. Mr Oldbuck accompanied his guest to the Green Room, which had been hastily prepared for his reception. He looked around with an air of painful recollection. “I think,” at length he observed, “I think, Mr Oldbuck, that I have been in this apartment before.” “Yes, my Lord,” answered Oldbuck, “upon occasion of an excur­ sion hither from Knockwinnock—and since we are upon a subject so

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melancholy, you may perhaps remember whose taste supplied these lines from Chaucer, which now form the motto of the tapestry.” “I guess,” said the Earl, “though I cannot recollect—She excelled me, indeed, in literary taste and information, as in every thing else; and it is one of the mysterious dispensations of Providence, Mr Old­ buck, that a creature so excellent in mind and body should have been cut off in so miserable a manner, merely from her having formed a fatal attachment to such a wretch as I am.” Mr Oldbuck did not attempt an answer to this burst of the grief which lay ever nearest to the heart of his guest, but, pressing Lord Glenallan’s hand with one of his own, and drawing the other across his shaggy eyelashes, as if to brush away a mist that intercepted his sight, he left the Earl at liberty to arrange himself previous to dinner.

Chapter Six ———Life, with you, Glows in the brain and dances in the arteries; ’Tis like the wine some joyous guest hath quaff’d, That glads the heart and elevates the fancy:— Mine is the poor residuum of the cup, Vapid, and dull, and tasteless, only soiling With its base dregs the vessel that contains it.

Old Play

“Now only think what a man my brother is, Mr Blattergowl, for a wise man and a learned man, to bring this Yerl into our house without speaking a single word to a body!—And there’s the distress of thae Meiklebackits—we canna get a fin o’ fish and we hae nae time to send ower to Fairport for beef, and the mutton’s but new killed—and that silly fliskmahoy, Jenny Rintherout, has ta’en the exies, and done nae­ thing but laugh and greet, the skirl at the tail o’ the gaefa’, for twa days successfully—and now we maun ask that strange man, that’s as grand and as grave as the Yerl himsel, to stand at the sideboard! And I canna gang into the kitchen to direct ony thing, for he’s hovering there making some powsowdie for my Lord, for he doesna eat like ither folk neither—And how to sort the strange man at dinner time—I am sure, Mr Blattergowl, a’ thegither, it passes my judgment.” “Truly, Mrs Griselda,” replied the divine, “Monkbarns was incon­ siderate. He should have ta’en a day to see the invitation, as they do wi’ the titular’s condescendence in the process of valuation and sale.— But the great man could not have come on a suddenty to ony house in this parish where he could have been better served with vivres—that I must say—and also that the steam from the kitchen is very gratifying to

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my nostrils—And if ye have ony household affairs to attend to, Mrs Griselda, never make a stranger of me—I can amuse my leisure very weel with the larger copy of Erskine’s Institutes.” And taking down from the window seat that amusing folio, (the Scottish Coke upon Littleton,) he opened it, as if instinctively, at the tenth title of Book Second, “of Tiends, or Tythes,” and was presently deeply wrapped up in an abstruse discussion concerning the tempor­ ality of benefices. The entertainment, about which Miss Oldbuck expressed so much anxiety, was at length placed upon the table; and the Earl of Glen­ allan, for the first time since the date of his calamity, sat at a stranger’s board surrounded by strangers. He seemed to himself like a man in a dream, or one whose brain was not fully recovered from the effects of an intoxicating poison. Relieved, as he had that morning been, from the image of guilt which had so long haunted his imagination, he felt his sorrows as a lighter and more tolerable load, but was still unable to take any share in the conversation that passed around him. It was, indeed, of a cast very different from that which he had been accus­ tomed to. The bluntness of Oldbuck, the tiresome apologetic har­ angues of his sister, the pedantry of the divine, and the vivacity of the young soldier, which savoured much more of the camp than of the court, were all new to a nobleman who had lived in retired and melan­ choly state for so many years, that the manners of the world seemed to him equally strange and unpleasing. Miss MacIntyre alone, from the natural politeness and unpretending simplicity of her manners, appeared to belong to that class of society to which he had been accustomed in his earlier and better days. Nor did Lord Glenallan’s deportment less surprise the company. Though a plain but excellent family-dinner was provided, (for, as Mr Blattergowl had justly said, it was impossible to surprise Miss Gris­ elda when her larder was empty,) and though the Antiquary boasted his best port, and assimilated it to the Falernum of Horace, Lord Glenallan was proof to the allurements of both. His servant placed before him a small mess of vegetables, that very dish, the cooking of which had alarmed Miss Griselda, arranged with the most minute and scrupulous neatness. He eat sparingly of these provisions; and a glass of pure water, sparkling from the fountain head, completed his repast. Such, his servant said, had been his Lordship’s diet for very many years, unless upon the high festivals of the Church, or when company of the first rank were entertained at Glenallan-house, when he relaxed a little in the austerity of his diet, and permitted himself a glass or two of wine. But at Monkbarns, no anchoret could make a more simple and scanty meal.

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The Antiquary was a gentleman, as we have seen, in feeling, but blunt and careless in expression, from the habit of living with those before whom he had nothing to suppress. He attacked his noble guest without scruple on the severity of his regimen. “A few half-cold greens and potatoes—a glass of ice-cold water to wash them down—antiquity gives no warrant for it, my Lord. This house used to be accounted a hospitium, a place of retreat for Chris­ tians; but your Lordship’s diet is that of a heathen Pythagorean, or Indian Bramin—nay, more severe than either, if you refuse these fine apples.” “I am a Catholic, you are aware,” said Lord Glenallan, wishing to escape from the discussion, “and you know that our church”—— “Lays down many rules of mortification, but I never heard that they were quite so rigorously practised—Bear witness my predecessor, John of the Girnell, or the jolly Abbot, who gave his name to this apple, my Lord.” And as he pared the fruit, in spite of his sister’s “O fie, Monk­ barns,” and the prolonged cough of the minister, accompanied by a shake of his huge wig, the Antiquary proceeded to detail the intrigue which had given rise to the fame of the abbot’s apple with more slyness and circumstantiality than was at all necessary. His jest (as may readily be conceived) missed fire, for this anecdote of conventual gallantry failed to produce the slightest smile on the visage of the Earl. Oldbuck then took up the subject of Ossian, Macpherson, and Mac-Cribb; but Lord Glenallan had never so much as heard of any of the three, so little conversant had he been with modern literature. The conversation was now in some danger of flagging, or of falling into the hands of Mr Blattergowl, who had just pronounced the for­ midable word, “tiend-free,” when the subject of the French Revolu­ tion was started; a political event on which Lord Glenallan looked with all the prejudiced horror of a bigotted Catholic and zealous aristocrat. Oldbuck was far from carrying his detestation of its prin­ ciples so far. “There were many men in the first Constituent Assembly,” he said, “who held sound whiggish doctrines, and were for settling the consti­ tution with a proper provision for the liberties of the people. And if a set of furious madmen were now in possession of the government, it was what often happened in great revolutions, where extreme meas­ ures are adopted in the fury of the moment, and the state resembles an agitated pendulum which swings from side to side for some time ere it can acquire its due and perpendicular station. Or it might be likened to a storm or hurricane, which, passing over a region, does great damage in its passage, yet sweeps away stagnant and unwholesome

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vapours, and repays, in future health and fertility, its immediate des­ olation and ravage.” The Earl shook his head, but having neither spirit nor inclination for debate, suffered the argument to pass uncontested. This discussion served to introduce the young soldier’s profes­ sional experiences; and he spoke of the actions in which he had been engaged with modesty, and, at the same time, with an air of spirit and zeal which delighted the Earl, who had been bred up, like others of his house, in the opinion, that the trade of arms was the first duty of man, and that to employ them against the French was a sort ofholy warfare. “What would I give,” said he apart to Oldbuck, as they rose to join the ladies in the drawing-room, “what would I give to have a son of such spirit as that young gendeman!—He wants something of address and manner, something of polish, which mixing in good society would soon give him—but with what zeal and animation he expresses him­ self—how fond of his profession—how loud in the praise of others— how modest when speaking of himself!” “Hector is much obliged to you, my Lord; I believe in my heart nobody ever spoke half so much good of him before, except perhaps the serjeant of his company, when he was wheedling a Highland recruit to enlist with him. He is a good lad notwithstanding, although he be not quite the hero your Lordship supposes him, and although my commendations rather attend the kindness, than the vivacity of his character. I can assure you, his high spirit is a sort of constitutional vehemence, which attends him in every thing he sets about, and is often very inconvenient to his friends. I saw him to-day engage in an animated contest with a phoca, or seal, (sealgh, our people more pro­ perly call them, retaining the Gothic gutturalgh,) with as much vehe­ mence as if he had fought against Dumourier—marry, my Lord, the phoca had the better, as the said Dumourier had of some other folks. And he’ll talk with equal if not superior rapture of the good behaviour of a pointer bitch, as of the plan of a campaign.” “He shall have full permission to sport over my grounds,” said the Earl, “if he is so fond of that exercise.” “You will bind him to you, my Lord, body and soul; give him leave to crack off his birding-piece at a poor covey of partridges or of moor­ fowl, and he’s yours for ever. I will enchant him by the intelligence. But O, my Lord, that you could have seen my phœnix Lovel!—the very prince and chieftain of the youth of this age; and not destitute of spirit neither—I promise you he gave my termagant kinsman a quidpro quo—a Rowland for his Oliver, as the vulgar say, alluding to the two celebrated Paladins of Charlemagne.” After coffee, Lord Glenallan requested a private interview with the

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Antiquary, and was ushered to his library. “I must withdraw you from your own amiable family,” he said, “to involve you in the perplexities of an unhappy man. You are acquainted with the world, from which I have long been banished; for Glenallanhouse has been to me rather a prison than a dwelling, although a prison which I had neither spirit nor fortitude to break from.” “Let me first ask your Lordship, what are your own wishes and designs in this matter?” “I wish most especially to declare my unhappy marriage, and to vindicate the reputation of the unhappy Eveline; that is, if you see a possibility of doing so without making public the conduct of my mother.” “Suum cuique tribuito” said the Antiquary, “do right to every one. The memory of this unhappy young lady has too long suffered, and I think it might be cleared without further impeaching that of your mother, than by letting it be understood in general that she greatly disapproved and bitterly opposed the match. All—forgive me, my Lord—whoever heard of the late Countess of Glenallan, will learn that much without surprise.” “But you forget one horrible circumstance, Mr Oldbuck.” “I am not aware of it.” “The fate of the infant—its disappearance with the confidential attendant of my mother, and the dreadful surmises which may be drawn from my conversation with Elspeth.” “If you would have my free opinion, my Lord, and will not catch at it too rapidly as matter of hope—I would say, that it is very possible the child yet lives. For this much I ascertained concerning the transac­ tions of that deplorable evening, that a child and woman were carried that night from the cottage at the Craigburnfoot in a carriage and four by your brother Edward Geraldin Neville, whose journey towards England with these companions I traced for several stages. I believed then it was a part of the family compact to carry a child whom you meant to stigmatize with illegitimacy, out of the country, where chance might have raised protectors and proofs of its rights. But I now think that your brother, having reason, like yourself, to believe the child stained with shame yet more indelible than that of mere illegit­ imacy, had nevertheless withdrawn it, partly from regard to the hon­ our of his house, partly from the risk to which it might have been exposed in the neighbourhood of the Lady Glenallan.” As he spoke, the Earl of Glenallan grew deadly pale, and had nearly fallen from his chair. The alarmed Antiquary ran hither and thither looking for remedies; but his museum, though sufficiently well filled with a vast variety of useless matters, contained nothing that could be

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serviceable on that or any other occasion. As he posted out of the room to borrow his sister’s salts, he could not help giving a constitutional growl of chagrin and wonder at the various incidents which had con­ verted his mansion, first into a hospital for a wounded duellist, and now into the sick chamber of a dying nobleman. “And yet,” said he, “I have always kept aloof from the soldiery and the peerage. My cœnobit­ ium has only next to be made a lying-in hospital, and then, I trow, the transformation will be complete.” When he returned with the remedy, Lord Glenallan was much better. The new and unexpected view which Mr Oldbuck had thrown upon the melancholy history of his family had almost overpowered him. “You think then, Mr Oldbuck,—for you are capable of thinking, which I am not,—you think, then, that it is possible—that is, not impossible my child may yet live?” “I think,” said the Antiquary, “it is impossible that it could come to any violent harm through your brother’s means—he was known to be a gay and dissipated man, but not cruel or dishonourable,—nor is it possible, that, if he had intended any foul play, he would have placed himself so forward in the charge of the infant, as I will prove to your Lordship he did.” So saying, Mr Oldbuck opened a drawer of the cabinet of his ancestor, Aldobrand, and produced a bundle of papers tied with a black ribband, and labelled, Examinations &c taken by Jonathan Old­ buckJ.P. upon the 18th. February 17—; a little under was written, ina small hand, Eheu Evelina! The tears dropped fast from the Earl’s eyes, as he endeavoured, in vain, to unfasten the knot which secured these documents. “Your Lordship,” said Mr Oldbuck, “had better not read these at present—agitated, as you are, and having much business before you, you must not exhaust your strength. Your brother’s succession is now, I presume, your own, and it will be easy for you to make enquiry among his servants and retainers, so as to hear where the child is, if, fortunately, it shall be still alive.” “I dare hardly hope it,—why should my brother have been silent to me?” “Nay, my Lord! why should he have communicated to your Lord­ ship the existence of a being, whom you must have supposed the offspring of”—— “Most true—there is an obvious and a kind reason for his being silent. If any, indeed, anything could have added to the horror of the ghastly dream that has poisoned my whole existence, it must have been the knowledge that such a child of misery existed.” “Then—although it would be rash to conclude, at the distance of

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more than twenty years, that your son must needs be still alive, because he was not destroyed in infancy, I own I think you should instantly set on foot enquiries.” “It shall be done,” replied Lord Glenallan—“I will write to a faithful steward of my father, who acted in the same capacity under my brother Neville—but, Mr Oldbuck, I am not my brother’s heir.” “Indeed!—I am sorry for that, my Lord—it is a noble estate, and the ruins of the old castle of Neville’s-Burgh alone, which are the most superb reliques of Anglo-Norman architecture in that part of the country, are a possession much to be coveted. I thought your father had no other son or near relative.” “He had not, Mr Oldbuck,” replied Lord Glenallan; “but my brother adopted views in politics, and a form of religion, alien from those which had been always held by our house. Our tempers had long differed, nor did my unhappy mother always think him sufficiently observant to her. In short, there was a family quarrel, and my brother, whose property was at his own free disposal, availed himself of the power vested in him to chuse a stranger for his heir. It is a matter which never struck me as being of the least consequence; for, if worldly possessions could alleviate misery, I have enough and to spare. But now I shall regret it, if it throws any difficulty in the way of our enquiries—and I bethink me that it may; for, in case of my having a lawful son of my body, and my brother dying without issue, my father’s possessions stood entailed upon my son. It is not, therefore, likely that this heir, be who he may, will afford us assistance in making a discovery which may turn out so much to his own prejudice.” “And in all probability the steward your Lordship mentions is also in his service.” “It is most likely; and the man being a Protestant—how far it is safe to entrust him”—— “I should hope, my Lord, that a Protestant may be as trustworthy as a Catholic. I am doubly interested in the Protestant faith, my Lord. My ancestor, Aldobrand Oldenbuck, printed the celebrated Confes­ sion of Augsburg, as I can shew by the original edition now in this house.” “I have not the least doubt, Mr Oldbuck, nor do I speak out of bigotry or intolerance; but probably the Protestant steward will favour the Protestant heir rather than the Catholic—if, indeed, my son has been bred in his father’s faith—or, alas! if indeed he yet lives.” “We must look close into this,” said Oldbuck, “before committing ourselves; I have a literary friend at York, with whom I have long corresponded on the subject of the Saxon horn that is preserved in the Minster there; we interchanged letters for six years, and have only as

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yet been able to settle the first line of the inscription. I will write forthwith to this gentleman, Dr Dryasdust, and be particular in my enquiries concerning the character, &c. of your brother’s heir, and what else may be likely to further your Lordship’s enquiries. In the meantime your Lordship will collect the evidence of the marriage, which I hope can still be recovered.” “Unquestionably—the witnesses who were formerly withdrawn from your research are still living. My tutor, who solemnized the marriage, was provided for by a living in France, and has lately returned to this country as an emigrant, a victim of his zeal for loyalty, legitimacy, and religion.” “That’s one lucky consequence of the French Revolution, my Lord —you must allow that at least—but no offence, I will act as warmly in your affairs as if I were of your own faith in politics and religion. And take my advice. If you want an affair of consequence properly man­ aged, put it into the hands of an antiquary; for, as they are eternally exercising their genius and research upon trifles, it is impossible they can be baffled in affairs of importance. Use makes perfect and the corps that is most frequently drilled upon the parade will be most prompt in its exercise upon the day of battle.—And, talking upon that subject, I would willingly read to your Lordship, in order to pass away the time betwixt and supper”—— “I beg I may not interfere with family arrangements,” said Lord Glenallan, “but I never taste any thing after sun-set.” “Nor I neither, my Lord, notwithstanding it is said to have been the custom of the ancients—but then I dine differently from your Lord­ ship, and therefore am better enabled to dispense with those elaborate entertainments which my womankind (that is, my sister and niece, my Lord,) are apt to place on the table, for the display rather of their own housewifery than the accommodation of our wants.— However, a broiled bone, or a smoked haddock, or an oyster, or a slice of bacon of our own curing, with a toast and a tankard or something or other of that sort, to close the orifice of the stomach before going to bed, does not fall under my restriction, nor, I hope, under your Lord­ ship’s.” “My no-supper is literal, Mr Oldbuck; but I will attend you at your meal with pleasure.” “Well, my Lord, I will endeavour to entertain your ears at least, since I cannot banquet your palate. What I am about to read to your Lordship relates to the upland glens.” Lord Glenallan, though he would rather have recurred to the sub­ ject of his own uncertainties, was compelled to make a sign of rueful civility and acquiescence.

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The Antiquary, therefore, took out his portfolio of loose sheets, and, after premising that the topographical details here laid down were designed to illustrate a slight essay upon castrametation, which had been read with indulgence at several societies of Antiquaries, he commenced as follows: “The subject, my Lord, is the hill-fort of Quickens-bog, with the site of which your Lordship is doubtless familiar. It is upon your store-farm of Mantanner, in the barony of Clochnaben.” “I think I have heard the names of these places,” said the Earl, in answer to the Antiquary’s appeal. “Heard the name? and the farm brings him six hundred a year—O Lord!” Such was the scarce subdued ejaculation of the Antiquary. But his hospitality got the better of his surprise, and he proceeded to read his essay with an audible voice, in great glee at having secured a patient, and, as he fondly hoped, an interested patient. “Quickens-bog may at first seem to derive its name from the plant Quicken, by which, Scotticé, we understand couch-grass, dog-grass, or the Triticum repens of Linnæus, and the common English monosyl­ lable Bog, by which we mean, in popular language, a marsh or morass; in Latin, Palus. But it may confound the rash adopters of the more obvious etymological derivations, to learn, that the couch-grass or dog-grass, or, to speak scientifically, the triticum repens of Linnæus, does not grow within a quarter of a mile of this castrum or hill-fort, whose ramparts are uniformly clothed instead with short verdant turf; and that we must seek a bog or palus at a still greater distance, the nearest being that of Gird-the-mear, a full half-mile distant. The last syllable, bog, is obviously, therefore, a mere corruption of the Saxon Burgh, which we find in the various transmutations of Burgh, Burrow, Brough, Bruff, Buff, and Boff, which last approaches very near the sound in question—since, supposing the word to have been originally borgh, which is the genuine Saxon spelling, a slight change, such as modern organs too often make upon ancient sounds, will produce first Bogh, and then elisa Hij, or, compromising and sinking the guttural, agreeable to common practice, you have either Boff or Bog as it hap­ pens. The word Quickens requires in like manner to be altered,— decomposed as it were,—and reduced to its original and genuine sound ere we can discern its real meaning. By the ordinary exchange of the Qu into Wh, familiar to the rudest tyro who has opened a book of old Scottish poetry, we gain either Whilkens—or Whichens-borgh— put, we shall suppose, by way of question, as if those who imposed the name, struck with the extreme antiquity of the place, had expressed in it an interrogation, “To whom did this fortress belong?”—Or, it might

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be Whackens-burgh, from the Saxon Whacken, to strike with the hand, as doubtless the skirmishes near a place of such apparent con­ sequence must have legitimated such a derivation,” &c. &c. &c. I will be more merciful to my readers than Oldbuck was to his guest; for, considering his opportunities of gaining patient attention from a person of such consequence as Lord Glenallan were not many, he used, or rather abused, the present even to the uttermost.

Chapter Seven Crabbed age and youth Cannot live together:— Youth is full of pleasaunce, Age is full of care; Youth like summer morn, Age like winter weather; Youth like summer brave, Age like winter bare.

Shakespeare In the morning of the following day, the Antiquary, who was some­ thing of a sluggard, was summoned from his bed a full hour earlier than his custom by Caxon. “What’s the matter now?” he exclaimed, yawning and stretching forth his hand to the huge gold repeater, which, bedded upon his India silk handkerchief, was laid safe by his pillow—“What’s the matter now, Caxon?—it can’t be eight o’clock yet.” “Na, sir,—but my Lord’s man sought me out, for he fancies me your honour’s valley-de-sham,—and sae I am, there’s nae doubt o’t, baith your honour’s and the minister’s—at least ye hae nae other that I ken o’—and I gie a help to Sir Arthur too, but that’s mair in the way o’ my profession.” “Well, well—never mind that—happy is he that is his own valley­ de-sham, as you call it—but why disturb my morning’s rest?” “Ou, sir, the great man’s been up since peep o’ day, and he’s steered the town to get awa’ an express to fetch his carriage, and it will be here briefly, and he wad beg to speak wi’ your honour afore he gaes awa’— and the coach will be here incontinent.” “Gadso! these great men use one’s house and one’s time as if it were their own property. Well, it’s once and away.—Has Jenny come to her senses yet, Caxon?” “Troth, sir, but just middling—she’s been in a swither about the jocolate this morning, and was like to hae teemed it a’ out into the slap-bason, and drank it hersel in her exstacies—but she’s won ower wi’t, wi’ the help o’ Miss MacIntyre.”

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“Then all the womankind are on foot and scrambling, and I must be in my quiet bed no longer, if I would have a well-regulated house— Lend me my gown.—And what are the news at Fairport?” “Ou, sir, what can it be about but this grand news o’ my Lord that hasna been ower the door-stane, they threep to me, for this twenty years—this grand news of him coming to visit your honour!” “Aha!” said Monkbarns, “and what do they say of that, Caxon?” “ ’Deed, sir, they hae various opinions. Thae fallows that are the democraws, as they ca’ them, that are again the king and the law and dressing o’ gentlemen’s hair—a whin blackguards—they say he’s come doun to speak wi’ your honour about bringing doun his hill-lads and Highland tenantry to break up the meetings of the Friends o’ the People—And when I said that your honour never meddled wi’ the like o’ sic things where there was like to be straiks and bloodshed, they said, ifye didna, your nevoy did, and that he was weel ken’d to be a kingsman that wad fight knee-deep, and that ye were the head and that he was the hand, and that the Earl was to bring out the men and the siller.” “Come, I am glad the war is to cost me nothing but counsel.” “Na, na, naebody thinks your honour wad either fight yoursel, or gie ony feck o’ siller to ony side o’ the question.” “Umph! well, that’s the opinion of the democraws, as you call them —What say the rest of Fairport?” “In troth,” said the candid reporter, “I canna say it’s mickle better —Captain Coquet, of the volunteers,—that’s him that’s to be the new collector,—and some of the other gentlemen of the Blue and a’ Blue Club, are just saying it’s no right to let papists, that hae sae mony French friends as the Yerl of Glenallan, gang through the country, and—But your honour will maybe be angry?” “Not I, Caxon,—fire away as if you were Captain Coquet’s whole platoon,—I can stand it.” “Weel, then, they say, sir, that as ye didna discourage the petition about the peace, and wadna petition in favour of the new tax, and as ye were again’ bringing in the yeomanry at the meal mob, but just for settling the folk wi’ the constables—they say ye’re no a gude friend to government; and that thae sort o’ meetings between sic a powerfu’ man as the Yerl, and sic a wise man as you,—odd, they think they suld be lookit after, and some say ye should be baith shankit aff till Edin­ burgh castle.” “On my word,” said the Antiquary, “I am infinitely obliged to my neighbours for their good opinion of me! And so, I, that have never interfered in their bickerings, but to recommend quiet and moderate measures, am given up on both sides as a man very likely to commit high treason, either against King or People?—Give me my coat,

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Caxon,—give me my coat—It’s lucky I live not in their report.—Have you heard any thing of Taffril and his vessel?” Caxon’s countenance fell.—“Na, sir, and the winds hae been high, and this is a fearfu’ coast to cruise in thae easterly gales,—the head­ lands rin out sae far, that a vesshell’s embayed afore I could sharp a razor; and then there’s nae harbour or city of refuge on our coast, a’ craigs and breakers. A vesshell that rins on shore wi’ us flees asinder like the powther when I shake the pluff—and it’s as ill to gather ony o’t again.—I aye tell my daughter thae things when she grows wearied for a letter frae Lieutenant Taffril—It’s aye an apology for him—Ye suldna blame him, says I, hinnie, for ye little ken what may hae hap­ pened.” “Aye, aye, Caxon, thou art as good a comforter as a valet-dechambre.—Give me a white stock, man,—d’ye think I can go down with a handkerchief about my neck when I have company?” “Dear sir, the Captain says a three-nookit hankercher is the maist fashionable owerlay, and that stocks belang clean to your honour and me, that are auld-warld folk.—I beg pardon for mentioning us twa thegither, but it was what he said.” “The Captain’s a puppy, and you are a goose, Caxon.” “It’s very like it may be sae,—I am sure your honour kens best.” Before breakfast, Lord Glenallan, who appeared in better spirits than he had evinced in the former evening, went particularly through the various circumstances of evidence which the exertions of Oldbuck had formerly collected; and pointing out the means which he pos­ sessed of completing the proof of his marriage, expressed his resolu­ tion instantly to go through the painful task of collecting and restoring the evidence concerning the birth of Eveline Neville, which Elspeth had stated to be in his mother’s possession. “And yet, Mr Oldbuck,” he said, “I feel like a man who receives important tidings ere he is yet fully awake, and doubts whether they refer to actual life, or are not rather a continuation of his dream. —This woman,—this Elspeth,—she is in the extremity of age, and approaching in many respects to dotage.—Have I not,—it is a hideous question,—have I not been hasty in the admission of her present evidence, against that which she formerly gave me to a very—very different purpose?” Mr Oldbuck paused a moment, and then answered with firmness— “No, my Lord, I cannot think you have any reason to suspect the truth of what she has told you last, from no apparent impulse but the urgency of conscience. Her confession was voluntary, disinterested, distinct, consistent with itself, and with all the other known circum­ stances of the case. I would lose no time, however, in examining and

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arranging the other documents to which she has referred, and I also think her own statement should be taken down, if possible, in a formal manner. We thought of setting about this together. But it will be a relief to your Lordship, and, moreover, have a more impartial appear­ ance, were I to attempt the investigation alone, in the capacity of a magistrate. I will do this, at least I will attempt it, so soon as I shall see her in a favourable state of mind to undergo an examination.” Lord Glenallan wrung his hand in token of grateful acquiescence. “I cannot express to you,” he said, “Mr Oldbuck, how much your countenance and co-operation in this dark and most melancholy busi­ ness gives me relief and confidence. I cannot enough applaud myself for yielding to the sudden impulse which impelled me, as it were, to drag you into my confidence, and which arose from the experience I had formerly of your firmness, in discharge of your duty as a magis­ trate, and as a friend to the memory of the unfortunate. Whatever the issue of these matters may prove,—and I fain would hope there is a dawn breaking on the fortunes of my house, though I shall not live to enjoy its light,—but whatsoever be the issue, you have laid my family and me under the most lasting obligation.” “My Lord,” answered the Antiquary, “I must necessarily have the greatest respect for your Lordship’s family, which I am well aware is one of the most ancient in Scotland, being certainly derived from Aymer de Geraldin, who sat in parliament at Perth, in the reign of Alexander II., and who, by the less vouched, yet plausible tradition of the country, is said to have been descended from the Marmor of Clochnaben.—But, with all my veneration for your ancient descent, I must acknowledge that I find myself still more bound to give your Lordship what assistance is in my limited power, from sincere sym­ pathy with your sorrows, and detestation at the frauds which have been so long practised upon you.—But, my Lord, the matin meal is, I see, now prepared—Permit me to shew your Lordship the way through the intricacies of my cœnobitium, which is rather a combina­ tion of cells, justled oddly together, and piled one upon the top of the other, than a regular house.—I trust you will make yourself some amends for the spare diet of yesterday.” But this was no part of Lord Glenallan’s system: having saluted the company with the grave and melancholy politeness which distin­ guished his manner, his servant placed before him a slice of toasted bread, with a glass of fair water, being the fare upon which he usually broke his fast. While the morning’s meal of the young soldier and the old Antiquary was dispatched in a much more substantial manner, the noise of wheels was heard. “Your Lordship’s carriage, I believe,” said Oldbuck, stepping to the

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window. “On my word, a handsome Quadriga, for such, according to the best scholium, was the vox signata of the Romans for a chariot which, like that of your Lordship, was drawn by four horses.” “And I will venture to say,” cried Hector, eagerly gazing from the window, “that four handsomer or better-matched bays never were put in harness.—What fine forehands!—what capital chargers they would make!—Might I ask if they are of your Lordship’s own breeding?” “I—I—rather believe so,” said Lord Glenallan; “but I have been so negligent of my domestic matters I am ashamed to say that I must apply to Calvert,” (looking at the domestic.) “They are of your Lordship’s own breeding,” said Calvert, “got by Mad Tom out ofJemima and Yarico, your Lordship’s brood mares.” “Are there more of the set?” said Lord Glenallan. “Two, my Lord,—one rising four, the other five off this grass, both very handsome.” “Then let Dawkins bring them down to Monkbarns to-morrow—I hope Captain MacIntyre will accept them, if they are at all fit for service.” Captain MacIntyre’s eyes sparkled, and he was profuse in grateful acknowledgements; while Oldbuck, on the other hand, seizing the Earl’s sleeve, endeavoured to intercept a present which boded no good to his corn-chest and hay-loft. “My Lord—my Lord—much obliged—much obliged—but Hec­ tor is a pedestrian, and never mounts on horseback in battle—he is a Highland soldier, moreover, and his dress ill adapted for cavalry ser­ vice. Even Macpherson never mounted his ancestors on horseback, though he has the impudence to talk of their being car-borne—And that, my Lord, is what is running in Hector’s head—it is the vehicular, not the equestrian exercise which he envies— Sunt quos curriculo pulverem Olympicum Collegisse juvat.——

His noddle is running on a curricle, which he has neither money to buy, nor skill to drive if he had it—and I assure your Lordship, that the possession of two such quadrupeds would prove a greater scrape than any of his duels, whether with human foe or with my friend the phoca.” “You must command us all at present, Mr Oldbuck,” said the Earl politely, “but I trust you will not ultimately prevent my gratifying my young friend in some way that may afford him pleasure?” “Any thing useful, my Lord, but no curriculum—I protest he might as rationally propose to keep a quadriga at once—And now I think of it, what is that old post-chaise from Fairport come jingling here for?—I did not send for it.”

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“I did, sir,” said Hector rather sulkily, for he was not much gratified by his uncle’s interference to prevent the Earl’s intended generosity, nor particularly inclined to relish either the disparagement which he cast upon his skill as a charioteer, or the mortifying allusion to his bad success in the adventures of the duel and the seal. “You did, sir?” echoed the Antiquary, in answer to his concise information. “And pray, what may be your business with a postchaise?—Is this splendid equipage—this biga, as I may call it—to serve as an introduction for a quadriga or a curriculum?” “Really, sir, if it is necessary to give such a specific explanation, I am going to Fairport on a little business.” “Will you permit me to enquire into the nature of that business, Hector?—I should suppose any regimental affairs might be trans­ acted by your worthy depute the serjeant,—an honest gentleman, who is so good as to make Monkbarns his home since his arrival among us —I should, I say, suppose that he may transact any business of yours, without your spending a day’s pay on two dog-horses, and such a combination of rotten wood, cracked glass, and leather—such a skel­ eton of a post-chaise, as that before the door.” “It is not regimental business, sir, that calls me; and, since you insist upon knowing, I must inform you, Caxon has brought word this morning that old Ochiltree, the beggar, is to be brought up for exam­ ination to-day, previous to his being committed for trial; and I am going to see that the poor old fellow gets fair play—that’s all.” “Aye?—I heard something of this, but could not think it serious. And pray, Captain Hector, that are so ready to be every man’s second on all occasions of strife, civil or military, by land, by water, or on the sea-beach, what is your especial concern with old Edie Ochiltree?” “He was a soldier in my father’s company, sir; and besides, when I was about to do a very foolish thing one day, he interfered to prevent me, and gave me almost as much good advice, sir, as you could have done yourself.” “And with the same good effect, I dare be sworn for it—Eh, Hec­ tor?—Come, confess it was thrown away.” “Indeed it was, sir,—but I see no reason that my folly should make me less grateful for his intended kindness.” “Bravo, Hector! that’s the most sensible thing I ever heard you say —But always tell me your plans without reserve—why, I will go with you myself, man—I am sure the old fellow is not guilty, and I will assist him in such a scrape much more effectually than you can do. Besides, ’twill save thee half-a-guinea, my lad, a consideration which I heartily pray you to have more frequently before your eyes.” Lord Glenallan’s politeness had induced him to turn away and talk

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with the ladies, when the dispute between the uncle and nephew appeared to grow rather too animated to be fit for the ear of a stranger, but the Earl mingled again in the conversation when the placable tone of the Antiquary expressed amity. Having received a brief account of the mendicant, and of the accusation brought against him, which Oldbuck did not hesitate to ascribe to the malice of Dousterswivel, Lord Glenallan asked, whether the individual in question had not been a soldier formerly?—He was answered in the affirmative. “Had he not,” continued his Lordship, “a coarse blue coat, or gown, with a badge?—Was he not a tall, striking-looking old man, with grey beard and hair, who kept his body remarkably erect, and talked with an air of ease and independence, which formed a strong contrast to his profession?” “All this is an exact picture of the man,” returned Oldbuck. “Why, then,” continued Lord Glenallan, “although I fear I can be of no use to him in his present condition, yet as I owe him a debt of gratitude for being the first person who brought me some tidings of the utmost importance, I would willingly offer him a place of comfort­ able retirement, when he is extricated from his present situation.” “I fear, my Lord,” said Oldbuck, “he would have difficulty in reconciling his vagrant habits to the acceptance ofyour bounty, at least I know the experiment has been tried without effect. To beg from the public at large he considers as independence, in comparison to drawing his whole support from the bounty of an individual. He is so far a true philosopher, as to be a contemner of all ordinary rules of hours and times. When he is hungry he eats; when thirsty he drinks; when weary he sleeps; and with such indifference with respect to the means and appliances about which we make a fuss, that, I suppose, he was never ill dined or ill lodged in his life. Then he is, to a certain extent, the oracle of the district through which he travels—their genealogist, their newsman, their master of the revels, their doctor at a pinch, or their divine—I promise you he has too many duties, and is too zealous in performing them, to be easily bribed to abandon his calling. But I should be truly sorry if they sent the poor light-hearted old man to lie for weeks in a jail. I am convinced the confinement would break his heart.” Thus finished the conference. Lord Glenallan having taken leave of the ladies, renewed his offer to Captain MacIntyre of the freedom of his manors for sport, which was joyously accepted. “I can only add,” he said, “that if your spirits are not liable to be damped by dull company, Glenallan-house is at all times open to you —On two days of the week, Friday and Saturday, I keep my apart­ ment, which will be rather a relief to you, as you will be left to enjoy the

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society of my almoner, Mr Gladsmoor, who is a scholar and a man of the world.” Hector, his heart exulting at the thoughts of ranging through the preserve of Glenallan-house, and over the well-protected moors of Clochnaben, made many acknowledgments of the honour and gratit­ ude he felt. Mr Oldbuck was sensible of the Earl’s attention to his nephew; Miss MacIntyre was pleased because her brother was grati­ fied; and Miss Griselda Oldbuck looked forward with glee to the potting of whole game-bags of grouse, of which Mr Blattergowl was a professed admirer. Thus,—which is not always the case when a man of rank leaves a private family,—all were ready to open in praise of the Earl as soon as he had taken his leave, and he was wheeled off in his chariot by the four admired bays. But the panegyric was cut short, for Oldbuck and his nephew deposited themselves in the Fairport hack, which, with one horse trotting, and the other urged to a canter, creaked, jingled, and hobbled towards that celebrated sea-port, in a manner which formed a strong contrast to the smoothness with which Lord Glenallan’s equipage had seemed to vanish from their eyes.

Chapter Eight Yes! I love justice well—as well as you do— But, since the good dame’s blind, she shall excuse me, If, time and reason fitting, I prove dumb;— The breath I utter now shall be no means To take away from me my breath in future.

Old Play

By dint of charity from the town’s-people, in aid of the load of provisions he had brought with him into durance, Edie Ochiltree had passed a day or two’s confinement without much impatience, regret­ ting his want of freedom the less, as the weather proved to be broken and rainy. “The prison,” he said, “was nae sae dooms bad a place as it was ca’d. Ye had aye a good roof ower your head to fend aff the weather, and, if the windows were na glazed, it was the mair airy and pleasant for the simmer season. And there were folk enow to crack wi’, and he had bread eneugh to eat, and what need him fash himsel about the rest o’t.” The courage of our philosophical mendicant began, however, to abate, when the sun-beams shone fair on the rusty bars of his grated dungeon, and a miserable linnet, whose cage some poor debtor had obtained permission to attach to the window, began to greet them with his whistle.

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“Ye’re in better spirits than I am,” said Edie, addressing the bird, “for I can neither whistle nor sing for thinking o’ the bonny burnsides and the green shaws that I should be dandering beside in weather like this.—But hae, there’s some crumbs to ye an ye are sae merry; and troth ye hae some reason to sing an ye kent it, for your cage comes by nae faut o’ your ain, and I may thank mysel that I am closed up in this weary place.” Ochiltree’s soliloquy was disturbed by a peace-officer, who came to summon him to attend the magistrate. So he set forth in awful proces­ sion between two poor old creatures, neither of them so stout as he was himself, to be conducted into the presence of inquisitorial justice. The people, as the aged prisoner was led along by his decrepid guards, exclaimed to each other, “Eh! see sic a grey-haired man as that is, to have committed a highway robbery, wi’ ae fit in the grave!”—And the children congratulated the officers, objects of their alternate dread and sport, Puggie Orrock and Jock Ormston, on having got a prisoner as auld as themselves. Thus marshalled forward, Edie was presented (by no means for the first time) before the worshipful Baillie Littlejohn, who, contrary to what his name expressed, was a tall portly magistrate, on whom cor­ poration crusts had not been conferred in vain. He was a zealous loyalist of that zealous time, somewhat rigorous and peremptory in the execution of his duty, a good deal inflated with the sense of his own power and importance, otherwise an honest, well-meaning, and use­ ful citizen. “Bring him in, bring him in!” he exclaimed; “upon my word these are awful and unnatural times—the very beadsmen and retainers of his majesty are the first to break his laws—Here has been an old bluegown committing robbery! I suppose the next will reward the royal charity, which supplies him with his garb, pension, and begging license, by engaging in high treason, or sedition at least—But bring him in.” Edie made his obeisance, and then stood, as usual, firm and erect, with the side of his face turned a little upward, as if to catch every word which the magistrate might address to him. To the first general questions, which respected only his name and calling, the mendicant answered with readiness and accuracy; but when the magistrate, hav­ ing caused his clerk to take down these particulars, began to enquire whereabout the mendicant was on the night when Dousterswivel met with his misfortune, Edie demurred to the motion. “Can ye tell me nu, Baillie, you that understands the law, what gude will it do me to answer ony o’ your questions?” “Good? no good certainly, my friend, except that giving a true

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account of yourself, if you are innocent, may entitle me to set you at liberty.” “But it seems mair reasonable to me, now, that you, Baillie, or ony body that has ony thing to say again me, should prove my guilt, and no to be bidding me prove my innocence.” “I don’t sit here,” answered the magistrate, “to dispute points of law with you. I ask you, if you chuse to answer my question, whether you were at Ringan Aikwood the forester’s, upon the day I have speci­ fled?” “Really, sir, I dinna feel myself called on to remember.” “Or whether, in the course of that day or night, you saw Steven, or Steenie, Meiklebackit?—you knew him, I suppose?” “O brawlie did I ken Steenie, puir fallow—but I canna condeshend on ony particular time I hae seen him lately.” “Were you at the ruins of St Ruth any time in that evening?” “Baillie Littlejohn,” said the mendicant, “if it be your honour’s pleasure, we’ll cut a lang tale short, and I’ll just tell ye, I am na minded to answer ony o’ thae questions—I am ower auld a traveller to let my tongue bring me into trouble.” “Write down,” said the magistrate, “that he declines to answer all interrogatories, in respect that by telling the truth he might be brought to trouble.” “Na, na,” said Ochiltree, “I’ll no hae that set doun as ony part o’ my answer—but I just meant to say, that, in a’ my memory and practice, I never saw ony gude come o’ answering idle questions.” “Write down, that, being acquainted with judicial interrogations by long practice, and having sustained injury by answering questions put to him on such occasions, he, the declarant, refuses”—— “Na, na, Baillie,” reiterated Edie, “ye are na to come in on me that gate neither.” “Dictate the answer yourself then, friend,” said the magistrate, “and the clerk will take it down from your own mouth.” “Aye, aye,” said Edie, “that’s what I ca’ fair play; I’se do that without loss o’ time.—Sae, neighbour, ye may just write down, that Edie Ochiltree, the declarant, stands up for the liberty—nа, I maunna say that neither—I am nae liberty-boy—I hae fought again them in the riots in Dublin—besides, I have ate the king’s bread mony a day.— Stay, let me see—Aye—write that Edie Ochiltree, the Blue-gown, stands up for the prerogative—(see that ye spell that word right—it’s a lang ane)—for the prerogative of the subjects of the land, and winna answer a single word that sail be asked at him this day, unless he sees a reason for’t.—Put down that, young man.” “Then, Edie, since you will give me no information on the subject, I

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must send you back to prison till you shall be delivered in due course of law.” “Aweel, sir, if it’s Heaven’s will and man’s will, nae doubt I maun submit. I hae nae great objection to the prison, only that a body canna win out o’t; and if it wad please you as weel, Baillie, I wad gie you my word to appear afore the Lords at the Circuit, or in ony other court ye like, on ony day ye are pleased to appoint.” “I rather think, my good friend, your word might be a slender security where your neck may be in some danger. I am apt to think you would suffer the pledge to be forfeited.—If you could give me suffi­ cient bail, indeed”—— At this moment Monkbarns and Captain MacIntyre entered the apartment.—“Good morning to you, gentlemen,” said the magis­ trate; “you find me toiling in my usual vocation—looking after the iniquities of the people—labouring for the respublica, Mr Oldbuck— serving the King our master, Captain MacIntyre,—for I suppose you know I have taken up the sword?” “It is one of the emblems of justice, doubtless,” answered the Antiquary; “but I should have thought the scales would have suited you better, Baillie, especially as you have them ready in the ware­ house.” “Very good, Monkbarns—excellent; but I do not take the sword up as a justice, but as a soldier—indeed I should rather say the musquet and bayonet—there they stand at the elbow of my gouty chair, for I am scarce fit for the drill yet—a slight touch of our old acquaintance podagra—I can keep my feet, however, while our serjeant puts me through the manual. I should like to know, Captain MacIntyre, if he follows the regulations correctly—he brings us but awkwardly to the present” And he hobbled towards his weapon to illustrate his doubts and display his proficiency. “I rejoice we have such zealous defenders, Baillie,” replied Mr Oldbuck; “and I dare say Hector will gratify you by communicating his opinion on your progress in this new calling. Why you rival the Hecaté of the ancients, my good sir—a merchant in the Mart, a magistrate in the Town-house, a soldier in the Links—quid non pro patria? But my business is with the justice; so let commerce and war go slumber.” “Well, my good sir,” said the Baillie, “and what commands have you for me?” “Why, here is an old acquaintance of mine, called Edie Ochiltree, whom some of your myrmidons have mewed up in jail, on account of an alleged assault on that fellow Dousterswivel, of whose accusation I do not believe one word.”

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The magistrate here assumed a very grave countenance. “You ought to have been informed that he is accused of robbery, as well as assault; a very serious matter indeed—it is not often such criminals come under my cognizance.” “And,” replied Oldbuck, “you are tenacious of the opportunity of making the very most of such as occur. But is this poor old man’s case really so very bad?” “It is rather out of rule,” said the Baillie; “but as you are in the commission, Monkbarns, I have no hesitation to shew you Douster­ swivel’s declaration, and the rest of the precognition.” And he put the papers into the Antiquary’s hands, who assumed his spectacles, and sate down in a corner to peruse them. The officers in the mean time had directions to remove their prisoner into another apartment; but before they could do so, Mac­ Intyre took an opportunity to greet old Edie, and to slip a guinea into his hand. “Lord bless your honour,” said the old man; “it’s a young soldier’s gift, and it should surely thrive wi’ an auld ane. I’se no refuse it, though it’s beyond my rules; for if they steek me up here, my friends are like eneugh to forget me—out o’ sight out o’ mind’s a true proverb —And it wad na be creditable for me, that am the King’s beadsman, and entitled to beg by word of mouth, to be fishing for bawbees out at the jail window wi’ the fit o’ a stocking and a string.” As he made this observation he was conducted out of the apartment. Mr Dousterswivel’s declaration contained an exaggerated account of the violence he had sustained, and also of his loss. “But what I should have liked to have asked him,” said Monkbarns, “would have been his purpose in frequenting the ruins of St Ruth, so lonely a place at such an hour, and with such a companion as Edie Ochiltree. There is no road lies that way, and I do not conceive a mere passion for the picturesque would carry the German thither in such a night of storm and wind. Depend upon it he has been about some roguery, and, in all probability, hath been caught in a trap of his own setting—Nec lex justior ulia,”— The magistrate allowed there was something mysterious in that circumstance, and apologized for not pressing Dousterswivel, as his declaration was voluntarily emitted. But for the support of the main charge, he shewed the declaration of the Aikwoods concerning the state in which Dousterswivel was found, and establishing the import­ ant fact, that the mendicant had left the barn in which he was quar­ tered, and did not return to it again. Two people belonging to the Fairport undertaker, who had that night been employed in attending the funeral of Lady Glenallan, had also given declarations, that, being

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sent to pursue two suspicious persons who left the ruins of St Ruth as the funeral came up, and who, it was supposed, might have been pillaging some of the ornaments prepared for the ceremony, they had lost and regained sight of them more than once, owing to the nature of the ground, which was unfavourable for riding, but had at length fairly lodged them both in Meiklebackit’s cottage. And one of the men added, that “he, the declarant, having dismounted from his horse, and gone close up to the window of the hut, he saw the old Blue-gown and young Steenie Meiklebackit with others eating and drinking in the inside, and also observed the said Steenie Meiklebackit shew a pocket-book to the others; and declarant has no doubt that Ochiltree and Steenie Meiklebackit were the persons whom he and his comrade had pursued, as above mentioned.” And being interrogated why he did not enter the said cottage, declares that he had no warrant to do so; and that as Meiklebackit and his family were understood to be rough-handed folk, he, the declarant, had no desire to meddle or make with their affairs. Causa scientiæ patet. All which he declares to be truth, &c. “What do you say to that body of evidence against your friend?” said the magistrate, when he had observed the Antiquary had turned the last leaf. “Why, were it in the case of any other person, I own, I should say it looked, prima facie, a little ugly. But I cannot allow any body to be in the wrong for beating Dousterswivel—Had I been an hour younger, or had but one single flash of your warlike genius, Baillie, I should have done it myself long ago—He is nebulo nebulonum, an impudent, fraudulent, mendacious quack, that has cost me a hundred pounds by his roguery; and my neighbour, Sir Arthur, God knows how much— And besides, Baillie, I do not hold him to be a sound friend to govern­ ment.” “Indeed?” said Baillie Littlejohn; “if I thought so, that would alter the question considerably.” “Right; for, in beating him, the beadsman must have shewn his gratitude to the king by thumping his enemy; and in robbing him, he would only have plundered an Egyptian, whose wealth it is lawful to spoil. Now, suppose this interview in the ruins of St Ruth had relation to politics,—and this story of hidden treasure, and so forth, was a bribe from the other side of the water for some great man, or the funds destined to maintain a seditious club?” “My dear sir, you hit my very thoughts! How fortunate should I be if I could become the humble means of sifting such a matter to the bottom!—Don’t you think we had better call out the volunteers, and put them on duty?”

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“Not just yet, while podagra deprives them of an essential member of their body.—But will you let me examine Ochiltree?” “Certainly; but you’ll make nothing of him. He gave me distinctly to understand he knew the danger of a judicial declaration on the part of an accused person, which, to say the truth, has hanged many an honester man than he is.” “Well, but, Baillie,” continued Oldbuck, “you have no objection to let me try him?” “None in the world, Monkbarns,—I hear the serjeant below.—I’ll rehearse the manual in the meanwhile—Baby, carry my gun and bayonet down to the room below—it makes less noise there when we ground arms.”—And so exit the martial magistrate, with his maid behind him bearing his weapons. “A good squire that wench for a gouty champion,” observed Old­ buck.—“Hector, my lad, hook on, hook on—Go with him, boy—keep him employed, man, for half an hour or so—butter him with some warlike terms—praise his dress and address.” Captain MacIntyre, who, like many of his profession, looked down with infinite scorn on those citizen soldiers, who had assumed arms without any professional title to bear them, rose with great reluctance, observing, that he should not know what to say to Mr Littlejohn; and that to see an old gouty shopkeeper attempting the exercise and duties of a private soldier, was really too ridiculous. “It may be so, Hector,” said the Antiquary, who seldom agreed with any body in the immediate proposition which they laid down,—“it may possibly be so in this and some other instances; but at present the country resembles the suitors in a small-debt court, who plead them­ selves for want of money to retain counsel as our people must fight in person, for lack of cash to retain enough of your professed heroes of the sword. I am sure in the one case we never regret the acuteness and eloquence of the lawyers; and so, I hope, in the other, we may manage to make shift with our hearts and muskets, though we shall lack some of the discipline of your martinets.” “I have no objection, I am sure, sir, that the whole world should fight if they please, if they will but allow me to be quiet,” said Hector, rising with dogged reluctance. “Yes, you are a very quiet personage, indeed; whose ardour for quarrelling cannot pass so much as a poor phoca sleeping upon the beach!” But Hector, who saw which way the conversation was tending, and hated all allusions to the foil he had sustained from the seal, made his escape before the Antiquary concluded the sentence.

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Chapter Nine Well, well, at worst ʼtis neither theft nor coinage, Granting that I knew all you charge me with. What, tho’ the tomb hath born a second birth, And given the wealth to one that knew not on’t, Yet fair exchange was never robbery, Far less pure bounty–—

Old Play

The Antiquary, in order to avail himself of the permission given him to question the accused party, chose rather to go to the apartment in which Ochiltree was detained, than to make the examination appear formal, by bringing him again into the magistrate’s office. He found the old man seated by a window which looked out on the sea; and as he gazed on that prospect, large tears found their way, as if uncon­ sciously, to his eye, and from thence trickled down his cheeks and white beard. His features were, nevertheless, calm and composed, and his whole posture and mien indicated patience and resignation. Oldbuck had approached him without being observed, and roused him out of his musing, by saying kindly, “I am sorry, Edie, to see you so much cast down about this matter.” The mendicant started, dried his eyes very hastily with the sleeve of his gown, and, endeavouring to recover his usual tone of indifference and jocularity, answered, but with a voice more tremulous than usual, “I might weel hae judged, Monkbarns, it was you, or the like o’ you, was coming in to disturb me—for it’s ae great advantage o’ prisons and courts o’ justice, that ye may greet your een out an ye like, and nane o’ the folk that’s concerned about them will ever ask you what it’s for!” “Well, Edie,” replied Oldbuck, “I hope your present cause of dis­ tress is not so bad but it may be removed.” “And I hoped, Monkbarns,” answered the mendicant in a tone of reproach, “ye had ken’d me better than to think that this bit trifling trouble o’ my ain wad bring tears into my auld een, that hae seen far different kind o’ distress—Na, na!—But here’s been the puir lass, Caxon’s daughter, seeking comfort, and has gotten unco little— there’s been nae speerings o’ Taffril’s gun-brig since the last gale; and folk report on the key that a king’s ship has struck on the Reef of Rattray, and a’ hands lost—God forbid! for as sure as you live, Monk­ barns, the puir lad Lovel, that ye likit sae weel, must have perished.” “God forbid indeed!” echoed the Antiquary,—“I would rather Monkbarns house were on fire! My poor dear friend and coadjutor! —I will down to the key instantly.”

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“I am sure ye’ll learn naething mair than I hae tauld ye, sir,” said Ochiltree, “for the officer-folk here were very civil, (that is, for the like o’ them,) and lookit up a’ their letters and authorities, and could throw nae light on’t either ae way or another.” “It can’t be true—it shall not be true,” said the Antiquary, “and I won’t believe it if it were—Taffril’s an excellent seaman—And Lovel (my poor Lovel!) has all the qualities of a safe and pleasant compan­ ion by land or by sea—One, Edie, whom, from the ingenuousness of his disposition, I would chuse, did I ever go a sea voyage, (which I never do, unless across the ferry,) fragilem mecum solverephaselum, to be the companion of my risk, as one against whom the elements could nourish no vengeance—no, Edie, it is not, and cannot be true—It is a fiction of the idle jade Rumour, whom I wish hanged with her trumpet about her neck, that serves only with its screech-owl tones to fright honest folks out of their senses.—Let me know how you got into this scrape of your own.” “Are ye axing me as a magistrate, Monkbarns, or is it just for your ain satisfaction?” “For my own satisfaction solely,” replied the Antiquary. “Put up your pocket-book and your kylevine pen then, for I downa speak out an’ ye hae writing materials in your hands—they’re a scaur to unlearned folk like me—odd, ane o’ the clerks in the neist room will clink down, in black and white, as mickle as wad hang a man, before ane kens what he’s saying.” Monkbarns complied with the old man’s humour, and put up his memorandum-book. Edie then went with great frankness through the part of the story already known to the reader, informing the Antiquary of the scene which he had witnessed between Dousterswivel and his patron in the ruins of St Ruth, and frankly confessing that he could not resist the opportunity of decoying the adept once more to visit the tomb of Misticot, with the purpose of taking a comic revenge upon him for his quackery. He had easily persuaded Steenie, who was a bold thoughtless young fellow, to engage in the frolic along with him, and the jest had been inadvertently carried a great deal farther than he designed. Concerning the pocket-book, he explained that he had expressed his surprise and sorrow whenever he found it had been inadvertently brought off; and that publicly, before all the inmates of the cottage, Steenie had undertaken to return it the next day, and had only been prevented by his untimely fate. The Antiquary pondered a moment, and then said, “Your account seems very probable, Edie, and I believe it from what I know of the parties—But I think it likely that you know a great deal more than you

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have thought it proper to tell me, about this matter of the treasuretrove—I suspect you have acted the part of the Lar Familiaris in Plautus—a sort of Brownie, Edie, to speak to your comprehension, who watched over hidden treasures.—I do bethink me you were the first person we met when Sir Arthur made his successful attack upon Misticot’s grave, and also that when the labourers began to flag, you, Edie, were again the first to leap into the trench, and to make the discovery of the treasure. Now you must explain all this to me, unless you would have me use you as ill as Euclio does Staphyla in the Aulularia.” “Lordsake, sir, what do I ken about your Howlowlaria?—it’s mair like a dog’s language than a man’s.” “You knew, however, of that box of treasure being there?” con­ tinued Oldbuck. “Dear, sir, what likelihood is there o’ that? d’ye think sae puir an auld creature as me wad hae ken’d o’ sic a like thing without getting some gude out o’t?—and ye wot weel I sought nane and gat nane, like Michael Scott’s man. What concern could I hae wi’t?” “That’s just what I want you to explain to me,” said Oldbuck, “for I am positive ye knew it was there.” “Your honour is a positive man, Monkbarns—and, for a positive man, I must needs allow ye are often in the right.” “You allow, then, that my belief is well-founded?” Edie nodded acquiescence. “Then please to explain to me the whole affair from beginning to end,” said the Antiquary. “If it were a secret o’ mine, Monkbarns,” replied the beggar, “ye suldna ask twice, for I hae aye said ahint your back, that, for a’ the nonsense maggots that ye whiles take into your head, ye are the maist wise and discreet o’ a’ our country gentles. But I’se e’en be open-hearted wi’ you, and tell you, that this is a friend’s secret, and that they suld draw me wi’ wild horses, or saw me asunder, as they did the children of Ammon, sooner than I would speak a word mair about the matter, excepting this, that there was na ill intended, but muckle gude, and that the purpose was to serve them that are worth twenty hundred o’ me. But there’s nae law, I trow, that maks it a sin to ken where ither folks’ siller is, if we dinna pit hand till’t oursel.” Oldbuck walked once or twice up and down the room in profound thought, endeavouring to find out some plausible reason for transac­ tions of a nature so mysterious, but his ingenuity was totally at fault. He then placed himself before the prisoner. “This story of yours, friend Edie, is an absolute enigma, and would

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require a second (Edipus to solve it—Who (Edipus was, I will tell you some other time if you will remind me—However, whether it be owing to the wisdom or to the maggots with which you compliment me, I am strongly disposed to believe that you have spoken the truth, the rather, that you have not made any of these obtestations of the superior powers, which I observe you and your comrades always make use of when you mean to deceive folks.” (Here Edie could not sup­ press a smile.) “If, therefore, you will answer me one question, I will endeavour to procure your liberation.” “If ye will let me hear the question,” said Edie, with the caution of a canny Scotchman, “I’ll tell you if I will answer it or no.” “It is simply,” said the Antiquary, “Did Dousterswivel know any thing about the concealment of the chest o’ bullion?” “He! the ill-fa’ard loon!” answered Edie, “there wad hae been little speerings o’t had Dustansnivel ken’d it was there—it wad hae been butter in the black dog’s hause.” “I thought as much,” said Oldbuck. “Well, Edie, if I procure your freedom, you must keep your day, and appear to clear me of the bailbond, for these are not times for prudent men to incur forfeitures. Unless you can point out another Aulam auri plenam quadrilibrem— another Search Number I.” “Ah!” said the beggar, shaking his head, “I doubt the bird’s flown that laid thae gowden eggs—for I winna ca’ him goose, though that’s the gait it stands in the story-buick—But I’ll keep my day, Monkbarns, ye’se no lose a penny by me—And troth I wad fain be out again, now the weather’s fine, and than I hae the best chance o’ hearing the first news o’ my friends.” “Well, Edie, the bouncing and thumping beneath has somewhat ceased—I presume Baillie Littlejohn has dismissed his military pre­ ceptor, and is retired from the labours of Mars to those of Themis—I will have some conversation with him—But I cannot and will not believe any thing of these wretched news you were telling me.” “God send your honour be right,” said the mendicant, as Oldbuck left the room. The Antiquary found the magistrate exhausted with the fatigues of the drill, reposing in his gouty chair, humming the air, “How merrily live we that soldiers be,” and between each bar comforting himself with a spoonful of mock-turtle soup. He instantly ordered a similar refreshment for Oldbuck, who declined it, observing, that not being a military man, he did not feel entitled to break his habit of keeping regular hours for meals—“Soldiers like you, Baillie, must snatch their food as they find means and time. But I am sorry to hear ill news of young Taffril’s brig.”

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“Ah, poor fellow!—he was a credit to the town—much distin­ guished on the first ofJune.” “But,” said Oldbuck, “I am shocked to hear you talk of him in the preterite tense.” “In the what?” said the Baillie—“it was not in the Thames the accident is said to have happened but on the Rattray reef of rocks, about twenty miles to the norward, near Dirtenalan Bay—I have sent to enquire about it—and your nephew run out himself as if he had been flying to get the Gazette of a victory.” Here Hector entered, exclaiming as he came in, “I believe it’s all a damned lie—I can’t find the least authority for it, but general rumour.” “And, pray, Mr Hector,” said his uncle, “if it had been true, whose fault would it have been that Lovel was on board?” “Not mine, I am sure,” answered Hector; “it would have been only my misfortune.” “Indeed!” said his uncle, “I should not have thought of that.” “Why, sir, with all your inclination to find me in the wrong, I suppose you will own my intention was not to blame in this case. I did my best to hit Lovel, and, if I had been successful, ’tis clear my scrape would have been his, and his scrape would have been mine.” “And whom or what do you intend to hit now, that you are lugging with you that leathern magazine there, marked gunpowder?” “I must be prepared for Lord Glenallan’s moors on the twelfth, sir,” said MacIntyre. “Ah, Hector! thy great chasse, as the French call it, would take place best— Omne cum Proteus pecus agitaret Visere montes–—

Could you meet but with a phoca instead of an unwarlike heath-bird.” “The devil take the seal, sir, or phoca, if you chuse to call it so—it’s rather hard one never can hear the end of a little piece of folly like that.” “Well, well,” said Oldbuck, “I am glad you have the grace to be ashamed of it.—As I detest the whole race of Nimrods, I wish them all as well matched—Nay, never start off at a jest, man—I have done with the phoca—though, I dare say, the Baillie could tell us the value of seal-skins just now.” “They are up,” said the magistrate, “they are well up—the fishing has been unsuccessful lately.” “We can bear witness to that,” said the tormenting Antiquary, who was delighted with the hank this incident had given him over the young sportsman; “one word more, Hector, and

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We’ll hang a seal-skin on thy recreant limbs!

Aha! my boy—come, never mind it, I must go to business—Baillie, a word with you—You must take bail—moderate bail—you understand —for old Ochiltree’s appearance.” “You don’t consider what you ask,” said the Baillie, “the offence is assault and robbery.” “Hush! not a word about it,” said the Antiquary, “I gave you a hint before—I will possess you more fully hereafter—I promise you there is a secret.” “But, Mr Oldbuck, if the state is concerned, I, who do the whole drudgery of justice business here, really have a title to be consulted, and until I am”–— “Hush! hush!” said the Antiquary, winking and putting his finger to his nose,—“you shall have the full credit; the entire management whenever matters are ripe. But this is an obstinate old fellow, who will not hear of two people being as yet let into his mystery, and he has not yet fully acquainted me with the clew to Dousterswivel’s devices.” “Aha! so we must tip that fellow the alien act, I suppose.” “To say truth, I wish you would.” “Say no more,” said the magistrate, “it shall forthwith be done; he shall be removed tanquam suspect—I think that’s one of your own phrases, Monkbarns.” “It is classical, Baillie—you improve.” “Why, public business has of late pressed upon me so much, that I have been obliged to take my foreman into partnership.—I have had two several correspondences with the Under Secretary of State; one on the proposed tax on Riga hemp-seed, and the other on putting down the political societies. So you might as well communicate with me as much as you know of this old fellow’s discovery of a plot against the state.” “I will, instantly, when I am master of it—I hate the trouble of managing such matters myself—Remember, however, I did not say decidedly a plot against the state; I only say, I hope to discover by this man’s means a foul plot.” “If it be a plot at all, there must be treason in it, or sedition at the least—Will you bail him for four hundred merks ?” “Four hundred merks for an old Blue-gown!—Think on the Act seventeen hundred and one regulating bail-bonds!—Strike off a cypher from the sum—I am content to bail him for forty merks.” “Well, Mr Oldbuck, every body in Fairport is always willing to oblige you—and besides, I know that you are a prudent man, and one that would be as unwilling to lose forty, as four hundred merks. So I

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will accept your bail—meo periculo—What say you to that law phrase again?—I had it from a learned counsel.—I will vouch it, my Lord, he said, meo periculo.” “And I will vouch for Edie Ochiltree, meo periculo, in like manner,” said Oldbuck. “So let your clerk draw out the bail-bond, and I will sign it.” When this ceremony had been performed, the Antiquary commun­ icated to Edie the joyful tidings that he was once more at liberty, and directed him to make the best of his way to Monkbarns-house, to which he himself returned with his nephew, after having perfected this good work.

Chapter Ten Full of wise saws, and modern instances.

As You Like It

“I wish to Heaven, Hector,” said the Antiquary, next morning after breakfast, “you would spare our nerves, and not keep snapping that arquebuss of yours.” “Well, sir, I’m sure I’m sorry to disturb you; but it’s a capital piece; it’s a Joe Manton, that cost forty guineas.” “A fool and his money is soon parted, nephew; I am glad you have so many guineas to throw away.” “Every one has their fancy, uncle,—you are fond of books.” “Aye, Hector, and if my collection was yours, you would make it fly to the gunsmith, the horse-market, the dog-breaker,—Coemptos undique nobiles libros—mutare loricis Iberis.” “I could not use your books, my dear uncle, that’s true; and you will do well to provide for their being in better hands—but don’t let the faults of my head fall on my heart—I would not part with a Cordery that had belonged to an old friend, to get a set of horses like Lord Glenallan’s.” “I don’t think you would, lad, I don’t think you would. I love to teaze you a little sometimes; it keeps up the spirit of discipline and habit of subjugation—you will pass your time happily here having me to command you, instead of‘Captain, or Colonel, or Knight in Arms,’ as Milton has it; and instead of the French, the Gens humida ponti—for as Virgil says, Sternunt se somno diversæ in littore phocæ,

which might be thus rendered, Here phocæ slumber on the beach, Within our Highland Hector’s reach.

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Nay, if you grow angry I have done.—Besides, I see old Edie in the court-yard, with whom I have business. Good-bye, Hector—Do you remember how she splashed into the sea like her master Proteus, etse jactu dedit æquor in altum?” MacIntyre,—waiting, however, till the door was shut,—gave then way to the natural impatience of his temper. “My uncle is the best man in the world, and in his way the kindest; but rather than hear any more about that cursed phoca, as he’s pleased to call it, I would exchange for the West Indies and never see his face again.” Miss MacIntyre, gratefully attached to her uncle, and passionately fond of her brother, was, on such occasions, the usual envoy of recon­ ciliation. She hastened to meet her uncle on his return, before he entered the parlour. “Well, now, Miss Womankind, what is the meaning of that implor­ ing countenance?—has Juno done any more mischief?” “No, uncle; but Juno’s master is in such fear of your joking him about the seal—I assure you, he feels it much more than you would wish—it’s very silly of him to be sure; but then you can trim every body so well”–— “Well, my dear, I will rein in my satire, and, if possible, speak no more of the phoca—I will not even speak of sealing a letter, but say umph, and give a nod to you when I want the wax-light—I am not monitoribus asper, but, Heaven knows, the most mild, quiet, and easy of human beings, whom sister, niece, and nephew, guide just as best pleases them.” With this little panegyric on his own docility, Mr Oldbuck entered the parlour, and proposed to his nephew a walk to the Mussel-crag. “I have some questions to ask at a woman at Meiklebackit’s cottage,” he observed, “and I would willingly have a sensible witness with me—so, for fault of a better, Hector, I must be contented with you.” “There is old Edie, sir, or Caxon—could not they do better than me?” “Upon my word, young man, you turn me over to pretty compan­ ions, and I am quite sensible of your politeness—No, sir, I intend the old Blue-gown shall go with me—not as a competent witness, for he is at present, as our friend Baillie Littlejohn says, (blessings on his learning!) tanquam suspectus, and his evidence could at best be received cum nota while you are omni suspicione major, as our law has it.” “I wish I were a major, sir,” said Hector, catching only the last, and, to a soldier’s ear, the most impressive word in the sentence,—“but, without money or interest, there is little chance of getting the step.”

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“Well, well, most doughty son of Priam,” said the Antiquary, “be ruled by your friends, and there’s no saying what may happen. Come away with me, and you shall see what may be useful to you should you ever sit upon a court-martial.” “I have been on many a regimental court-martial, sir,” answered Captain MacIntyre.—“But here’s a new cane for you.” “Much obliged, much obliged.” “I bought it from our drum-major, who came into our regiment from the Bengal army when it came down the Red Sea. It was cut on the banks of the Indus, I assure you.” “Upon my word, ’tis a fine rattan, and well replaces that which the ph–—Bah! what was I going to say?” The party, consisting of the Antiquary, his nephew, and the old beggar, now took the sands towards Mussel-crag,—the former in the very highest mood of communicating information, and the others, under a sense of former obligation, and some hope for future favours, decently attentive to receive it. The uncle and nephew walked to­ gether, the mendicant about a step and a half behind, just near enough for his patron to speak to him by a slight inclination of his neck, and without the trouble of turning round. Petrie, in his Essay on Good-breeding, dedicated to the magistrates of Edinburgh, upon his own experience, as tutor in a family of distinction, recommends this attitude to all led captains, tutors, dependants, and bottle-holders of every description. Thus escorted, the Antiquary moved along, full of his learning, like a lordly man of war, and every now and then yawing to starboard and larboard to discharge a broadside upon his followers. “And so it is your opinion,” said he to the mendicant, “that this windfall—this arca auri, as Plautus has it, will not greatly avail Sir Arthur in his necessities?” “Unless he could find ten times as much,” said the beggar, “and that I am sair doubtful of—I heard Puggie Orrock, and the tother thief of a sheriff-officer, or messenger, speaking about it—and things are ill aff when the like o’ them can speak crousely about ony gentleman’s affairs. I doubt Sir Arthur will be in stane wa’s for debt, unless there’s swift help and certain.” “You speak like a fool,” said the Antiquary.—“Nephew, it is a remarkable thing, that in this happy country no man can be legally imprisoned for debt.” “Indeed, sir?” said MacIntyre, “I never knew that before—that part of our law would suit some of our mess well.” “And if they are na confined for debt,” said Ochiltree, “what is’t that tempts sae mony puir creatures to bide in the tolbooth o’ Fairport

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yonder?—they a’ say they were put there by their creditors—God! they maun like it better than I do if they stay there o’ free will.” “A very natural observation, Edie, and many of your betters would make the same, but it is founded entirely upon ignorance of the feudal system.—Hector, be so good as to attend, unless you are looking out for another–—Ahem! (Hector compelled himself to give attention at this hint.) And you, Edie, it may be useful to you, rerum cognoscere causas. The nature and origin of warrant for caption are a thing haud alienum a Scævolæ studiis. You must know then once more, that nobody can be arrested in Scotland for debt.” I hae nа mickle concern wi’ that, Monkbarns,” said the old man, “for naebody wad trust a bodle to a gaberlunzie.” “I prithee peace, man—As a compulsitor, therefore, of payment,— that being a thing to which no debtor is naturally inclined, as I have too much reason to warrant from the experience I have had with my own, —we had first the letters of four forms, a sort of gentle invitation, by which our sovereign lord the king, interesting himself as a monarch, should, in the regulation of his subjects’ private affairs, at first by mild exhortation, and afterwards by letters of more strict enjoinment and more hard compulsion–—What do you see at that bird, Hector?— it’s but a sea-maw.” “It’s a pictarnie, sir,” said Edie. “Well, what an’ if it were—what does that signify at present?—But I see you’re impatient; so I will waive the letters of four forms, and come to the modern process of diligence.—You suppose, now, a man’s committed to prison because he cannot pay his debt?—Quite otherwise—the truth is, the king is so good as to interfere at the request of the creditor, and to send the debtor his royal command to do him justice within a certain time—fifteen days, or six, as the case may be. Well, the man resists and disobeys—what follows?—Why, that he is lawfully and rightfully declared a rebel to our gracious sovereign, whose command he has disobeyed, and that by three blasts of a horn at the market-place of Edinburgh, the metropolis of Scot­ land. And is then legally imprisoned, not on account of any civil debt, but because of his ungrateful contempt of the royal mandate. What say you to that, Hector?—there’s something you never knew before.” “No, uncle; but, I own, if I wanted money to pay my debts, I would rather have thanked the king to send me some, than to declare me a rebel for not doing what I could not do.” “Your education has not led you to consider these things,” replied his uncle; “you are incapable of estimating the elegance of the legal fiction, and the manner in which it reconciles that duress, which, for the protection of commerce, it has been found necessary to extend

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towards refractory debtors, with the most scrupulous attention to the liberty of the subject.” “I don’t know, sir; but if a man must pay his debt or go to jail, it signifies but little whether he goes as a debtor or a rebel, I should think. But you say this command of the king’s gives a license of so many days—now, egad, were I in the scrape, I would beat a march and leave the king and the creditor to settle it among themselves before they came to extremities.” “So wad I,” said Edie, “I wad gie them leg-bail to a certainty.” “True; but those whom the law suspects ofbeing unwilling to abide her formal visit, she proceeds with by means of a shorter and more unceremonious call, as dealing with persons on whom patience and favour would be utterly thrown away.” “Aye,” said Ochiltree, “that will be what they ca’ the fugie-warrants —I hae some skeel o’ them—there’s Border-warrants too in the south country, unco rash uncanny things—I was anes ta’en up on ane at Saint James’s Fair, and keepit in the auld kirk at Kelso die haill day and night; and a cauld goustie place it was, I’se assure ye.—But whatna wife’s this, wi’ her creel on her back?—it’s puir Maggie hersel, I’m thinking.” It was so. The poor woman’s sense of her loss, if not diminished, was become at least mitigated by the inevitable necessity of attending to the means of supporting her family, and her salutation to Oldbuck was made in an odd mixture, between the usual language of solicita­ tion with which she plied her customers, and her tone of lamentation for her recent calamity. “How’s a’ wi’ ye the day, Monkbarns?—I havena had the heart yet to come down to thank your honour for the grace ye did poor Steenie, wi’ laying his head in a rathe grave, puir fallow.”—Here she whim­ pered and wiped her eyes with the corner of her blue apron.—“But the fishings come on no that ill, though the gudeman hasna had the heart to gang to sea himsel—atweel I wad fain tell him it wad do him gude to put hand to wark—but I’m maist feared to speak to him—and it’s an unco thing to hear ane o’ us speak that gate o’ a man—however, I hae some dainty caller haddies, and they sall be but three shillings the dozen, for I have na pith to drive a bargain e’enow, and maun just take what ony Christian body will gie, wi’ few words and nae flyting.” “What shall we do, Hector?” said Oldbuck, pausing; “I got into disgrace with my womankind for making a bad bargain with her before. These maritime animals, Hector, are unlucky to our family.” “Pooh, sir, what would you do?—give poor Maggie what she asks, or allow me to send a dish of fish up to Monkbarns.” And he held out the money to her; but Maggie drew back her hand.

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“Na, na, Captain; ye’re ower young and ower free o’ your siller—ye should never tak a fish-wife’s first bode, and troth I think maybe a flyte wi’ the auld housekeeper at Monkbarns, or Miss Grizzel, wad do me some gude—and I want to see what that hellicat quean Jenny Rintherout’s doing—folk said she wasna weel—She’ll be vexing hersel about Steenie, the silly tawpie, as if he wad ever hae lookit ower his shouther at the like o’ her!—Weel, Monkbarns, they’re braw caller haddies, and they’ll bid me unco little indeed at the house if ye want crappit heads the day.” And so on she paced with her burthen, grief, gratitude for the sympathy of her betters, and the habitual love of traffic and of gain, chasing each other through her thoughts. “And now that we are before the door of their hut,” said Ochiltree, “I wad fain ken, Monkbarns, what has gar’d you plague yoursel wi’ me a’ this length? I tell ye sincerely I hae nae pleasure in ganging in there. I downa bide to think how the young hae fa’an on a’ sides o’ me, and left me an useless auld stump wi’ hardly a green leaf on’t.” “This old woman,” said Oldbuck, “sent you on a message to the Earl of Glenallan, did she not?” “Aye!” said the surprised mendicant, “how ken ye that sae weel?” “Lord Glenallan told me himself; so there is no delation—no breach of trust on your part—and as he wishes me to take her evidence down on some important family matters, I chose to bring you with me, because in her situation, hovering between dotage and consciousness, it is possible that your voice and appearance may awaken trains of recollection which I should otherwise have no means of exciting.— The human mind—what are you about, Hector?” “I was only whistling for the dog, sir; she always roves too wide—I knew I should be troublesome to you.” “Not at all, not at all—the human mind is to be treated like a skein of ravelled silk, where you must cautiously secure one free end before you can make any progress in disentangling it.” “I ken naething about that,” said the gaberlunzie; “but an’ my auld acquaintance be hersel, or ony thing like hersel, she may come to wind us a’ a pirn. It’s fearsome baith to see and hear her when she wamp­ ishes about her arms, and gets to her English, and speaks as if she were a prent book let be an auld fisher’s wife. But, indeed, she had a grand education, and was mickle ta’en out afore she married an unco bit beneath hersel. She’s aulder than me by half a score years—but I mind weel aneugh they made as muckle wark about her making a halfmerk marriage wi’ Simon Meiklebackit, this Saunders’s father, as if she had been ane o’ the gentry. But she got into favour again, and than she lost it again, as I hae heard her son say, when he was a muckle

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chield; and than they got mickle siller, and left the Countess’s land and settled here. But things never throve wi’ them. Howsomever, she’s a weel-educate woman, and an’ she win to her English, as I hae heard her do at an orra time, she may come to fickle us a’.”

Chapter Eleven Life ebbs from such old age, unmark’d and silent, As the slow neap-tide leaves yon stranded galley.— Late she rock’d merrily at the least impulse That wind or wave could give; but now her keel Is settling on the sand, her mast hath ta’en An angle with the sky, from which it shifts not. Each wave receding shakes her less and less, Till, bedded on the strand, she shall remain Useless as motionless.

Old Play

As the Antiquary lifted the latch of the hut, he was surprised to hear the shrill tremulous voice of Elspeth chaunting forth an old ballad in a wild and doleful recitative:— “The herring loves the merry moon-light, The mackerel loves the wind, But the oyster loves the dredging sang, For they come of a gentle kind.”

A diligent collector of these legendary scraps of ancient poetry, his foot refused to cross the threshold when his ear was thus arrested, and his hand instinctively took pencil and memorandum-book. From time to time the old woman spoke as if to the children—“O aye, hinnies, whisht, whisht! and I’se begin a bonnier ane than that— Now haud your tongue, baith wife and carle, And listen great and sma’, And I will sing of Glenallan’s Earl That fought on the red Harlaw.

The cronach’s cried on Bennachie, And doun the Don and a’, And Hieland and Lawland may mournfu’ be For the sair field of Harlaw.–—

I dinna mind the neist verse weel—my memory’s sair failed, and there’s unco thoughts come ower me—God keep us frae temptation!” Here her voice sunk in indistinct muttering. “It’s a historical ballad,” said Oldbuck eagerly,—“a genuine and undoubted fragment of minstrelsy!—Percy would admire its simpli­ city—Ritson could not impugn its authenticity.” “Aye, but it is a sad thing,” said Ochiltree, “to see human nature sae

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far owerta’en as to be skirling at auld sangs on the back of a loss like her’s.” “Hush, hush!” said the Antiquary,—“she has gotten the thread of the story again.”—And as he spoke, she sung, “They saddled a hundred milk-white steeds, They hae bridled a hundred black, With a chafron of steel on each horse’s head, And a good knight upon his back.”–—

“Chafron!” exclaimed the Antiquary,—“equivalent, perhaps, to cheveron—the word’s worth a dollar,”—and down it went in his red book. “They hadna ridden a mile, a mile, A mile, but barely ten, When Donald came branking down the brae Wi’ twenty thousand men. Their tartans they were waving wide, Their glaives were glancing clear, The pibrochs rung frae side to side, Would deafen ye to hear.

The great Earl in his stirrups stood That Highland host to see: ‘Now here a knight that’s stout and good May prove a jeopardie:

‘What would’st thou do, my squire so gay, That rides beside my reyne, Were ye Glenallan’s Earl the day, And I were Roland Cheyne?’

‘To turn the rein were shame and sin, To fight were wond’rous peril, What would ye do now, Roland Cheyne, Were ye Glenallan’s Earl?’

Ye maun ken, hinnies, that this Roland Cheyne, for as poor and auld as I sit in the chimlay-nook, was my forbear, and an awfu’ man he was that day in the fight, but specially after the Earl had fa’an; for he blamed himsel for the counsel he gave, to fight before Mar came up wi’ Mearns, and Aberdeen, and Angus.” Her voice rose and became more animated as she recited the warlike counsel of her ancestor: “ ‘Were I Glenallan’s Earl this tide, And ye were Roland Cheyne, The spur should be in my horse’s side, And the bridle upon his mane.

‘If they hae twenty thousand blades, And we twice ten times ten,

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Yet they hae but their tartan plaids, And we are mail-clad men.

‘My horse shall ride through ranks sae rude, As through the moorland fern, Then ne’er let the gentle Norman blude Grow cauld for Hieland kerne.’ ”

“Do ye hear that, nephew?” said Oldbuck; “you observe your Gaelic ancestors were not held in high respect formerly by the Low­ land warriors.” “I hear,” said Hector, “a silly old woman sing a silly old song. I am surprised, sir, that you, who will not listen to Ossian’s songs of Selma, can be pleased with such trash; I vow, I have not seen or heard a worse halfpenny ballad; I don’t believe you could match it in any pedlar’s pack in the country. I should be ashamed to think that the honour of the Highlands could be affected by such doggrel.”—And, tossing up his head, he snuffed the air indignantly. Apparently the old woman heard the sound of their voices; for, ceasing her song, she called out, “Come in, sirs, come in—good-will never halted at the door-stane.” They entered, and found, to their surprise, Elspeth, alone, sitting “ghastly in the hearth!” like the personification of Old Age in the Hunter’s song of the Owl,* “wrinkled, tattered, vile, dim-eyed, dis­ coloured, torpid.” “They are a’ out,” she said, as they entered; “but, an’ ye will sit a blink, somebody will be in. If ye hae business wi’ my gude-daughter, or my son, they’ll be in belive,—I never speak on business mysel.— Bairns, gie them seats—the bairns are gane out, I trow,”—looking round her,—“I was crooning to keep them quiet a wee while since; but they hae cruppin out some gate—Sit down, sirs, they’ll be in belive;”and she dismissed her spindle from her hand to twirl upon the floor, and soon seemed exclusively occupied in regulating its motion, as unconscious of the presence of strangers as she appeared indiffer­ ent to their rank or business there. “I wish,” said Oldbuck, “she would resume that canticle, or legend­ ary fragment—I always suspected there was a skirmish of cavalry before the main battle of the Harlaw.” “If your honour pleases,” said Edie, “had ye not better proceed to the business that brought us a’ here? I’se engage to get ye the sang ony time.” “I believe you are right, Edie—Do manus—I submit. But how shall we manage? She sits there, the very image of dotage—speak to her, *See Mrs Grant on the Highland Superstitions, vol. ii, p.260, for this fine translation from the Gaelic.

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Edie—try if you can make her recollect having sent you to Glenallanhouse.” Edie rose accordingly, and crossing the floor, placed himself in the same position which he had occupied during his former conversation with her. “I’m fain to see ye looking sae weel, cummer, the mair, that the black ox has tramped on ye since I was aneath your roof-tree.” “Aye,” said Elspeth; but rather from a general idea of misfortune, than any exact recollection of what had happened,—“there has been distress amang us o’ late—I wonder how younger folk bide it—I bide it ill—I canna hear the wind whistle, and the sea roar, but I think I see the coble whomled keel up, and some o’ them struggling in the waws! —Eh, sirs, sic weary dreams as folk hae between sleeping and waking, before they win to the lang sleep and the sound!—I could amaist think whiles, my son, or else Steenie, my oe, was dead, and that I had seen the burial. Isna that a queer dream for a daft auld carline? what for should ony o’ them dee before me?—it’s out o’ the course o’ nature, ye ken.” “I think you’ll make very little of this stupid old woman,” said Hector; who still nourished, perhaps, some feelings of the dislike excited by the disparaging mention of his countrymen in her lay—“I think you’ll make but little of her, sir; and it’s wasting our time to sit here and listen to her drivelling dotage.” “Hector,” said the Antiquary indignantly, “if you do not respect her misfortunes, respect at least her old age and grey hairs,—this is that last stage of existence so finely treated by the Latin poet: ————Omni

Membrorum damno major dementia, quæ nec Nomina servorum, nec vultum agnoscit amici, Cum quo preterita cœnavit nocte, nec illos Quos genuit, quos eduxit”—–

“That’s Latin,” said Elspeth, rousing herself as if she attended to the lines which the Antiquary recited with great pomp of diction,— “That’s Latin,” and she cast a wild glance around her—“Has there a priest fund me out at last?” “You see, nephew, her comprehension is almost equal to your own of that fine passage.” “I hope you think, sir, that I knew it to be Latin as well as she did, not but as a country gentleman I would be glad of an explanation.” “You shall have, in the words of a great moralist,” said Oldbuck, “and remark how well it applies to the melancholy scene before you— although quite inferior to that grand –—omni Membrorum damno major dementia—

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But stay, she is about to speak.” “I will have no priest—none,” said the beldame with impotent vehe­ mence,—“as I have lived I will die—none shall say that I betrayed my mistress, though it were to save my soul.” “That bespoke a foul conscience,” said the mendicant; “I wuss she wad mak a clean breast an’ it were but for her ain sake,” and he again assailed her. “Weel, gudewife, I did your errand to the Yerl.” “To what Earl? I ken nae Earl—I ken’d a Countess anes—I wish to heaven I had never ken’d her! for by that acquaintance, neighbour, there came,”—and she counted her withered fingers as she spoke— “first, pride, then malice, then revenge, then false witness, and mur­ ther tirl’d at the door-pin if he came na ben—And were na thae pleasant guests, think ye, to take up their quarters in ae wicked woman’s heart? I trow there was routh o’ company.” “But, cummer, it wasna the Countess of Glenallan I meant, but her son, him that was Lord Geraldin.” “I mind it now,” she said; “I saw him no that lang syne, and we had heavy speech thegither.—Eh, sirs, the comely young lord is turned as auld and frail as I am—it’s muckle that sorrow and heart-break, and crossing of true love, will do wi’ young blood. But suldna his mither hae lookit to that hersel?—we were but to do her bidding, ye ken. I am sure there’s naebody can blame me—he was na my son, and she was my mistress—Ye ken how the rhyme says—I hae maist forgotten how to sing, or else the tune’s left my auld head: He turn’d him right and round again, Said, scorn na at my mither; Light loves I may get топу a ane, But minnie ne’er anither.

Then he was but of the half blude, ye ken, and her’s was the right Glenallan after a’. Na, па, I maun never mane doing and suffering for the Countess Joscelin. Never will I mane for that.” Then drawing the flax from her distaff, with the dogged air of one who is resolved to confess nothing, she resumed her interrupted occupation. “I hae heard,” said the mendicant, taking his cue from what Old­ buck had told him of the family history, “I hae heard, cummer, that some ill tongue suld hae come between the Earl, that’s Lord Geraldin, and his young bride.” “Ill tongue?” she said, in hasty alarm, “and what had she to fear frae an ill tongue?—she was gude and fair aneugh—at least a’ body said sae—But had she keeped her ain tongue aff ither folk, she might hae been living like a leddy for a’ that’s come and gane yet.”

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“But I hae heard say, gudewife, there was a clatter in the country, that her husband and her were ower sibb when they married.” “Wha durst speak o’ that?” said the old woman hastily; “Wha durst say they were married?—Wha ken’d o’ that?—not the Countess—not I—if they wedded in secret they were severed in secret—They drank of the fountains of their ain deceit.” “No, wretched beldame,” exclaimed Oldbuck, who could keep silence no longer, “they drank the poison that you and your wicked mistress prepared for them.” “Ha, ha!” she replied, “I aye thought it would come to this—it’s but sitting silent when they examine me—there’s nae torture in our days —and if there is, let them rend me!—It’s ill o’ the vassal’s mouth that betrays the bread it eats.” “Speak to her, Edie,” said the Antiquary, “she knows your voice, and answers to it most readily.” “We shall mak naething mair out o’ her,” said Ochiltree. “When she has clinkit hersel down that way, and faulded her arms, she winna speak a word, they say, for weeks thegither. And besides, to my think­ ing, her face is sair changed since we came in. However, I’se try her anes mair to satisfy your honour.—So ye canna keep in mind, cummer, that your auld mistress, the Countess Joscelin, has been removed?” “Removed!” she exclaimed; for that name never failed to produce its usual effects upon her, “then we maun a’ follow. A’ maun ride when she is in the saddle—tell them to let Lord Geraldin ken we’re on before them—bring my hood and scarf—ye wadna hae me gang in the carriage wi’ my leddy, and my hair in this fashion.” She raised her shrivelled arms, and seemed busied like a woman who puts on her cloak to go abroad, then dropped them slowly and stiffly; and, this same idea of a journey still floating apparently through her head, she proceeded in a hurried and interrupted man­ ner,—“Call Miss Neville—what do you mean by Lady Geraldin? I said Eveline Neville—not Lady Geraldin—there’s no Lady Geraldin —tell her that, and bid her change her wet gown, and no’ look sae pale —bairn! what should she do wi’ a bairn?—maidens hae nane, I trow —Teresa—Teresa—my Lady calls us!—bring a candle, the grand staircase is as mirk as a Yule midnight—we are coming, my Lady!” With these words she sunk back on the settle, and from thence side­ long to the floor. Edie ran to support her, but hardly got her in his arms, before he said, “It’s a’ ower—She has passed away even wi’ that last word.” “Impossible,” said Oldbuck, hastily advancing, as did his nephew. But nothing was more certain. She had expired with the last hurried

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word that left her lips, and all that remained before them, were the mortal reliques of the creature who had so long struggled with an internal sense of concealed guilt, joined to all the distresses of age and poverty. “God grant she be gane to a better place,” said Edie, as he looked on the lifeless body; “but, oh! there was something lying hard and heavy at her heart. I have seen mony ane die, baith in the field o’ battle and a fair strae death at hame; but I wad rather see them a’ ower again, as sic a fearfu’ flitting as hers.” “We must call in the neighbours,” said Oldbuck, when he had somewhat recovered his horror and astonishment, “and give warning of this additional calamity—I wish she could have been brought to confession. And, though of far less consequence, I could have wished to transcribe that metrical fragment. But Heaven’s will must be done!” They left the hut accordingly, and gave the alarm in the hamlet, whose matrons instantly assembled to compose the limbs and arrange the body of her who might be considered as the mother of their settlement. Oldbuck promised his assistance for the funeral. “Your honour,” said Alison Breck, who was next in age to the deceased, “suld send doun something to us for keeping up our hearts at the lyke-wake, for a’ Saunders’s gin, puir man, was drucken out at the burial o’ Steenie, and we’ll no get mony to sit dry-lipped aside the corpse. Elspeth was unco clever in her young days, as I can mind right weel, but there was aye a word o’ her no being that chancy—Ane suldna speak ill o’ the dead—mair by token, o’ ane’s cummer and neighbour—but there was queer things said about a leddy and a bairn or she left the Craigburnfoot. And sae, in gude troth, it will be a puir lyke-wake, unless your honour sends us something to keep us cracking.” “You shall have some whisky,” answered Oldbuck, “the rather that you have preserved the proper word for that ancient custom of watch­ ing the dead.—You observe, Hector, this is genuine Teutonic, from the Gothic Leichnam, a corpse. It is quite erroneously called Latewake, though Brand favours that modern corruption and derivation.” “I believe,” said Hector to himself, “my uncle would give away Monkbarns to any one who would come to ask it in genuine Saxon! Not a drop of whisky would the old creatures have gotten, had their president asked it for the use of the Late-wake.” While Oldbuck was giving some further directions, and promising assistance, a servant of Sir Arthur’s came riding very hard along the sands, and stopped his horse when he saw the Antiquary. “There had something,” he said, “very particular happened at the castle,” (he

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could not, or would not, explain what,) “and Miss Wardour had sent him off express to Monkbarns, to beg Mr Oldbuck would come to them without a moment’s delay.” “I am afraid,” said the Antiquary, “his course also is drawing to a close—What can I do?” “Do, sir?” exclaimed Hector with his characteristic impatience,— “get on the horse, and turn his head homeward—you will be at Knockwinnock castle in ten minutes.” “He’s quite a free goer,” said the servant, dismounting to adjust the girths and stirrups,—“he only pulls a little if he feels a dead weight on him.” “I should be soon a dead weight off him, my friend,” said the Antiquary.—“What the devil, nephew, are you weary of me? or do you suppose me weary of my life, that I should get on the back of such a Bucephalus as that?—No, no, my friend, if I am to be at Knockwin­ nock today, it must be by walking quietly forward on my own feet, which I will do with as little delay as possible. Captain MacIntyre may ride that animal himself, if he pleases.” “I have little hope I could be of any use, uncle, but I cannot think of their distress without wishing to shew sympathy at least—so I will ride on before, and announce to them that you are coming.—I’ll trouble you for your spurs, my friend.” “You will scarce need them, sir,” said the man, taking them off at the same time, and buckling them upon Captain MacIntyre’s heels, “he’s very frank to the road.” Oldbuck stood astonished at this last act of temerity. “Are you mad, Hector?” he said, “or have you forgotten what is said by Quintus Curtius, with whom, as a soldier, you must needs be familiar, Nobilis equus umbra quidem virgæ regitur; ignavus ne calcari quidem excitari potest, which plainly shews that spurs are useless in every case, and, I may add, dangerous in most.” But Hector, who cared little for the opinion either of Quintus Curtius, or of the Antiquary, upon such a topic, only answered with a heedless “Never fear, never fear, sir.” With that he gave his able horse the head, And, bending forward, struck his armed heels Against the panting sides of his poor jade, Up to the rowel-head; and starting so, He seemed in running to devour the way, Staying no longer question.—

“There they go, well matched,” said Oldbuck, looking after them as they started,—“a mad horse and a wild boy, the two most unruly creatures in Christendom; and all to get half an hour sooner to a place

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where nobody wants him. For I doubt Sir Arthur’s griefs are beyond the cure of our light horseman. It must be the villain Dousterswivel, for whom Sir Arthur has done so much; for I cannot help observing, that, with some natures, Tacitus’s maxim holdeth good: Beneficia eo usque læta sunt dum videntur exsolvi posse; ubi multum antevenere, pro gratia odium redditur—From which a wise man might write a caution, not to oblige any man beyond the degree in which he may expect to be requited, lest he should make his debtor a bankrupt in gratitude.” Murmuring to himself such scraps of cynical philosophy, our Anti­ quary paced the sands towards Knockwinnock; but it is necessary we should somewhat outstrip him, for the purpose of explaining the reason of his being so anxiously summoned thither.

Chapter Twelve So, while the Goose, of whom the fable told, Incumbent, brooded o’er her eggs of gold, With hand outstretch’d, impatient to destroy, Stole on her secret nest the cruel Boy, Whose gripe rapacious changed her splendid dream, —For wings vain fluttering, and for dying scream. The Loves ofthe Sea-weeds

From the time that Sir Arthur Wardour had become possessor of the treasure found in Misticot’s grave, he had been in a state of mind more resembling ecstacy than sober sense. Indeed, at one time his daughter had become seriously apprehensive for his intellects; for, as he had no doubt that he had the secret of possessing himself of wealth to an unbounded extent, his language and carriage were those of a man who had acquired the philosopher’s stone. He talked of buying contiguous estates, that would have led him from one side of the island to the other, as if he was determined to brook no neighbour, save the sea. He corresponded with an architect of eminence, upon a plan of renovat­ ing the castle of his forefathers, in a style of extended magnificence that might have rivalled that of Windsor, and laying out the grounds on a suitable scale. Troops of liveried menials were already, in fancy, marshalled in his halls, and—for what may not unbounded wealth authorize its possessor to aspire to?—the coronet of a marquis, per­ haps of a duke, was glittering before his imagination.—His daughter —to what matches might she not look forward?—Even an alliance with the blood-royal was not beyond the sphere of his hopes.—His son was already a general—and he himself whatever ambition could dream of in its wildest visions. In this mood, if any one endeavoured to bring Sir Arthur down to

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the regions of common life, his replies were in the vein of Ancient Pistol: A fico for the world, and worldlings base! I speak of Africa and golden joys!

The reader may conceive the amazement of Miss Wardour, when, instead of undergoing an interrogation concerning the addresses of Lovel, as she had expected from the long conference of her father with Mr Oldbuck, upon the morning of the fated day when the treasure was discovered, the conversation of Sir Arthur announced an imagination heated with the hopes of possessing the most unbounded wealth. But she was yet more seriously alarmed when Dousterswivel was sent for to the castle—and was closeted with her father—his mishap condoled with—his part taken, and his loss compensated.—All the suspicions which she had long entertained respecting this man became strengthened, by observing his pains to keep up the golden dreams of her father, and to secure for himself, under various pretexts, as much as was possible out of the windfall which had so strangely fallen to Sir Arthur’s share. Other evil symptoms began to appear, following close on each other. Letters arrived by every post, which Sir Arthur, as soon as he had looked at the direction, flung into the fire without taking the trouble to open them. Miss Wardour could not help suspecting that these epistles, the contents of which seemed to be known to her father by a sort of intuition, came from pressing creditors. In the meanwhile, the temporary aid which he had received from the treasure, dwindled fast away. By far the greater part had been swallowed up by the necessity of paying the bill of six hundred pounds, which had threat­ ened Sir Arthur with instant distress. Of the rest, some part was given to the adept, some wasted upon extravagancies which seemed to the poor knight fully authorized by his full-blown hopes,—and some went to stop for a time the mouths of such claimants, who, being weary of fair promises, had become of opinion with Harpagon, that it was necessary to touch something substantial. At length circumstances announced but too plainly, that it was all expended within two or three days after its discovery, and there appeared no prospect of a supply. Sir Arthur, naturally impatient, now taxed Dousterswivel anew with breach of these promises, through which he had hoped to turn all his lead to gold. But that worthy gentleman’s turn was now served; and as he had grace enough to wish to avoid witnessing the fall of the house which he had undermined, he was at the trouble of bestowing a few learned terms of art upon Sir Arthur, that at least he might not be tormented before his time. He took leave of him, with assurances that he would return to Knockwinnock the next morning, with such

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information as would not fail to relieve Sir Arthur from all his dis­ tresses. “For, since I have consulted on such matters, I ave never,” said Mr Herman Dousterswivel, “approached so near de arcanum, what you call de great mystery,—de Panchresta—de Polychresta—I do know as much of it as Velasco de Taranta, or Basilius—And either I will bring you in two and tree days de No. II. of Mr Mishdigoat, or you shall call me one knave myself, and never look me in de face again no more at all.” The adept departed with this assurance, in the firm resolution of making good the latter part of the proposition, and never again appearing before his injured patron. Sir Arthur remained in a doubt­ ful and anxious state of mind. The positive assurances of the philo­ sopher, with the hard words Panchresta, Basilius, and so forth, produced some effect on his mind. But he had been too often deluded by such jargon to be absolutely relieved of his doubt, and he retired for the evening in his library, in the fearful state of one who, hanging over a precipice and without the means of retreat, perceives the stone on which he rests gradually parting from the rest of the crag, and about to give way with him. The visions of hope decayed, and there increased in proportion that feverish agony of anticipation, with which a man, educated in a sense of consequence, and possessed of opulence,—the supporter of an ancient name, and the father of two promising children,—foresaw the hour approaching which should deprive him of all the splendour which time had made familiarly necessary to him, and send him forth into the world to struggle with poverty, with rapacity, and with scorn. Under these dire forebodings, his temper, exhausted by the sickness of delayed hope, became peevish and fretful, and his words and actions sometimes expressed a reckless desperation, which alarmed Miss Wardour extremely. We have seen, on a former occasion, that Sir Arthur was a man of passions lively and quick, in proportion to the weakness of his character in other respects; he was unused to contra­ diction, and if he had been hitherto, in general, good-humoured and cheerful, it was probably because the course of his life had afforded no such frequent provocation as to render his irritability habitual. On the third morning after Dousterswivel’s departure, the servant, as usual, laid on the breakfast table the newspaper and letters of the day. Miss Wardour took up the former to avoid the continued illhumour of her father, who had wrought himself into a violent passion because the toast was over-browned. “I perceive how it is,” was his concluding speech on this interesting subject,—“my servants, who have had their share of my fortune,

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begin to think there is little to be made of me in future. But while I am the scoundrels’ master I will be so, and permit no neglect—no, nor endure a hair’s-breadth diminution of the respect I am entitled to exact from them.” “I am ready to leave your honour’s service this instant,” said the domestic upon whom the fault had been charged, “as soon as you order payment of my wages.” Sir Arthur, as if stung by a serpent, thrust his hand into his pocket, and instantly drew out the money which it contained, but which was short of the man’s claim. “What money have you got, Miss Wardour?” he said, in a tone of affected calmness, but which concealed violent agitation. Miss Wardour, suppressing her feelings of anxiety, gave him her purse—he attempted to count the bank-notes which it contained, but could not reckon them—after twice miscounting the sum, he threw the whole to his daughter, and saying in a stern voice, “Pay the rascal, and let him leave the house instantly!” he strode out of the room. The mistress and servant stood alike astonished at the agitation and vehemence of his manner. “I am sure, ma’am, if I had thought I was particularly wrang, I wadna hae made ony answer when Sir Arthur challenged me—I hae been lang in his service, and he has been a kind master, and you a kind mistress, and I wad like ill ye should think I wad start for a hasty word —I am sure it was very wrang o’ me to speak about wages to his honour, when maybe he has something to vex him. I had nae thoughts o’ leaving the family in this way.” “Go down stairs, Robert,” said his mistress—“something has hap­ pened to fret my father—go down stairs, and let Alick answer the bell.” When the man left the room, Sir Arthur re-entered, as if he had been watching his departure. “What’s the meaning of this?” he said hastily, as he observed the notes lying still on the table—“Is he not gone? Am I neither to be obeyed as a master or a father?” “He is gone to give up his charge to the housekeeper, sir,—I thought there was not such instant haste.” “There is haste, Miss Wardour,” answered her father, interrupting her;—“What I do henceforth in the house of my forefathers, must be done speedily, or never.” He then sate down, and took up with a trembling hand the bason of tea prepared for him, protracting the swallowing of it, as if to delay the necessity of opening the post-letters which lay on the table, and which he eyed from time to time, as if they had been a nest of adders ready to start into life and spring upon him.

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“You will be happy to hear,” said Miss Wardour, willing to with­ draw her father’s mind from the gloomy reflections in which he appeared to be plunged, “you will be happy to hear, sir, that Lieuten­ ant Taffril’s gun-brig has got safe into Leith Roads—I observe there had been apprehensions for her safety—I am glad we did not hear them till they were contradicted.” “And what is Taffril and his gun-brig to me?” “Sir?” said Miss Wardour in astonishment; for Sir Arthur, in his ordinary state of mind, took a fidgetty sort of interest in all the gossip of the day and country. “I say,” repeated he, in a higher and still more impatient key, “what do I care who is saved or lost?—it’s nothing to me, I suppose?” “I did not know you were busy, Sir Arthur; and thought, as Mr Taffril is a brave man, and from our own country, you would be happy to hear”—— “O, I am happy—as happy as possible—and, to make you happy too, you shall have some of my good news in return.” And he caught up a letter. “It does not signify which I open first—they are all to the same tune.” He broke the seal hastily, run the letter over, and then threw it to his daughter—“Aye; I could not have lighted more happily!—that puts on the cope-stone.” Miss Wardour, in silent terror, took up the letter. “Read it. Read it aloud!” said her father; “it cannot be heard too often; it will serve to break you in for other good news of the same kind.” She began to read with a faultering voice, “Dear Sir.” “He dears me too, you see—this impudent drudge of a writer’s office, who, a twelvemonth since, was not fit company for my second table—I suppose I shall be dear Knight with him by and by.” “Dear Sir,” resumed Miss Wardour; but, interrupting herself, “I see the contents are unpleasant, sir—it will only vex you my reading them aloud.” “If you will allow me to know my own pleasure, Miss Wardour, I entreat you to go on—I presume, if it were unnecessary, I would not ask you to take the trouble.” “Having been of late taken into copartnery,” continued Miss War­ dour, reading the letter, “by Mr Gilbert Greenhorn, son of your late correspondent and man of business, Girnigo Greenhorn, Esq. Writer to the Signet, whose business I conducted as parliament-house clerk for many years, which business will in future be carried on under the firm of Greenhorn and Grinderson, (which I memorandum for the

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sake of accuracy in addressing your future letters,) and having had of late favours of yours, directed to my aforesaid partner, Gilbert Green­ horn, in consequence of his absence at the Lamberton races, have the honour to reply to your said favours.” “You see my friend is methodical, and commences by explaining the causes which have procured me so modest and elegant a corres­ pondent—Go on—I can bear it.” And he laughed that bitter laugh which is perhaps the most fearful expression of mental misery. Trembling to proceed, and yet afraid to disobey, Miss Wardour continued to read: “I am, for myself and partner, sorry we cannot oblige you by looking out for the sums you mention, or applying for a suspension in the case of Goldiebird’s bond, which would be more inconsistent, as we have been employed to act as the said Goldiebird’s procurators and attor­ nies, in which capacity we have taken out a charge of horning against you, as you must be aware by the schedule left by the messenger, for the sum of four thousand seven hundred and fifty-six pounds five shillings and sixpennies one-fourth of a penny sterling, which, with annual rent and expences effeiring, we presume will be settled, during the currency of the charge, to prevent further trouble. Same time, I am under the necessity to observe our own accompt, amounting to seven hundred and sixty-nine pounds ten shillings and sixpence, is also due, and settlement would be agreeable; but as we hold your rights, titledeeds, and documents in hypothec, shall have no objection to give reasonable time—say till the next money term. I am, for myself and partner, concerned that Mr Goldiebird’s instructions to us are to proceed peremptorie and sine mora, of which I have the pleasure to advise you to prevent future mistakes, reserving to ourselves otherwise to agé as accords. I am, for self and partner, dear sir, your obliged humble servant, Gabriel Grinderson, for Greenhorn and Grinderson.”

“Ungrateful villain,” said Miss Wardour. “Why, no; it’s in the usual rule, I suppose; the blow could not have been perfect if dealt by another hand—it’s all just as it should be,” answered the poor Baronet, his affected composure sorely belied by his quivering lip and rolling eye—“But here’s a postscript I did not notice—come, finish the epistle.” “P.S. I have to add, (not for self but partner) that Mr Greenhorn will accommodate you by taking your service of plate, or the bay horses, if sound in wind and limb, at a fair appreciation, in part payment of your accompt.”

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“G—d confound him,” said Sir Arthur, losing all command of himself at this condescending proposal; “his grandfather shod my father’s horses, and this descendant of a scoundrelly blacksmith proposes to swindle me out of mine! But I will write him a proper answer.” And he sate down and began to write with great vehemence, then stopped and read aloud, “Mr Gilbert Greenhorn, in answer to two letters of a late date, I received a letter from a person calling himself Grinderson, and designing himself as your partner. When I address any one, I do not usually expect to be answered by deputy—I think I have been useful to your father, and friendly and civil to yourself, and therefore am now surprised—And yet,” said he, stopping short, “why should I be surprised at that or any thing else—or why should I take up my time in writing to such a scoundrel—I sha’n’t be always kept in prison, I suppose, and to break that puppy’s bones when I get out will be my first employment.” “In prison, sir?” said Miss Wardour faintly. “Aye, in prison, to be sure. Do you make any question about that ?— Why, Mr what’s his name’s fine letter for self and partner seems to be thrown away on you, or else you have got four thousand so many hundred pounds with the due proportion of shillings, pence, and half­ pence, to pay that aforesaid demand, as he calls it.” “I, Sir?—O if I had the means!—But where is my brother?—Why does he not come, and so long in Scotland?—He might do something to assist us.” “Who, Reginald?—I suppose he’s gone with Mr Gilbert Green­ horn, or some such respectable person, to the Lamberton races—I have expected him this week past—but I cannot wonder that my children should neglect me as well as every other person. But I should beg your pardon, my love, who never either neglected or offended me in your life.” And kissing her cheek as she threw her arms round his neck, he experienced that consolation which a parent feels even in the most distressed state, in the assurance that he possesses the affections of a child. Miss Wardour took the advantage of this revulsion of feeling to endeavour to sooth her father’s mind to composure. She reminded him that he had many friends. “I had many once,” said Sir Arthur; “but of some I have exhausted their kindness with my frantic projects—others are unable to assist me —others are unwilling—it is all over with me—I only hope Reginald will take example by my folly.” “Should I not send to Monkbarns, sir?” said his daughter.

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“To what purpose? He cannot lend me such a sum, and would not if he could, for he knows I am otherwise drowned in debt; and he would only give me scraps of misanthropy and quaint ends of Latin.” “But he is shrewd and sensible, and was bred to business, and, I am sure, always loved this family.” “Yes; I believe he did—it is a fine pass we are come to, when the affection of an Oldbuck is of consequence to a Wardour!—But when matters come to extremity, as I suppose they presently will—it may be as well to send for him.—And now go take your walk, my dear—my mind is more composed than when I had this cursed disclosure to make.—You know the worst, and may daily or hourly expect it. Go take your walk—I would willingly be alone for a little while.” When Miss Wardour left the apartment, her first occupation was to avail herself of the half permission granted by her father, by dispatch­ ing to Monkbarns the messenger, who, as we have already seen, met the Antiquary and his nephew upon the sea beach. Little recking, and indeed scarce knowing, where she was wander­ ing, chance directed her into the walk beneath the briary bank as it was called. A brook, which, in former days, had supplied the castle-moat with water, here descended through a narrow dell, up which Miss Wardour’s taste had directed a natural path, which was rendered clean and easy, without the air of being formally made and preserved. It suited well the character of the little glen, which was overhung with thickets and underwood, chiefly of birch and hazel, intermixed with the usual varieties of the thorn and briar. In this walk had passed that scene of explanation between Miss Wardour and Lovel which was overheard by old Edie Ochiltree. With a heart softened by the distress which approached her family, Miss Wardour now recalled every word and argument which Lovel had urged in support of his suit, and could not help confessing to herself, it was no small subject of pride to have inspired a young man of his talents with a passion so strong and disinterested. That he should have left the pursuit of a profession in which he was said to be rapidly rising, to bury himself in a disagreeable place like Fairport, and brood over an unrequited passion, might be ridiculed by others as romantic, but was naturally forgiven as an excess of affection by the person who was the object of his attachment. Had he possessed an independence, however moderate, or ascertained a clear and undisputed claim to the rank in society he was well qualified to adorn, she might now have had it in her power to offer her father, during his misfortunes, an asylum in an establishment of her own. These thoughts, so favourable to the absent lover, crowded in one after the other with such a minute recapitulation of his words, looks, and actions, as plainly intimated that his former repulse had been

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dictated rather by duty than inclination. Isabella was musing altern­ ately upon this subject, and upon that of her father’s misfortunes, when, as the path winded round a little hillock, covered with brush­ wood, the old Blue-gown suddenly met her. With an air as if he had something important and mysterious to communicate, he doffed his bonnet, and assumed the cautious step and voice of one who would not willingly be overheard. “I hae been wishing muckle to meet wi’ your leddyship—for ye ken I darena come to the house for Doustersnivel.” “I heard indeed,” said Miss Wardour, dropping an alms into the bonnet, “I heard that you had done a very foolish if not a very bad thing, Edie, and I was sorry to hear it.” “Hout, my bonny leddy—fulish?—A’ the warld’s fules—and how should auld Edie Ochiltree be aye wise?—and for the evil—let them wha deal wi’ Dousterdivel tell whether he gat a grain mair than his deserts.” “That may be true, Edie, and yet,” said Miss Wardour, “you may have been very wrong.” “Weel, weel, we’se no dispute that e’ennow—it’s about yoursel I am gaun to speak—Div ye ken what’s hinging ower the house of Knock­ winnock?” “Great distress, I fear, Edie,” answered Miss Wardour; “but I am surprised it is already so public.” “Public!—Sweepclean, the messenger, will be there the day wi’ a’ his tackle. I ken’d it frae ane o’ the concurrents, as they ca’ them, that’s warned to meet him, and they’ll be about their wark belive—whare they clip there needs nae kame—they sheer close aneugh.” “Are you sure this bad hour, Edie, is so very—very near?—come, I know, it will.” “It’s e’en as I tell you, leddy; but dinna be cast down—there’s a heaven ower your head here, as weel as on that fearful night atween the Bally-burghness and the Halket-head. D’ye think He, wha rebuked the waters, canna protect you against the wrath of men, though they be armed with a’ human authority?” “It is, indeed, all we have to trust to.” “Ye dinna ken—ye dinna ken—when the night’s darkest, the dawn’s nearest.—If I had a gude horse, or could ride him when I had him, I reckon there wad be help yet.—I trusted to hae gotten a cast wi’ the Royal Charlotte, but she’s coupit yonder, it’s like, at Kittlebrig. There was a young gentleman on the box, and he behuved to drive; and Tam Sang, that suld hae had mair sense, he behuved to let him, and the daft callant could na tak the turn at the corner o’ the brig, and God! he took the curb-stane, and he’s whomled her as I wad whomle

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a toom bicker—it was a luck I hadna gotten on the tap o’ her—Sae I came down atween hope and despair to see if ye wad send me on.” “On, Edie—where would you go?” “To Tannonburgh, my leddy,” (which was the first stage from Fairport, but a good deal nearer to Knockwinnock), “and that without delay—it’s a’ on your ain business.” “Our business, Edie! Alas! I give you all credit for your good meaning, but”—— “There’s nae buts about it, my leddy, for gang I maun.” “But what is it you would do at Tannonburgh?—or what can your going there benefit my father’s affairs?” “Indeed, my sweet leddy, ye maun just trust that bit secret to auld Edie’s grey pow, and ask nae questions about it—Certain if I wad hae wared my life for you yon night, I can hae nae reason to play an ill pliskie t’ye in the day o’ distress.” “Well, Edie, follow me then,” said Miss Wardour; “and I will try to get you sent to Tannonburgh.” “Mak haste than, my bonny leddy, mak haste for the love o’ gudeness!”—and he continued to exhort her to expedition until they reached the castle.

Chapter Thirteen Let those go see who will—I like it not— For, say he was a slave to rank and pomp, And all the nothings he is now divorced from By the hard doom of stern necessity; Yet is it sad to mark his alter’d brow, Where Vanity adjusts her flimsy veil O’er the deep wrinkles of repentant anguish. Old Play

When Miss Wardour arrived in the court of the castle, she was apprized by the first glance, that the visit of the officers of the law had already taken place. There was confusion, and gloom, and sorrow, and curiosity among the domestics, while the retainers of the law went from place to place making an inventory of the goods and chattels falling under their distress, or poinding, as it is called in the law of Scotland. Captain MacIntyre flew to her, as struck dumb with the melancholy conviction of her father’s ruin—she paused upon the threshold of the gateway. “Dear Miss Wardour,” he said, “do not make yourself uneasy; my uncle is coming immediately, and I am sure he will find some way to clear the house of these rascals.”

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“Alas! Captain MacIntyre, I fear it will be too late.” “No,” answered Edie impatiently,—“it will not be too late could I but get to Tannonburgh. In the name of heaven, Captain! contrive some way to get me on, and ye’ll do this poor ruined family the best day’s darg has been done them since the Redhand’s days—for as sure as e’er auld saw came true, Knockwinnock house and land will be lost and won this day.” “What good can you do, you silly old man?” said Hector. But Robert, the domestic with whom Sir Arthur had been so much displeased in the morning, as if he had been watching for an oppor­ tunity to display his zeal, stepped hastily forward, and said to his mistress, “If you please, ma’am, this auld man, Ochiltree, is very skeely and auld-farrant about mony things, as the disease of cows, and horse, and sic like, and I am sure he doesna want to be at Tannon­ burgh the day for naething, since he insists on’t this gate; and, if your leddyship pleases, I’ll drive him there in the taxed cart in an hour’s time.—I wad fain be of some use—I could bite my very tongue out when I think on this morning.” “I am obliged to you, Robert,” said Miss Wardour; “and if you really think it has the least chance of being useful”—– “In the name of God,” said the old man, “yoke the cart, Robie, and if I am na o’ some use, less or mair, I’ll gie leave to fling me ower Kittlebrig as ye come back again. But O man, haste ye, for time’s precious this day.” Robert looked at his mistress as she retired into the house, and seeing he was not prohibited, flew to the stable-yard, which was adjacent to the court, in order to yoke the carriage; for, though an old beggar was the personage least likely to render effectual assistance in a case of pecuniary distress, yet there was among the common people of Edie’s round, a general idea of his prudence and sagacity, which authorized Robert’s conclusion, that he would not so earnestly have urged the necessity of this expedition had he not been convinced of its utility.—But so soon as the servant took hold of a horse to harness him for the tax-cart, an officer touched him on the shoulder—“My friend, you must let that beast alone, he’s down in the schedule.” “What,” said Robert, “am I not to take my master’s horse to go my young leddy’s errand?” “You must remove nothing here,” said the man of office, “or you will be liable for all consequences.” “What the devil, sir,” said Hector, who, having followed to examine Ochiltree more closely on the nature of his hopes and expectations, already began to bristle like one of the terriers of his own native mountains, and sought but a decent pretext for venting his displeas­

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ure, “have you the impudence to prevent the young lady’s servant from obeying her orders?” There was something in the air and tone of the young soldier, which seemed to argue that his interference was not likely to be confined to mere expostulation; and which, if it promised finally the advantages of a process of battery and deforcement, would certainly commence with the unpleasant circumstances necessary for founding such a com­ plaint. The legal officer, confronted with him of the military, grasped with one doubtful hand the greasy bludgeon which was to enforce his authority, and with the other produced his short official baton, tipped with silver, and having a moveable ring upon it—“Captain MacIntyre, —Sir,—I have no quarrel with you,—but if you interrupt me in my duty, I will break the wand of peace and declare myself deforced.” “And who the devil cares,” said Hector, “whether you declare yourself divorced or married?—and as to breaking your wand, or breaking the peace, or whatever you call it, all I know is, that I will break your bones if you prevent the lad from harnessing the horse to obey his mistress’s orders.” “I take all who stand here to witness,” said the messenger, “that I have shewn him my blazon and explained my character.—He that will to Cupar maun to Cupar,”—and he slid the enigmatical ring from one end of his baton to the other, being the appropriate symbol of his having been forcibly interrupted in the discharge of his duty. Honest Hector, better accustomed to the artillery of the field than to that of the law, saw this mystical ceremony with great indifference; and with like unconcern beheld the messenger sit down to write out an execution of deforcement. But at this moment, to prevent the wellmeaning, hot-headed Highlander from running the risk of a severe penalty, the Antiquary arrived puffing and blowing, with his handker­ chief crammed under his hat, and his wig upon the end of his stick. “What the deuce is the matter here,” he exclaimed, hastily adjust­ ing his head-gear; “I have been following you in fear of finding your idle loggerhead knocked against one rock or other, and here I find you parted with your Bucephalus, and quarrelling with Sweepclean. A messenger, Hector, is a worse foe than a Phoca, whether it be the Phoca Barbata, or the Phoca vitulina of your late conflict.”—– “D—n the phoca, sir,” said Hector, “whether it be the one or the other—I say d—n them both particularly!—I think you would not have me stand quietly by and see a scoundrel like this, because he calls himself a king’s messenger, forsooth—(I hope the king has many better for his meanest errands,) insult a young lady of family and fashion like Miss Wardour?” “Rightly argued, Hector; but the king, like other people, has now

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and then shabby errands, and, in your ear, must have shabby fellows to do them. But even supposing you unacquainted with the statutes of William the Lion, in which capite quarto, versu quinto, this crime of deforcement is termed, despectus Domini Regis, a contempt, to wit, of the king himself, in whose name all legal diligence issues, could you not have inferred from the information I took so much pains to give you to-day, that those who interrupt the officer who comes to execute letters of caption, are tanquam participes criminis rebellionis; seeing those who aid a rebel, and such is every man who suffers a charge of horning to elapse without compliance, are themselves, quodammodo, accessaries to rebellion—but I’ll bring you out of the scrape.” He then spoke to the messenger, who, upon his arrival, had laid aside all thoughts of making a good bye-job out of the deforcement, and accepted Mr Oldbuck’s assurances that the horse and taxed-cart should be safely returned in the course of two or three hours. “Very well, sir,” said the Antiquary, “since you are disposed to be so civil, you shall have another job in your own best way—a little cast of state politics—a crime punishable per Legem Juliam, Mr Sweepclean —Hark thee hither.” And, after a whisper of five minutes, he gave him a slip of paper, on receiving which, the messenger mounted his horse, and, with one of his assistants, rode away pretty sharply. The fellow who remained seemed to delay his operations purposely, proceeded in the rest of his duty very slowly, and with the caution and precision of one who feels himself overlooked by a severe and skilful inspector. In the mean time, Oldbuck taking his nephew by the arm led him into the house, and they were ushered into the presence of Sir Arthur Wardour, who, in a flutter between wounded pride, agonized appre­ hension, and vain attempts to disguise both under a show of indiffer­ ence, exhibited a spectacle of painful interest. “Happy to see you, Mr Oldbuck—always happy to see my friends in fair weather or foul,” said the poor Baronet, struggling not for com­ posure, but for gaiety, an affectation which was strongly contrasted by the nervous and protracted grasp of his hand, and the agitation of his whole demeanour; “I am happy to see you—You have ridden I see—I hope in this confusion your horses are taken good care of—I always like to have my friends’ horses looked after—Egad, they will have all my care now, for you see they are like to leave me none of my own— he! he! he! eh, Mr Oldbuck?” This attempt at a jest was attended by a hysterical giggle, which poor Sir Arthur intended should sound as an indifferent laugh. “You know I never ride, Sir Arthur,” said the Antiquary. “I beg your pardon; but sure I saw your nephew arrive on horseback

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a short time since. We must look after officers’ horses, and his was a handsome grey charger, as I have seen.” Sir Arthur was about to ring the bell, when Mr Oldbuck said, “My nephew came on your own grey horse, Sir Arthur.” “Mine?” said the poor Baronet, “mine was it? then the sun had been in my eyes—Well, I’m not worthy having a horse any longer, since I don’t know my own when I see him.” “Good Heaven,” thought Oldbuck, “how is this man altered from the formal stolidity of his usual manner!—he grows wanton under adversity—Sed pereundi mille figuræ.”—He then proceeded aloud; “Sir Arthur, we must necessarily speak a little on business.” “To be sure—to be sure,” said Sir Arthur;—“but it was so good that I should not know the horse I have ridden these five years, ha! ha! ha!” “Sir Arthur,” said the Antiquary, “don’t let us waste time which is precious; we shall have, I hope, many better seasons for jesting— desipere in loco is the maxim of Horace—I more than suspect this has been brought on by the villainy of Dous”—– “Don’t mention his name, sir!” said Sir Arthur, and his manner entirely changed from a fluttered affectation of gaiety to all the agita­ tion of fury—his eyes sparkled, his mouth foamed, his hands were clenched; “don’t mention his name, sir,” he vociferated, “unless you would see me go mad in your presence!—That I should have been such a miserable dolt—such an infatuated idiot—such a beast, endowed with thrice a beast’s stupidity, to be led and driven and spur­ galled by such a rascal, and under such ridiculous pretences—Mr Oldbuck, I could tear myself when I think of it.” “I only meant to say,” answered the Antiquary, “that this fellow is like to meet his reward; and I cannot but think we shall frighten something out of him that may be of service to you—He has certainly had some unlawful correspondence on the other side of the water.” “Has he?—has he?—has he, indeed?—then d—n the household goods, horses, and so forth—I will go to prison a happy man, Mr Oldbuck—I hope in Heaven there’s a reasonable chance of his being hanged.” “Why, pretty fair,” said Oldbuck, willing to encourage this diver­ sion, in hopes it might mitigate feelings which seemed like to overset the poor man’s understanding; “honester men have stretched a tow, or the law has been sadly cheated—But this unhappy business of yours—can nothing be done?—Let me see the charge.” He took the papers; and, as he read them, his countenance grew hopelessly dark and disconsolate. Miss Wardour had by this time entered the apartment, and fixing her eyes on Mr Oldbuck, as if she

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meant to read her fate in his looks, easily perceived, from the change of his eye and the dropping of his nether-jaw, how little was to be hoped. “We are then irremediably ruined, Mr Oldbuck?” “Irremediably?—I hope not—but the instant demands are very large, and others will, doubtless, pour in.” “Aye, never doubt that, Monkbarns,” said Sir Arthur; “where the slaughter is, the eagles will be gathered together.—I am like a sheep which I have seen fall down a precipice, or drop down from sickness— if you had not seen a single raven or hooded crow for a fortnight before, he will not lie on the heather ten minutes before half a dozen will be picking out his eyes (and he drew his hand over his own), and tearing at his heart-strings before the poor devil has time to die. But that d—d long-scented vulture that dogged me so long—you have got him fast, I hope?” “Fast enough,” said the Antiquary; “the gentleman wished to take the wings of the morning and bolt in the what d’ye call it,—the coach and four there. But he would have found twigs limed for him at Edinburgh. As it is, he never got so far, for the coach being overturned —as how could it go safe with such a Jonah?—he has had an infernal tumble, is carried into a cottage near Kittlebrig, and, to prevent all possibility of escape, I have sent your friend, Sweepclean, to carry him back to Fairport, in nomine regis, or to act as his sick-nurse at Kittle­ brig, as is most fitting.—And now, Sir Arthur, permit me to have some conversation with you on the present unpleasant state of your affairs, that we may see what can be done for their extrication;” and the Antiquary led the way into the library followed by the unfortunate gentleman. They had been shut up together for about two hours, when Miss Wardour interrupted them with her cloak on, as if prepared for a journey. Her countenance was very pale, yet expressive of the com­ posure which characterized her disposition. “The messenger is returned, Mr Oldbuck.” “What, the devil! he has not let the fellow go?” “No—I understand he has carried him to confinement; and now he is returned to attend my father, and says that he can wait no longer.” A loud wrangling was now heard on the stair-case, in which the voice of Hector predominated. “You an officer, sir, and these ragamuffians a party! a parcel of beggarly tailor fellows—tell yourselves off by nine, and we shall know your effective strength.” The grumbling voice of the man of law was then heard indistinctly muttering a reply, to which Hector retorted—“Come, come, sir, this won’t do; march your party, as you call them, out of this house dir­

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ectly, or I’ll send you and them to the right about presently.” “The devil take Hector,” said the Antiquary, hastening to the scene of action; “his Highland blood is up again, and we shall have him fighting a duel with the bailiff—Come, Mr Sweepclean, you must give us a little time—I know you would not wish to hurry Sir Arthur.” “By no means, sir,” said the messenger, putting his hat off, which he had thrown on to testify defiance of Captain MacIntyre’s threats; “but your nephew, sir, holds very uncivil language, and I have borne too much of it already; and I am not justified in leaving my prisoner any longer after the instructions I received, unless I am to get payment of the sums contained in my diligence.”—And he held out the cap­ tion, pointing with the awful truncheon which he held in his right hand, to the formidable line of figures jotted upon the back thereof. Hector, on the other hand, though silent from respect to his uncle, answered this gesture by shaking his clenched fist at the messenger with a frown of Highland wrath. “Foolish boy, be quiet,” said Oldbuck, “and come with me into the room—the man is doing his miserable duty, and you will only make matters worse by opposing him.—I fear, Sir Arthur, you must accom­ pany this man to Fairport; there is no help for it in the first instance—I will accompany you to consult what farther can be done—My nephew will escort Miss Wardour to Monkbarns, which I hope she will make her residence until these unpleasant matters are settled.” “I go with my father, Mr Oldbuck—I have prepared his clothes and my own—I suppose we shall have the use of the carriage?” “Ony thing in reason, Madam,” said the messenger; “I have ordered it out, and it’s at the door—I will go on the box with the coachman—I have no desire to intrude—but two of the concurrents must attend on horseback.” “I will attend too,” said Hector, and he ran down to secure a horse for himself. “We must go, then,” said the Antiquary. “To jail,” said the Baronet, sighing involuntarily; “and what of that?” he resumed in a tone affectedly cheerful—“it is only a house one can’t get out of after all—Suppose a fit of the gout, and Knock­ winnock would be the same—Aye, aye, Monkbarns, we’ll call it a fit of the gout without the d—d pain.” But his eyes swelled with tears as he spoke, and his faultering accent marked how much this assumed gaiety cost him. The Antiquary wrung his hand, and, like the Indian Banians, who drive the real terms of an important bargain by signs while they are apparently talking of indifferent matters, the hand of Sir Arthur, by its convulsive return of the grasp, expressed his sense of gratitude to his friend, and the real

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state of his internal agony. They stepped slowly down the magnifi­ cent staircase—every well-known object seeming to the unfortunate father and daughter to assume a more prominent and distinct appear­ ance than usual, as if to press themselves on their notice for the last time. At the first landing place, Sir Arthur made an agonized pause; and, as he observed the Antiquary look at him anxiously, he said with assumed dignity—“Yes, Mr Oldbuck, the descendant of an ancient line—the representative of Richard Redhand and Gamelyn de Guardover, may be pardoned a sigh when he leaves the castle of his fathers thus poorly escorted. When I was sent to the Tower with my late father, in the year 1745, it was upon a charge becoming our birth —upon an accusation of high-treason, Mr Oldbuck,—we were escorted from Highgate by a troop of life guards, and committed upon a secretary of state’s warrant; and now, here I am, in my age, dragged from my household by a miserable creature like that, (pointing to the messenger), and for a paltry concern ofpounds, shillings, and pence.” “At least,” said Oldbuck, “you have now the company of a dutiful daughter, and a sincere friend, if you will permit me to say so, and that may be some consolation, even without the certainty that there can be no hanging, drawing, or quartering, on the present occasion.—But I hear that choleric boy as loud as ever. I hope to God he has got into no new broil!—it was an accursed chance that brought him here at all.” In fact, a sudden clamour, in which the loud voice and somewhat northern accent of Hector was again pre-eminently distinguished, broke off this conversation. The cause we must refer to the next chapter.

Chapter Fourteen Fortune, you say, flies from us—She but circles, Like the fleet sea-bird round the fowler’s skiff,— Lost in the mist one moment, and the next Brushing the white sail with her whiter wing, As if to court the aim.—Experience watches, And has her on the wheel.—–

The shout of triumph in Hector’s warlike tones was not easily distinguished from that of battle. But as he rushed up stairs with a packet in his hand, exclaiming, “Long life to an old soldier! here comes Edie with a whole budget of good news!” it became obvious that his present cause of clamour was of an agreeable nature. He delivered the letter to Oldbuck, shook Sir Arthur heartily by the hand, and wished Miss Wardour joy, with all the frankness of Highland

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congratulation. The messenger, who had a kind of instinctive terror for Captain MacIntyre, drew towards his prisoner, keeping an eye of caution on the soldier’s motions. “Don’t suppose I shall trouble myself about you, you dirty fellow,” said the soldier; “there’s a guinea for the fright I have given you; and here comes an old forty-two man who is a fitter match for you than I am. The messenger (one of those dogs who are not too scornful to eat dirty puddings,) caught in his hand the guinea which Hector chucked at his face; and abode warefully and carefully the turn which matters were now to take. All voices meanwhile were loud in enquiries, which no one was in a hurry to answer. “What is the matter, Captain MacIntyre?” said Sir Arthur. “Ask old Edie,” said Hector; “I only know all’s safe and well.” “What is all this, Edie?” said Miss Wardour to the mendicant. “Your leddyship maun ask Monkbarns, for he has gotten the yepis­ tolary correspondensh.” “God save the king!” exclaimed the Antiquary, at the first glance of the contents of his packet, and, surprised at once out of decorum, philosophy, and phlegm, he skimmed his cocked-hat in the air, from which it descended not again, being caught in its fall by a branch of the chandelier. He next, looking joyously round, laid a grasp on his wig, which he perhaps would have sent after the beaver, had not Edie stopped his hand, exclaiming, “Lordsake! he’s gaun gyte—mind Caxon’s no here to repair the damage.” Every person now assailed the Antiquary, clamouring to know the cause of so sudden a transport, when, somewhat ashamed of his rapture, he fairly turned tail, like a fox at the cry of a pack of hounds, and ascending the stair by two steps at a time, gained the upper landing-place, where, turning round, he addressed the astonished audience as follows:— “My good friends, favete linguis—To give you information, I must first, according to logicians, be possessed of it myself; and, therefore, with your leave, I will retire into the library to examine these papers— Sir Arthur and Miss Wardour will have the goodness to step into the parlour—Mr Sweepclean—Secede paulisper, or, in your own lan­ guage, grant us a supersedere of diligence for five minutes—Hector, draw off your forces, and make your bear-garden flourish elsewhere —And, finally, be all of good cheer till my return, which shall be instanter.” The contents of the packet were indeed so little expected, that the Antiquary might be pardoned, first his ecstacy, and next his desire of delaying to communicate the intelligence they conveyed, until it was

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arranged and digested in his own mind. Within the envelope was a letter addressed to Jonathan Oldbuck, Esq. of Monkbarns, of the following purport:— “Dear Sir— “To you, as my father’s proved and valued friend, I venture to address myself, being detained here by military duty of a very pressing nature. You must, by this time, be acquainted with the entangled state of our affairs; and I know it will give you great pleasure to learn, that I am as fortunately as unexpectedly placed in a situation to give effectual assistance for extricating them. I understand Sir Arthur is threatened with severe measures by persons who acted formerly as his agents; and, by advice of a creditable man of business here, I have procured the enclosed writing, which I understand will stop their proceedings, until their claim shall be legally discussed, and brought down to its proper amount. I also enclose bills to the amount of one thousand pounds to pay any other pressing demands, and request of your friendship to apply them according to your discretion. You will be surprised I give you trouble, when it would seem more natural to address my father directly in his own affairs. But I have yet had no assurance that his eyes are opened to the character of a person against whom you have often, I know, warned him, and whose baneful influ­ ence has been the occasion of these distresses. And as I owe the means of relieving Sir Arthur to the generosity of a matchless friend, it is my duty to take the most certain measures for the supplies being devoted to the purpose for which they were destined, and I know your wisdom and kindness will see that it is done. My friend, as he claims an interest in your regard, will explain some views of his own in the enclosed letter. The state of the post-office at Fairport being rather notorious, I must send this letter to Tannonburgh; but the old man Ochiltree, whom particular circumstances have recommended as trust-worthy, has information when the packet is likely to reach that place, and will take care to forward it. I expect to have soon an opportunity to apolo­ gize in person for the trouble I now give, and have the honour to be your very faithful servant— “Reginald Gamelyn Wardour. “Edinbr., 6th Augt., 179-.”

The Antiquary hastily broke the seal of the enclosure, the contents of which gave him equal surprise and pleasure. When he had in some measure composed himself after such unexpected tidings, he inspec­ ted the other papers carefully, which all related to business—put the bills into his pocket-book, and wrote a short acknowledgement to be

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dispatched by that day’s post, for he was extremely methodical in money matters;—and, lastly, fraught with all the importance of dis­ closure, he descended to the parlour. “Sweepclean,” said he as he entered, to the officer who stood respectfully at the door, “you must sweep yourself clean of Knockwin­ nock Castle with all thy followers, tag-rag and bob-tail. See’st thou this paper, man?” “A sist on a bill o’ suspension,” said the messenger, with a dis­ appointed look; “I thought it wad be a queer thing if ultimate diligence was to be done against sic a gentleman as Sir Arthur—Weel, sir, I’se go my ways with my party—And who’s to pay my charges?” “They who employed thee,” replied Oldbuck, “as thou full well doest know. But here comes another express; this is a day of news, I think.” This was Mr Mailsetter on his mare from Fairport, with a letter for Sir Arthur, another to the messenger, both of which, he said, he was directed to forward instantly. The messenger opened his, observing, that Greenhorn and Grinderson were good enough men for his expences, and here was a letter from them desiring him to stop the diligence. Accordingly he immediately left the apartment, and staying no longer than to gather his posse together, he did then, in the phrase of Hector, who watched his departure as a jealous mastiff eyes the retreat of a repulsed beggar, evacuate Flanders. Sir Arthur’s letter was from Mr Greenhorn, and a curiosity in its way. We give it, with the worthy Baronet’s comments. “Sir—[ Oh! I am dear sir no longer; folks are only dear to Messrs Greenhorn and Grinderson when they are in adversity]—

“Sir, “I am much concerned to learn, on my return from the country, where I was called on particular business, [a bet on the sweepstakes, I sup­ pose,] that my partner had the impropriety, in my absence, to under­ take the concerns of Messrs Goldiebirds in preference to yours, and had written to you in an unbecoming manner. I beg to make my most humble apology, as well as Mr Grinderson’s—[come, I see he can write for self and partner too,]—and trust it is impossible you can think me forgetful of, or ungrateful for, the constant patronage which my family [ his family! curse him for a puppy! ] have uniformly experi­ enced from that of Knockwinnock. I am sorry to find, from an inter­ view which I had this day with Mr Wardour, that he is much irritated, and, I must own, with apparent reason. But in order to remedy as much as in me lies the mistake ofwhich he complains, [pretty mistake,

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indeed! to clap his patron into a jail,] I have sent this express to discharge all proceedings against your person or property; and at the same time to transmit my respectful apology. I have only to add, that Mr Grinderson is of opinion, that, if restored to your confidence, he could point out circumstances connected with Messrs Goldiebird’s present claim which would greatly reduce its amount [ so, so, willing to play the rogue on either side ]; and that there is not the slightest hurry in settling the balance of your accompt with us; and that I am for Mr G. as well as myself, Dear Sir, [O, aye, he’s written himself into an approach to familiarity,] Your much obliged, and most humble ser­ vant, Gilbert Greenhorn.”

“Well said, Mr Gilbert Greenhorn,” said Monkbarns; “I see now there is some use in having two attornies in one firm. Their move­ ments resemble those of the man and woman in a Dutch baby-house. When it is fair weather with the client, out comes the gentleman­ partner to fawn like a spaniel; when it is foul, forth bolts the operative brother to pin like a bull-dog—Well, I thank God, that my man of business still wears an equilateral cock’d hat, has a house in the Old Town, is as much afraid of a horse as I am myself, plays at golf of a Saturday, goes to the kirk of a Sunday, and, in respect he has no partner, hath only his own folly to apologize for.” “There are some writers very honest fellows,” said Hector; “I should like to hear any one say that my cousin, Donald MacIntyre, Strathtudlem’s seventh son, (the other six are in the army,) is not as honest a fellow”–— “No doubt, no doubt, Hector, all the MacIntyres are so; they have it by patent, man—But, I was going to say, that in a profession where unbounded trust is necessarily reposed, there is nothing surprising that fools should neglect it in their idleness, and tricksters abuse it in their knavery—But it is the more to the honour of those, and I will vouch for many, who unite integrity with skill and attention, and walk honourably upright in that profession where there are so many pit­ falls and stumbling-blocks for those of a different character. To such men their fellow-citizens may safely entrust the care of protecting their patrimonial rights, and their country the more sacred charge of her laws and privileges.” “They are best off, however, that hae least to do with them,” said Ochiltree, who had stretched his neck into the parlour door; for the general confusion of the family not having yet subsided, the domestics, like waves after the fall of a hurricane, had not yet exactly regained their due limits, but were roaming wildly through the house.

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“Aha, old Truepenny, art thou there?” said the Antiquary; “Sir Arthur, let me bring in the messenger of good luck, though he is but a lame one. You talked of the raven that scented out the slaughter from afar; but here’s a blue pigeon (somewhat of the oldest and toughest, I grant,) who smelled the good news six or seven miles off, flew thither in the taxed cart, and returned with the olive branch.” “Ye owe it a’ to puir Robie that drave me—puir fallow,” said the beggar, “he doubts he’s in disgrace wi’ my leddy and Sir Arthur.” Robert’s repentant and bashful face was seen over the mendicant’s shoulder. “In disgrace with me ?” said Sir Arthur—“how so ?”—for the irrita­ tion into which he had worked himself on occasion of the toast had been long forgotten—“O, I recollect—Robert, I was angry, and you were wrong—go about your work, and never answer a master that speaks to you in a passion.” “Nor any one else,” said the Antiquary; “for a soft answer turneth away wrath.” “And tell your mother, who’s so ill with the rheumatism, to come down to the housekeeper to-morrow,” said Miss Wardour, “and we will see what can be of service to her.” “God bless your leddyship,” said poor Robert, “and his honour, Sir Arthur, and the young laird, and the house o’ Knockwinnock in a’ its branches, far and near—it’s been a kind house and a gude to the puir this mony hundred years.” “There”—said the Antiquary to Sir Arthur—“we won’t dispute— but there you see the gratitude of the poor people naturally turns to the civil virtues of your family. You don’t hear them talk of Redhand, or Hell-in-Harness. For me, I must say, Odi accipitrem qui semper vivit in armis—so let us eat and drink and be joyful, Sir Knight.” A table was quickly covered in the parlour, where the party sate joyously down to some refreshment. At the request of Oldbuck, Edie Ochiltree was permitted to sit by the sideboard in a great leathern chair, which was placed in some measure behind a screen. “I accede to this the more readily,” said Sir Arthur, “because I remember in my father’s days that chair was occupied by Ailshie Gourlay, who, for aught I know, was the last privileged fool or jester maintained by any family of distinction in Scotland.” “Aweel, Sir Arthur,” replied the beggar, who never hesitated an instant between his friend and his jest, “mony a wise man’s sat in a fule’s seat, and mony a fule in a wise man’s, especially in families of distinction.” Miss Wardour, fearing the effect of this speech (however worthy of Ailshie Gourlay, or any other privileged jester,) upon the nerves of her

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father, hastened to enquire whether ale and beef should not be distri­ buted to the servants and people, whom the news had assembled around the castle. “Surely, my love,” said her father; “when was it ever otherwise in our family when a siege had been raised?” “Aye, a siege laid by Saunders Sweepclean the bailiff, and raised by Edie Ochiltree the gaberlunzie, par nobile fratrum,” said Oldbuck, “and well pitted against each other in respectability. But never mind, Sir Arthur—these are such sieges and such reliefs as our time of day admits of—And our escape is not less worthy commemorating in a glass ofthis excellent wine—upon my credit, it is Burgundy, I think.” “Were there any thing better in the cellar,” said Miss Wardour, “it would be all too little to regale you after your friendly exertions.” “Say you so?” said the Antiquary—“why, then, a cup of thanks to you, my fair enemy, and soon may you be besieged as ladies love best to be, and sign terms of capitulation in the chapel of Saint Winnox.” Miss Wardour blushed, Hector coloured, and then grew pale. Sir Arthur answered, “My daughter is much obliged to you, Monk­ barns ; but unless you’ll accept her yourself, I really do not know where a poor knight’s daughter is to seek for an alliance in these mercenary times.” “Me, mean ye, Sir Arthur?—No, not I; I will claim the privilege of the duello, and, as being unable to encounter my fair enemy myself, I will appear by my champion—But of this matter hereafter.—What do you find in the papers there, Hector, that you hold your head down over them as if your nose were bleeding?” “Nothing particular, sir; but only that, as my arm is now almost quite well, I think I will relieve you of my company in a day or two, and go to Edinburgh. I see Major Neville is arrived there. I should like to see him.” “Major whom?” “Major Neville, sir.” “And who the devil is Major Neville?” “O, Mr Oldbuck,” said Sir Arthur, “you must remember his name frequently in the newspapers—a very distinguished young officer indeed. But I am happy to say that Mr MacIntyre need not leave Monkbarns to see him, for my son writes that the Major is to come with him to Knockwinnock, and I need not say how happy I should be to make the young gentlemen acquainted,—unless, indeed, they are known to each other already.” “No, not personally,” answered Hector, “but I have had occasion to hear a good deal of him, and we have several mutual friends—your son being one of them.—But I must go; for I see my uncle is begin­

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ning to grow tired of me, and I am afraid”–— “That you will grow tired of him?” interrupted Oldbuck,—“I fear that’s past praying for. But you have forgot that the ecstatic twelfth of August approaches, and that you are engaged to meet one of Lord Glenallan’s gamekeepers, God knows where, to persecute the peace­ ful feathered creation.” “True, true, uncle—I had forgot that,” exclaimed the volatile Hec­ tor,—“but you said something just now that put every thing out of my head.” “An’ it like your honours,” said old Edie, thrusting his white head from behind the screen, where he had been plentifully regaling him­ self with ale and cold meat—“an’ it like your honours, I can tell ye something that will keep the Captain wi’ us amaist as weel as the pouting—Hear ye na the French is coming?” “The French, you blockhead?” answered Oldbuck—“Bah!” “I have not had time,” said Sir Arthur Wardour, “to look over my lieutenancy correspondence for the week—indeed I generally make a rule to read it only on Wednesdays, except in pressing cases, for I do every thing by method—but from the glance I took of my letters, I observed some alarm was entertained.” “Alarm?” said Edie,—“troth there’s alarm, for the provost’s gar’d the beacon light on the Halket-head be sorted up (that suld hae been sorted half a year syne,) in an unco hurry, and the council hae named nae less a man than auld Caxon himsel to watch the light. Some says it was out o’ compliment to Lieutenant Taffril, for it’s neist to certain that he’ll marry Jenny Caxon—some says it’s to please your honour and Monkbarns that wear wigs—and some says there’s some auld story about a periwig that ane o’ the baillies got and ne’er paid for— ony way, there he is, sitting cockit up like a skart upon the tap o’ the craig, to skirl when foul weather comes.” “On mine honour, a pretty warder,” said Monkbarns; “and what’s my wig to do all the while?” “I asked Caxon that very question,” answered Ochiltree, “and he said he could look in ilka morning, and gie’t a touch afore he gaed to his bed, for there’s another man to watch in the day time, and Caxon says he can frizz your honour’s wig as weel sleeping as wauking.” This news gave a different turn to the conversation, which ran upon national defence, and the duty of fighting for the land we live in, until it was time to part. The Antiquary and his nephew resumed their walk homeward, after parting from Knockwinnock with the warmest ex­ pressions of mutual regard, and an agreement to meet again as soon as possible.

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Chapter Fifteen Nay, if she love me not, I care not for her: Shall I look pale because the maiden blooms? Or sigh because she smiles, and smiles on others? Not I, by Heaven!—I hold my peace too dear, To let it, like the plume upon her cap, Shake at each nod that her caprice shall dictate. Old Play

“Hector,” said his uncle to Captain MacIntyre in the course of their walk homeward, “I am sometimes inclined to suspect that, in one respect, you are a fool.” “If you only think me so in one respect, I am sure you do me more grace, sir, than I expected or deserved.” “I mean in one particular, par excellence. I have sometimes thought that you have cast your eyes upon Miss Wardour.” “Well, sir.” “Well, sir! deuce take the fellow, he answers me as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world, that he, a captain in the army, and nothing at all besides, should marry the daughter of a Baronet.” “I presume to think, sir, there would be no degradation on Miss Wardour’s part in point of family.” “O Heaven forbid we should come on that topic!—no, no, equal both—both on the table-land of gentility, and qualified to look down on every roturier in the land.” “And in point of fortune we are pretty even, since neither of us have got any,” continued Hector. “There may be error, but I cannot plead guilty to presumption.” “But here lies the error, then, if you call it so,” replied his uncle; “she won’t have you, Hector.” “Indeed, sir?” “It is very sure, Hector; and to make it double sure, I must inform you that she likes another man. She misunderstood some words I once said to her, and I have since been able to guess at the interpretation she put upon them. At the time, I was unable to account for her hesitation and blushing; but, my poor Hector, I now understand them as a death-signal to your hopes and pretensions—So I advise you to beat your retreat, and draw off your forces as well as you can, for the fort is too well garrisoned for you to storm it.” “I have no occasion to beat any retreat, uncle,” said Hector, holding himself very upright, and marching on with a sort of dogged and offended solemnity; “no man needs to retreat that has never

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advanced. There are women in Scotland besides Miss Wardour, of as good family”–— “And better taste,” said his uncle; “doubtless there are, Hector; and though I cannot say but that she is one of the most accomplished as well as sensible girls I have seen, yet I doubt much of her merit would be cast away on you. A showy figure, now, with two cross feathers on her noddle—one green, one blue; who would wear a riding-habit of the regimental complexion, drive a gig one day, and the next review the regiment on the grey trotting poney which dragged that vehicle, hoc erat in votis—These are the qualities would subdue you, especially if she had a taste for natural history, and loved a specimen of a phoca.” “It’s a little hard, sir, I must have that cursed seal thrown into my face on all occasions—but I care little about it—and I shall not break my heart for Miss Wardour. She is free to chuse for herself, and I wish her all happiness.” “Magnanimously resolved, thou prop of Troy! Why, Hector, I was afraid of a scene—Your sister told me you were desperately in love with Miss Wardour.” “Sir, you would not have me desperately in love with a woman that does not care about me?” “Well, nephew,” said the Antiquary more seriously, “there is doubtless much sense in what you say; yet I would have given a great deal, some twenty or twenty-five years since, to have been able to think as you do.” “Any body, I suppose, may think as they please on such subjects,” said Hector. “Not according to the old school,” said Oldbuck; “but, as I said before, the practice of the modern seems in this case the most pruden­ tial, though, I think, scarce the most interesting. But tell me your ideas now on this prevailing subject of an invasion.—The cry is still, They come.” Hector, swallowing his mortification, which he was particularly anxious to conceal from his uncle’s satirical observation, readily entered into a conversation which was to turn the Antiquary’s thoughts from Miss Wardour and the seal. When they reached Monk­ barns, the communicating to the ladies the news which had taken place at the castle, with the counter-information of how long dinner had waited before the ladies had ventured to eat it in the Antiquary’s absence, averted these delicate topics of discussion. The next morning the Antiquary arose early, and, as Caxon had not yet made his appearance, he began mentally to feel the absence of the petty news and small talk, of which the ex-peruquier was a faithful

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reporter, and which habit had made as necessary to the Antiquary as his occasional pinch of snuff, although he held, or affected to hold, both to be of the same intrinsic value. The feeling of vacuity peculiar to such a deprivation was alleviated by the appearance of old Ochil­ tree, sauntering by the clipped yew and holly hedges, with the air of a person quite at home. Indeed, so familiar had he been of late, that even Juno did not bark at him, but contented herself with watching him with a close and vigilant eye. Our Antiquary stepped out in his night-gown, and instantly received and returned his greeting. “They are coming now, in good earnest, Monkbarns—I just came frae Fairport to bring ye the news, and then I’ll step awa’ back again— the Search is come into the bay, and they say she’s been chased by a French fleet.” “The Search?” said Oldbuck, reflecting a moment. “Oho!” “Aye, aye, Captain Taffril’s gun-brig, the Search.” “What! any relation to Search Number II?” The mendicant, like a man detected in a frolic, put his bonnet before his face, yet could not help laughing heartily.—“The de’il’s in you, Monkbarns, for garring odds and evens meet—Wha thought ye wad hae laid that and that thegither?—Odd, I am clean catched now.” “I see it all,” said Oldbuck, “as plain as the legend on a medal in high preservation—The box in which the bullion was found belonged to the gun-brig, and the treasure to my phoenix?”—(Edie nodded assent.)—“And was buried there that Sir Arthur might receive relief in his difficulties.” “By me,” said Edie, “and twa of the brig’s men—But they didna ken its contents; and thought it some bit smuggling concern o’ the Cap­ tain’s. I watched day and night till I saw it in the right hand; and than, when that German deevil was glowering at the lid o’ the kist, (they liked mutton weel that lickit whare the yowe lay), I think some Scot­ tish deevil put it in my head to play him yon ither cantraip—Now, ye see, if I had said mair or less to Baillie Littlejohn, I behuved till hae come out wi’ a’ this story; and vexed wad Mr Lovel hae been to have it brought to light—sae I thought I would stand to ony thing rather than that.” “I must say he’s chosen his confidant well, though somewhat strangely.” “I’ll say this for mysel, Monkbarns,” answered the mendicant, “that I am the fittest man in the hale country to trust wi’ siller, for I neither want it, nor wish for it, nor could use it if I had it. But the lad hadna mickle choice in the matter, for he thought he was leaving the country for ever (I trust he’s mista’en in that though); and the night was set in when we learned, by a strange chance, Sir Arthur’s sair distress, and

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Lovel was obliged to be on board as the day dawed. But five nights afterward the brig stood into the bay, and I met the boat by appoint­ ment, and we buried the treasure where ye fand it.” “This was a very romantic, foolish exploit,” said Oldbuck—“Why not trust me or any other friend?” “The blood o’ your sister’s son,” replied Edie, “was on his hand, and him maybe dead outright—what time had he to take counsel?—or how could he ask it at you, by ony body?” “You are right.—But what if Dousterswivel had come before you?” “There was little fear o’ his coming there without Sir Arthur—he had gotten a sair gliff the night afore, and never intended to look near the place again, unless he had been brought there sting and ling—He ken’d weel the first pose was o’ his ain hiding, and how could he expect a second? He just havered on about it to make the mair o’ Sir Arthur.” “Then how,” said Oldbuck, “should Sir Arthur have come there unless the German had brought him?” “Umph!” answered Edie drily, “I had a story about Misticoat wad hae brought him forty miles, or you either. Besides, it was to be thought he would be for visiting the place he fand the first siller in—he ken’d na the secret o’ that job. In short, the siller being in this shape, Sir Arthur in utter difficulties, and Lovel determined he should never ken the hand that helped him,—for that was what he insisted maist upon,—we couldna think of a better way to fling the gear at his gate, though we simmered it and wintered it e’er sae lang. And if by ony queer mischance Doustercivils had got claws on’t, I was instantly to hae informed you or the Sheriff o’ the haill story.” “Well, notwithstanding all these wise precautions, I think your con­ trivance succeeded better than such a clumsy one deserved, Edie. But how the deuce came Lovel by such a mass of silver ingots?” “That’s just what I canna tell ye—But they were put on board wi’ his things at Fairport, it’s like, and we stowed them into ane o’ the ammunition boxes o’ the brig, baith for concealment and convenience of carriage.” “Lord! lord!” said Oldbuck, his recollection recurring to the earl­ ier part of his acquaintance with Lovel; “and this young fellow, who was putting hundreds on so strange a hazard, I must be recommend­ ing a subscription to him, and paying his bill at the Ferry! I never will pay any person’s bill again, that’s certain.—And you keeped up a constant correspondence with Lovel, I suppose?” “I just gat ae bit scrape o’ a pen frae him, to say there wad, as yesterday fell, be a packet at Tannonburgh wi’ letters o’ great con­ sequence to the Knockwinnock folk; for they jealoused the opening our letters at Fairport.—And that’s as true, I hear Mrs Mailsetter is to

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lose her office for looking after ither folk’s business and neglecking her ain.” “And what do ye expect, now, Edie, for being the adviser, and messenger, and guard, and confidential person in all these matters?” “De’il hae’t do I expect—excepting that a’ thae gentles will come to the gaberlunzie’s burial; and maybe ye’ll carry the head yoursel, as ye did puir Steenie Meiklebackit’s.—What trouble was’t to me? I was ganging about at ony rate—O but I was blythe when I got out ofprison, though; for I thought, what if that weary letter come when I am closed up here like an oyster, and a’ should gang wrang for want o’t; and whiles I thought I maun make a clean breast and tell you a’ about it; but than I couldna weel do that without contravening Mr Lovel’s positive orders; and I reckon he had to see somebody at Edinburgh afore he could do what he wussed to do for Sir Arthur and his family.” “Well, and to your public news, Edie—So they are still coming, are they?” “Troth, they say sae, sir; and there’s come down strick orders for the forces and volunteers to be alert; and there’s a clever young officer to come here forthwith, to look at our means o’ defence. I saw the Baillie’s lass cleaning his belts and white breeks—I gae her a hand, for ye maun think she wasna ower clever at it, and sae I gat a’ the news for my pains.” “And what think you, as an old soldier?” “Troth, I kenna—an’ they come sae mony as they speak o’, they’ll be odds again us—But there’s mony yauld chields amang thae volun­ teers ; and I maunna say mickle about them that’s no weel and no very able, because I am something that gate mysel—But we’se do our best.” “What! so your martial spirit is rising again, Edie? Even in our ashes glow their wonted fires!

I would not have thought you, Edie, had much to fight for?” “Me no mickle to fight for, sir?—is na there the kintra to fight for, and the burnsides that I gang dandering beside, and the hearths o’ the gudewives that gie me my bit bread, and the bits o’ weans that come toddling to play wi’ me when I come about a landward town?—De’il!” he continued, grasping his pikestaff with great emphasis, “an’ I had as gude pith as I hae gude-will, and a gude cause, I should gie some o’ them a day’s kemping.” “Bravo! bravo! Edie, the country’s in little ultimate danger, when the beggar’s as ready to fight for his dish as the laird for his land.” Their farther conversation reverted to the particulars of the night passed by the mendicant and Lovel in the ruins of St Ruth; by the

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details of which the Antiquary was highly amused. “I would have given a guinea,” he said, “to have seen the scoun­ drelly German under the agonies of the terrors, which it is part of his own quackery to inspire into others; and trembling alternately for the fury of his patron, and the apparition of some hobgoblin.” “Troth,” said the beggar, “there was time for him to be cowed; for ye wad hae thought the very spirit of Hell-in-Harness had taken pos­ session o’ the body o’ Sir Arthur.—But what will come o’ the land­ louper?” “I have a letter this morning, from which, I understand, he has acquitted you of the charge he brought against you, and offers to make such discoveries as will render the settlement of Sir Arthur’s affairs a more easy task than we apprehended—So writes the Sheriff; and adds, that he has given some private information of importance to government. In consideration of which, I understand he will be shipped so soon as his dislocated bones will permit and sent back to play the knave in his own country.” “And a’ the bonny engines, and wheels, and coves, and sheughs, doun at Glenwithershins yonder, what’s to come o’ them?” said Edie. “I hope the men, before they are dispersed, will make a bonfire of their gim-cracks, as an army destroy their artillery when forced to raise a siege. And as for the holes, Edie, I abandon them as rat-traps, for the benefit of the next wise men who may chuse to drop the substance to snatch at a shadow.” “Hegh, sirs! guide us a’! to burn the engines! that’s a great waste— Had ye na better try to get back part o’ your hundred pounds wi’ the sale o’ materials?” he continued with a tone of affected condolence. “Not a farthing,” said the Antiquary peevishly; taking a turn from him, and making a step or two away. Then returning, half-smiling at his own pettishness, he said, “Get thee into the house, Edie, and remember my counsel: never speak to me about a mine, or to my nephew, Hector, about a Phoca, that is a sealgh, as you call them.” “I maun be ganging my ways back to Fairport,” said the wanderer; “I want to see what they’re saying there about the invaasion—but I’ll mind what your honour says, no to speak to you about a sealgh, or to the Captain about the hundred pounds that you gied to Douster”–— “Confound thee!—I desired thee not to mention to me”–— “Dear me!” said Edie, with affected surprise; “weel, I thought there was naething but what your honour could hae studden in the way o’ agreeable conversation, unless it was about the Prætorian yonder, or the boddle that the packman sauld to ye for an auld coin.” “Pshaw, pshaw,” said the Antiquary, turning from him hastily, and retreating into the house.

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The mendicant looked after him a moment, and with a chuckling laugh, such as that with which a magpie or parrot applauds a success­ ful exploit of mischief, he resumed once more the road to Fairport. His habits had given him a sort of restlessness, much increased by the pleasure he took in gathering news; and in a short time he had regained the town which he left in the morning, for no reason that he knew himself, unless just to “hae a bit crack wi’ Monkbarns.”

Chapter Sixteen Red glared the beacon on Pownell, On Skiddaw there were three; The bugle-horn on moor and fell Was heard continually. James Hogg

The watch, who kept his watch on the hill, and looked toward Birnam, probably conceived himself dreaming when he first beheld the fated grove put itself into motion for its march to Dunsinane. Even so, old Caxon, as, perched in his hut, he qualified his thoughts upon the approaching marriage of his daughter, and the dignity of being father-in-law to Lieutenant Taffril, with an occasional peep towards the signal-post, with which his own corresponded, was not a little surprised by observing a light in that direction. He rubbed his eyes, looked again, adjusting his observation by a cross staffwhich had been placed so as to bear upon the point. And behold, the light increased, like a comet to the eye of the astronomer, “with fear of change per­ plexing nations.” “The Lord preserve us!” said Caxon, “what’s to be done now?— But there will be wiser heads than mine to look to that, sae I’se e’en fire the beacon.” And he lighted the beacon accordingly, which threw up to the sky a long wavering train of light, startling the sea-fowl from their nests, and reflected far beneath by the reddening billows of the sea. The brother warders of Caxon being equally diligent, caught and repeated his signal. The lights glanced on headlands and capes and inland hills, and the whole district was alarmed by the signal of invasion. Our Antiquary, his head wrapped warm in two double night-caps, was quietly enjoying his repose, when it was suddenly broken by the screams of his sister, his niece, and two maid-servants. “What the devil is the matter?” said he, starting up in bed,— “womankind in my room at this hour of night!—are ye all mad?” “The beacon, uncle,” said Miss MacIntyre.

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“The French coming to murder us, Monkbarns!” screamed Miss Griselda. “The beacon, the beacon!—the French, the French!—murder, murder! and waur than murder!” cried the two handmaidens like the chorus of an opera. “The French?” said Oldbuck, starting up,—“get out of the room, womankind that you are, till I get my things on—And, hark ye, bring me my sword.” “Whilk o’ them, Monkbarns?” cried his sister, offering a Roman faulchion of brass with the one hand, with the other an Andrea Fer­ rara without a handle. “The langest, the langest,” cried Jenny Rintherout, dragging in a two-handed sword of the twelfth century. “Womankind,” said Oldbuck, in great agitation, “be composed, and do not give way to vain terror—Are you sure they are come?” “Sure!—sure!” exclaimed Jenny,—“ower sure!—a’ the sea fenc­ ibles, and the land fencibles, and the volunteers and yeomanry, are on fit, and driving to Fairport as hard as horse and man can gang—and auld Meiklebackit’s gane wi’ the lave—muckle gude he’ll do!—Hegh, sirs! he’ll be missed the morn wha wad hae served king and country weel!” “Give me,” said Oldbuck, “the sword which my father wore in the year forty-five—it hath no belt or baldrick—but we’ll make shift.” So saying, he thrust the weapon through the cover of his breeches pocket. At this moment Hector entered, who had been to a neigh­ bouring height to ascertain whether the alarm was actual. “Where are your arms, nephew?” exclaimed Oldbuck—“where is your double-barrelled gun that was never out ofyour hand when there was no occasion for such vanities?” “Pooh! pooh! sir,” said Hector, “who ever took a fowling-piece on action?—I have got my uniform on, you see—I hope I shall be of more use if they will give me a command, than I could be with ten double barrels.—And you, sir, must get to Fairport, to give directions for the quartering and maintaining the men and horses, and preventing con­ fusion.” “You are right, Hector,—I believe I shall do as much with my head as my hand too—But here comes Sir Arthur Wardour, who, between ourselves, is not fit to accomplish much either one way or other.” Sir Arthur was probably of a different opinion; for, dressed in his lieutenancy uniform, he was also on the road to Fairport, and called in his way to take Mr Oldbuck with him, having had his original opinion of his sagacity much confirmed by late events. And in spite of all the entreaties of the womankind that the Antiquary would stay to garrison

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Monkbarns, Mr Oldbuck, with his nephew, instantly accepted Sir Arthur’s offer. Those who have witnessed such a scene can alone conceive the state of bustle in Fairport. The windows were glancing with a hundred lights, which, appearing and disappearing rapidly, indicated the con­ fusion within doors. The women of lower rank assembled and clam­ oured in the streets. The yeomanry, pouring from their different glens, gallopped through the streets, some individually, some in parties of five or six as they had met in the road. The drums and fifes of the volunteers beating to arms, were blended with the voice of the officers, the sound of the bugles, and the tolling of the bells from the steeple. The ships in the harbour were lit up, and boats from the armed vessels added to the bustle, by landing men and guns, destined to assist in the defence of the place. This part of the pre­ parations was superintended by Taffril with much activity. Two or three light vessels had already slipped their cables and stood out to sea, in order to discover the supposed enemy. Such was the scene of general confusion, when Sir Arthur War­ dour, Oldbuck, and Hector made their way with difficulty into the principal square, where the town-house is situated. It was lighted up, and the magistracy, with some of the neighbouring gentlemen, were assembled. And here, as upon other occasions of the like kind in Scotland, it was remarkable how the good sense and firmness of the people supplied almost all the deficiencies of inexperience. The magistrates were beset by the quarter-masters of the different corps for billets for their men and horses. “Let us,” said Baillie Littlejohn, “take the horses into our ware­ houses, and the men into our parlours,—share our supper with the one, and our forage with the other. We have made ourselves wealthy under a free and paternal government, and now is the time to shew we know its value.” A loud and cheerful acquiescence was given by all present, and the substance of the wealthy, with the persons of those of all ranks, were unanimously devoted to the defence of the country. Captain MacIntyre acted upon this occasion as military adviser and aid-de-camp to the principal magistrate, and displayed a degree of presence of mind, and knowledge of his profession, totally unexpected by his uncle, who, recollecting his usual insouciance and impetuosity, gazed at him with astonishment from time to time, as he remarked the calm and steady manner in which he explained the various measures of precaution that his experience suggested, and gave directions for executing them. He found the different corps in good order, consid­ ering the irregular materials of which they were composed, in great

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force of numbers, and high confidence and spirits. And so much did military experience at that moment overbalance all other claims to consequence, that even old Edie, instead of being left, like Diogenes at Sinope, to roll his tub when all around were preparing for defence, had the duty assigned him of superintending the serving out of ammu­ nition, which he executed with much discretion. Two things were still anxiously expected—the presence of the Glenallan volunteers, who, in consideration of the importance of that family, had been formed into a separate corps,—and the arrival of the officer before announced, to whom the measures of defence on that coast had been committed by the commander-in-chief, and whose commission would entitle him to take upon himself the full disposal of the military force. At length the bugles of the Glenallan yeomanry were heard, and the Earl himself, to the surprise of all who knew his habits and state of health, appeared at their head in uniform. They formed a very hand­ some and well-mounted squadron, formed entirely out of the Earl’s lowland tenants, and were followed by a regiment of five hundred men, completely equipped with the Highland dress, whom he had brought down from his upland glens, with their pipes playing in the van. The clean and serviceable appearance of this band of feudal dependants called forth the admiration of Captain MacIntyre; but his uncle was still more struck by the manner in which, upon this crisis, the ancient military spirit of his house seemed to animate and invigor­ ate the decayed frame of the Earl, their leader. He claimed, and obtained for himself and his followers, the post most likely to be that of danger, displayed great alacrity in making the necessary dispositions, and shewed equal acuteness in discussing their propriety. Morning broke upon the military councils of Fairport, while all concerned were still eagerly engaged in taking precautions for their defence. At length a cry among the people announced, “There’s the brave Major Neville come at last, with another officer;” and their postchaise and four drove into the square, amidst the huzzas of the volunteers and inhabitants. The magistrates, with their assessors of the lieutenancy, hastened to the door of their town-house to receive him. But what was the surprise of all present, but most especially of the Antiquary, when they became aware, that the handsome uniform and military cap disclosed the person and features of the pacific Lovel! A warm embrace, and a hearty shake of the hand, were neces­ sary to assure him that his eyes were doing him justice. Sir Arthur was no less surprised to recognise his son, Captain Wardour, in Lovel’s or rather Major Neville’s companion. The first words of the young officers were a positive assurance to all present, that the courage and

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zeal which they had displayed were entirely thrown away, unless in so far as they afforded an acceptable proof of their spirit and prompt­ itude. “The watchman at Halket-head,” said Major Neville, “as we dis­ covered by an investigation which we made in our route hither, was most naturally misled by a bonfire which some idle people had made on the hill above Glenwithershins, just in the line of the beacon with which he corresponded.” Oldbuck gave a conscious look to Sir Arthur, who returned it with one equally sheepish, and a shrug of the shoulders. “It must have been the machinery which we condemned to the flames in our wrath,” said the Antiquary, plucking up heart, though not a little ashamed of having been the cause of so much disturbance —“the devil take Dousterswivel with all my heart!—I think he has bequeathed us a legacy of blunders and mischief, as if he had lighted some train of fireworks at his departure—I wonder what cracker will go off next among our shins.—But yonder comes the prudent Caxon —hold up your head, you ass—your betters must bear the blame for you—And here, take this what-d’ye-call-it”—(giving him his sword) —“I wonder what I would have said yesterday to any man, that would have told me I was to stick such an appendage to my tail.” Here he found his arm gently pressed by Lord Glenallan, who dragged him into a separate apartment. “For God’s sake, who is that young gentleman who is so strikingly like”–— “Like the unfortunate Eveline,” interrupted Oldbuck. “I felt my heart warm to him from the first, and your Lordship has suggested the very cause.” “But who—who is he?” continued Lord Glenallan, holding the Antiquary with a convulsive grasp. “Formerly I would have called him Lovel, but now he turns out to be Major Neville.” “Whom my brother brought up as his natural son—whom he made his heir—Gracious Heaven! the child of my Eveline!” “Hold, my Lord—hold!” said Oldbuck, “do not give too hasty way to such a presumption—what probability is there?” “Probability? none! there is certainty! absolute certainty. The agent I mentioned to you wrote me the whole story—I received it yesterday, not sooner—Bring him, for God’s sake, that a father’s eyes may bless him before he departs.” “I will; but, for your own sake and his, give him a few moments for preparation.” And, determined to make still farther investigation before yielding his entire conviction to so strange a tale, he sought out Major Neville,

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and found him expediting the necessary measures for dispersing the forces which had been assembled. “Pray, Major Neville, leave this business for a moment to Captain Wardour and to Hector, with whom, I hope, you are thoroughly reconciled, (Neville laughed, and shook hands with Hector across the table,) and grant me a moment’s audience.” “You have a claim upon me, Mr Oldbuck, were my business more urgent,” said Neville, “for having passed myself upon you under a false name, and rewarded your hospitality by injuring your nephew.” “You served him as he deserved”—said Oldbuck; “though, by the way, he shewed as much good sense as spirit to-day—Egad, if he would rub up his learning and read Cæsar and Polybius, and the Strategemata Polyæni, I think he would rise in the army, and I will certainly lend him a lift.” “He is heartily deserving of it,” said Neville; “and I am glad you excuse me, which you may do the more frankly, when you know that I am so unfortunate as to have no better right to the name of Neville, by which I have been generally distinguished, than to that of Lovel, under which you knew me.” “Indeed? then, I trust, we will find out one for you to which you shall have firm and legal title.” “Sir?—I trust you do not think the misfortune of my birth a fit subject”–— “By no means, young man,” answered the Antiquary, interrupting him,—“I believe I know more of your birth than you do yourself— and, to convince you of it, you were educated and known as a natural son of Geraldin Neville of Neville’s-burgh, in Yorkshire, and, I pre­ sume, as his destined heir?” “Pardon me—no such views were held out to me; I was liberally educated, and pushed forward in the army by money and interest; but I believe my supposed father long entertained some ideas of marriage, though he never carried them into effect.” “You say your supposed father?—What leads you to suppose Mr Geraldin Neville was not your real father?” “I know, Mr Oldbuck, that you would not ask these questions on a point of such delicacy for the gratification of idle curiosity. I will, therefore, tell you candidly, that last year, while we occupied a small town in French-Flanders, I found in a convent, near which I was quartered, a woman who spoke remarkably good English—She was a Spaniard—her name Teresa D’Acunha. In the process of our acquaintance, she discovered who I was, and made herself known to me as the person who had charge of my infancy. She dropped more than one hint of rank to which I was entitled, and of injustice done to

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me, promising a more full disclosure in case of the death of a lady in Scotland, during whose lifetime she was determined to keep the secret. She also intimated that Mr Geraldin Neville was not my father. We were attacked by the enemy and driven from the town, which was pillaged with savage ferocity by the republicans. The religious orders were the particular objects of their hate and cruelty. The convent was burned, and several nuns perished, among others Teresa—and with her all chance of knowing the story of my birth—tragic by all accounts it must have been.” “Raro antecedentem scelestum, or, as I may here say, scelestam,” said Oldbuck, “deseruit pœna—even Epicureans admitted that—and what did you do upon this?” “I remonstrated with Mr Neville by letter, and to no purpose—I then obtained leave of absence, and threw myself at his feet, conjuring him to complete the disclosure which Teresa had begun. He refused, and, on my importunity, indignantly upbraided me with the favours he had already conferred; I thought he abused the power of a benefactor, as he was compelled to admit he had no title to that of a father, and we parted in mutual displeasure. I renounced the name of Neville, and assumed that under which you knew me.—It was at this time, when residing with a friend in the north of England who favoured my disguise, that I became acquainted with Miss Wardour, and was romantic enough to follow her to Scotland. My mind wavered on various plans of life, when I at length resolved to apply once more to Mr Neville for an explanation of the mystery of my birth. It was long ere I received an answer and you were present when it was put into my hands. He informed me of his bad state of health, and conjured me, for my own sake, to enquire no further into the nature of his connec­ tion with me, but to rest satisfied with his declaring it to be such and so intimate, that he designed to constitute me his heir. When I was preparing to leave Fairport to join him, a second express brought me word that he was no more. The possession of great wealth was unable to suppress the remorseful feelings with which I now regarded my conduct to my benefactor, and some hints in his letter appearing to intimate that there was on my birth a deeper stain than of ordinary illegitimacy, I remembered certain prejudices of Sir Arthur.” “And you brooded over these melancholy ideas until you were ill, instead of coming to me for advice, and telling me the whole story?” said Oldbuck. “Exactly; then came my quarrel with Captain MacIntyre, and my compelled departure from Fairport and its vicinity.” “From love and from poetry—Miss Wardour and the Caledoniad.” “Most true.”

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“And since that time you have been occupied, I suppose, with plans for Sir Arthur’s relief?” “Yes, sir; with the assistance of Captain Wardour at Edinburgh.” “And Edie Ochiltree here—you see I know the whole story. But how came you by the treasure?” “Fare D’Argent Tennant and Company of Fairport had just im­ ported some bullion.” “Well, Major Neville, or—let me say—Lovel, being the name in which I rather delight, you must, I believe, exchange both of your aliases for the stile and title of the honourable William Geraldin, commonly called Lord Geraldin.” The Antiquary then went through the strange and melancholy cir­ cumstances concerning his mother’s death. “I have no doubt,” he said, “that your uncle wished the report to be believed, that the child of this unhappy marriage was no more— perhaps he might himself have an eye to the inheritance of his brother —he was then a gay wild young man—But of all intentions against your person, however much the evil conscience of Elspeth might lead her to suspect him from the agitation in which he appeared, Teresa’s story and your own fully acquit him. And now, my dear sir, let me have the pleasure of introducing a son to a father.” We will not attempt to describe such a meeting. The proofs on all sides were found to be complete, for Mr Neville had left a distinct account of the whole transaction with his confidential steward in a sealed packet, which was not to be opened until the death of the old Countess; his motive for preserving secrecy so long appearing to have been an apprehension of the effect which the discovery, fraught with so much disgrace, must necessarily produce upon her haughty and violent temper. In the evening of that day, the yeomanry and volunteers of Glen­ allan drank prosperity to their young master. In a month afterwards, Lord Geraldin was married to Miss Wardour, the Antiquary making the lady a present of the wedding ring, a massy circlet of antique chasing, bearing the motto of Aldobrand Oldenbuck, Kunst macht gunst. Old Edie, the most important man that ever wore a blue gown, bowls away easily from one friend’s house to another, and boasts that he never travels unless on a sunny day. Latterly, indeed, he has given some symptoms of becoming stationary, being frequently found in the corner of a snug cottage between Monkbarns and Knockwinnock, to which Caxon retreated upon his daughter’s marriage, in order to be in the neighbourhood of the three parochial wigs, which he continues to keep in repair, though only for his amusement. Edie has been heard to

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say, “This is a gay bean place, and it’s a comfort to hae sic a corner to sit in in a bad day.” It is thought, as he grows stiffer in the joints, he will finally settle there. The bounty of such wealthy patrons as Lord and Lady Geraldin flowed copiously upon Mrs Hadoway and upon the Meiklebackits. By the former it was well employed, by the latter wasted. They continue, however, to receive it, but under the administration of Edie Ochiltree; and they do not accept it without grumbling at the channel through which it is conveyed. Hector is rising rapidly in the army, and has been more than once mentioned in the Gazette, and rises proportionally high in his uncle’s favour. And, what scarcely pleases the young soldier less, he has also shot two seals, and thus put an end to the Antiquary’s perpetual harping upon the story of the Phoca. People talk of a marriage between Miss MacIntyre and Captain Wardour, but this wants con­ firmation. The Antiquary is a frequent visitor at Knockwinnock and Glen­ allan-house, ostensibly for the sake of completing two essays, one on the mail-shirt of the Great Earl, and the other on the left-hand gaunt­ let of Hell-in-Harness. He regularly enquires whether Lord Geraldin has commenced the Caledoniad, and shakes his head at the answer he receives. En attendant, however, he has completed his notes, which, we believe, will be at the service of any one who chuses to make them public, without risk or expence to The Antiquary. THE END

ESSAY ON THE TEXT

I. THE GENESIS OF THE ANTIQUARY 2. THE COMPOSITION of the antiquary: the Manuscript; preparing the First Edition 3. the later editions: Second Edition; Fifth Edition; octavo

Novels and Tales; duodecimo Novels and Tales; Sixth Edition; eighteenmo Novels and Tales; the Interleaved Set and the Magnum 4. the pre­ sent text: Punctuation and Orthography; Verbal Emendations from the Manuscript. The following conventions are used in transcriptions from Scott’s manuscript: deletions are enclosed 〈thus〉 and insertions ↑thus↓; superscript letters are lowered without comment; the letters ‘NL’ (new line) are Scott’s own, and indicate that he wished a new paragraph to be opened in spite of running on the text, whereas the words ‘[new para­ graph]’ are editorial and indicate that Scott opened a new paragraph on a new line. The same conventions are used as appropriate for indicating variants between the printed editions.

1. the genesis of the antiquary The intellectual origins of The Antiquary lie in Scott’s reading in the works of eighteenth-century antiquaries and historians, especially in histories of the Roman invasion and occupation of Scotland, in the largely speculative studies of the origins of the kingdom of Scotland, and in works on popular superstitions and magic. In The Antiquary Scott summarises a century of scholarship, locates it precisely in 1794, and in so doing recreates the world of his youth.1 He also draws on the events of his own life at that time. In April and May 1796 Scott went to north-east Scotland in the hope of persuading Williamina Belsches of Fettercairn House to marry him; his suit was unsuccessful, largely because her mother (the elder daughter of the 6th Earl of Leven) thought Scott did not have the right social status.2 But Scott was invited to visit; he stayed longer than expected because Williamina was unwell, and spent the time not in wooing his lady but in excavating a ruin: ‘I had plenty of time on my hands—which I employd in causing two labourers begin at the ring or vallum immediately without the main rampart and cut down till they came decisively to the original soil’.3 Thus he had already begun those antiquarian and historical researches whose first fruits were to be the ballads and notes of Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border (1802–03). This personal fusing of the amatory and the archaeological has an obvious bearing on The Antiquary. J. G. Lockhart, Scott’s son-in-law and biographer, and Sir Herbert Grierson, author of the most important twentieth-century study of Scott’s life, argue that the particular combination of materials in The 357

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Antiquary reflects accurately Scottish life in 1794: ‘the transcript of actual Scottish life’, comments Lockhart, while Grierson says there is ‘less of history in the story, but as much or more of drawing straight from life’.4 But as though aware of the intellectual inadequacy of the concept of ‘drawing straight from life’, Grierson goes on to consider the first three novels as displacements of the author’s own psychological prob­ lems: Scott starts from personal experience, a hidden memory of events and sufferings in his own life, but does not, either because he cannot, or does not wish to, make the principal theme the elabora­ tion of this experience and its emotional consequences in any detail, but fills out the picture from his stores of antiquarian, historical, and literary reading re-inforced by his own sympathetic knowledge of character.5 Although the origins of The Antiquary are apparent, it is not known when these beginnings began to form themselves into a work of fiction. However, when a contract to write a new novel was signed in January 1815 he must have had some conception of what he was going to write : the contract stipulated a publication date of 4 June 1815,6 and from the outset the novel seems to have been known as The Antiquary : Scott refers to it by name in a letter to John Ballantyne, his agent, on 17 March 1815, as does Archibald Constable, the publisher, in a letter to the Dublin bookseller, John Cumming on 13 May 1815.7 After contracting to write the novel, Scott’s progress was slow (the novel was not ultimately published until 4 May 1816). In the letter to Ballantyne of 17 March 1815 Scott is clearly thinking about the work: ‘Montfaucon would be very useful to me in the Antiqy. indeed almost indispensible’.7 The work in question was Bernardin de Montfaucon, L Antiquité Expliquée, 10 vols (Paris, 1719–24), and Scott seems to be asking Ballantyne to bid for it, presumably at an auction, for he also asks him ‘Will you advise with Constable what length I should go’. (He was probably unsuccessful for the copy in the Abbotsford Library is said to be the gift of George IV.) But this request also shows how little his thinking had developed, for there is no evidence in the text of the novel of his having referred to Montfaucon in the course of writing. On 3 May he wrote to James Ballantyne, his printer and copartner with Scott in the printing business, saying that ‘I shall begin the Anty. on my return [from London] which will be about the 1st. week ofJune’.8 On 22 December 1815 he told his friend J. B. S. Morritt, who was in the secret of the authorship of the Waverley Novels, that he has still to start: I shall... set myselfseriously to the Antiquary ofwhich I have only a very general sketch at present. But when once I get my pen to paper it will walk fast enough. I am sometimes tempted to leave it alone and try whether it will not write as well without the assistance of my head as with it.9

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The letter is a little disingenuous, for his announcement to James Bal­ lantyne in a letter of 29 December that he had finished Paul's Letters to His Kinsfolk, and that he was ready to get on with The Antiquary intim­ ates that either he had begun earlier and left off, or that various details were already clear, for the name Monkbarns, and that character’s char­ acter, are mentioned as matters fixed and settled: Dear James—I’m done, thank God, with the long yarns Of the most prosy of Apostles—Paul; And now advance, sweet Heathen of Monkbarns! Step out, old quizz, as fast as I can scrawl.10 When accepting a publication date of 4 June 1815 Scott was overoptimistic. He was probably in buoyant spirits when he agreed to the contract in January 1815: The Lord ofthe Isles was published in the first week of January, and towards the end of the month he must have completed Guy Mannering which was published about 22 February 1815. He also allowed other social and literary commitments to inter­ vene. He visited London in April, and in August and September went to inspect the battlefield of Waterloo and to see Paris. After his return he wrote poems on Waterloo, The Field of Waterloo and ‘The Dance of Death’, and an account of the battle and the condition of Belgium and France, Paul's Letters to His Kinsfolk, all of which were completed and published before The Antiquary. However, these works were not neces­ sarily distractions: it is probable that they have some bearing on the novel, and that there is some kind of symbiotic or critical relationship between them. And that Scott was not physically writing does not mean that the creative process was in abeyance; his own letter to Morritt hints, in a slightly self-mocking way, that the novel might write itself without his deliberately working on it, and this seems to imply a recognition of unconscious creative activity. Certainly, by the time he began to write, The Antiquary must have been complete in his imagination for he was able to pen it with great rapidity, with only local hesitations and occa­ sional revisions of restricted areas of text. The original contract document has apparently not survived, but it was negotiated for him by John Ballantyne on 13 January 1815. Later correspondence indicates that the work was to be published by Archi­ bald Constable and Co. of Edinburgh and Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown of London, with Constables managing the publica­ tion, that the first print-run was to be 5000 copies, to be issued as either one or two editions as the publishers might decide, and that the publica­ tion date was to be 4 June 1815.11 The contract evidently further stipu­ lated that the Author ofWaverley licensed an edition of 5000 copies and that there was no transfer of his copyright; that the novel would be printed by James Ballantyne and Co.; and that half the profits of pub­ lication would go to the author. The two publishers would each have offered to pay the author in bills payable at six, twelve and eighteen

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months. John Ballantyne, acting on Scott’s behalf, would have sold these bills to the banks at a discount (the discount representing, in effect, the interest on loans to Scott for the requisite periods); on the due dates the granters of the bills became liable to retire the bills by paying the banks the amounts due. Thus Scott probably received nearly all the money due to him for writing The Antiquary before publication, without the pub­ lishers having received ‘value’ for their outlay, and without receiving any income from their investment. However, the publishers, Constable and Co. in Edinburgh and Longmans in London, were, naturally, less than happy. On 14 June 1815 Longmans wrote to Constable: ‘Pray what has become of the “Antiquary”. The public seem to have intimation of him & are making inquiries when he is to appear’.12 Constable passed the message on to John Ballantyne on 17 June, and suggested that they might advertise the novel in ‘two or three months’.13 John was adept at telling necessary untruths and obviously assented to the proposal, for Constable wrote to Longmans on 11 July: ‘The Antiquary we are told is to go to press immediatly and to be published early in September’.14 But on 12 November Robert Cadell informed his senior partner, Archibald Con­ stable, that John Ballantyne had attempted to lie to him about progress on The Antiquary, and commented: ‘such a system of all that is base and two-faced has no equal…. We must wash our feet clear of these men at whatever cost’.15 On 12 December, according to Archibald Constable then in London, Mr Rees of Longmans wrote ‘a very proper letter to John B. on the subject of Paul’s Letters and the Antiquary’, and Rees informed Cadell in Edinburgh: ‘We also express 〈the〉 like anxiety as to the Antiquary for which we accepted Bills as far back as January last’.16 On 23 January 1816 it was Constable’s turn to say: ‘We are sadly pestered about the Antiquary, and can say nothing to its progress’ ;17 and on 27 January Longmans replied: ‘it is only a few weeks since we had not the most pleasant correspondence with Mr J. B.’.18 But by then a real advance had been made in committing the novel to paper. On 9 March 1816 Constable told Longmans: ‘The first Vol of the Antiquary is printed—and we saw the first sheet of the Vol 2d in the hands of –— two days ago—we are promised the Book complete by the middle of April’.19 They ordered the title-page from James Ballan­ tyne on 15 April, and on 19 April informed Longmans that ‘the Anti­ quary is all in types’,20 meaning, presumably, that Volume 3 was set and ready to print. In a letter to Constable that has not survived Longmans suggested a glossary; on 24 April Constables agreed that a glossary was necessary, and they hoped it would ‘occasion little delay’.21 The first 1500 copies in sheets were sent by sea to London on 30 April, and two complete copies by post; the following day two cancels, and the last sheet (containing the glossary) to complete the 1500 copies already sent by sea were dispatched by ‘Coach Parcel’.22 The novel was published in

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Edinburgh on Saturday 4 May, and was sold out within three weeks. The publishers’ displeasure at a year’s non-progress is understand­ able, yet the biggest problem was not Scott, but the solvency of the firm, Archibald Constable and Co. The two partners, Archibald Constable and Robert Cadell, were aware of their difficulties, and Constable spent the autumn of 1814 in London selling a half share in The Edinburgh Review, and selling off stock, to reduce their indebtedness to the banks. They also planned to sell their shares in Scott’s poetry, once his poetic reputation (supposedly damaged by The Vision of Don Roderick and Rokeby) was re-established by the publication of The Lord of the Isles.23 They weathered the crisis of October 1814, but financial problems did not go away completely; Cadell had a very uncomfortable interview at one of the banks, which, as he informed Constable in a letter of 3 December 1815, concluded with his being told: ‘“Mr Cadell, there is a certain thing called Capital. You should look to that, for these times are bad, and your transactions very large” ’.24 Thus Scott’s having been paid for work not yet delivered was more than just an irritation. But John Ballantyne’s habit of asking Constables for accommodation bills (i.e. bills which the recipient could present to the bank to receive cash, but which the recipient was supposed to pay off on the due date), and his unreliability in providing the requisite funds on the due date so that the bills came to rank against Constables, was the cause of the most bitter of the comments passed by Constable and Cadell on Scott and the two Ballantynes in the autumn of 1815. It is probably because of financial problems that the letters of both Constables and Longmans in the period show a persistent desire to cut costs. On 5 January 1816 Constable and Co. told James Ballantyne: we must now express our feeling on the subject of the still High Rate ofprinting—the state of the Country has reduced, & will still continue to reduce, the value of all kinds of Property—and none more than those connected with the Price of forwarding Literary Productions We are aware that you will reply to this—that your wages are the same as formerly—but the truth is, your Workmens Wages must keep pace with other things and suffer a proportionate dimini­ tion.25 A letter from Longmans to John on 23 April 1816 indicates that James had been forced to comply and cut pay: Printing as well as paper, is very much reduced in London. Re­ prints are now regulated by the same scale they were 8 or 10 years ago; indeed before the reduction in the journeymens wages, we paid no more for fine work than we have usually paid Mr Jas. B.26 In the spring of 1815 the parties agreed that the overs (i.e. the books produced in excess of the contractual numbers) would be considered the property of the publishers, who would also accept responsibility for the

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advertising bill.27) But as the contract for The Antiquary was signed before this agreement there was repeated bickering on the issue, although the complaints did not always concern books which Scott had written. Longmans scolded James for using waste sheets as packing material, claiming them as their own,28 (it is clear from some surviving copies that when they were short of books to sell they would make up copies from waste sheets29); they seem to have objected every time supplies were a few short, even in the number of overs expected ;30 they complained about being charged for the packing of the books: ‘For the future you make the printers pack the books without charge’.31 Con­ stable objected to the number of author’s copies.32 Both publishers were hard bargainers. They were persistent and niggling, and although nom­ inally their objections were directed towards James and John Ballantyne, they must have known perfectly well that wrangles with James and John were wrangles with Scott by proxy. The publishers as a matter of policy also wished to get as much as possible out of Scott, and encouraged him to overcommit himself: away back on 8 February 1814 Constable had remarked to Longmans: ‘the necessity of keeping up Mr Scott’s name by the greatest attention to the sale of his works increases every day’.33 They knew that Scott was one of their three most valuable assets (the others being The Edinburgh Review, and The Encyclopedia Britannica) and that it was in their interests to get him to produce as much as possible, and to entrust them with publica­ tion; contracts stretching into the future were to become a means of binding Scott to Constable and Co. There is no hint of disquiet in the Constable correspondence about Scott’s visit to the continent and about his writing The Field of Waterloo and Paulʼs Letters to His Kinsfolk—they do not say ‘he ought first to finish The Antiquaryʼ, no doubt because they thought they were on to a good thing in getting two publications on the greatest news of the day from one of the most popular authors. They merely criticised and complained when it took until January 1816 (just four months after Scott’s return from abroad) to complete and to pub­ lish Paulʼs Letters. In the seventeen months between January 1815 and May 1816, direct relations between Scott and Constable were courteous, but the parties to the contract for The Antiquary were actually jostling for power and advantage. Their tussles do not seem to have affected The Antiquary, but they did have an effect upon later contracts: one of the factors in decid­ ing in April 1816 to turn to Constable’s rival in Edinburgh, William Blackwood, and to the London publisher, John Murray, for Scott’s next work, Tales ofMy Landlord, and the absence of a date for the completion of that work in the contract for that work, may have been the wranglings of 1815.34 The petty issues raised about small costs by Constable and Longmans are probably the responses of people who had lost a battle: the publishers greatly disliked both Scott’s power to bargain with them

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(a power arising from the profits generated by his writings), and his shrewdness in employing an agent who did not seem to be burdened by scruples. Scott managed to obtain very advantageous contracts. Other writers, even good ones, did not obtain a significant income from literat­ ure; for instance, on 3 May 1815 Constable advised William Tennant, now considered the last original Scottish poet of his generation,35 that he should ask for fifty guineas (£52.50) for the right to publish an edition of 1000 copies of his major poem Anster Fair.36 That was the reality of authorial remuneration; the kind of deal negotiated by John Ballantyne for Scott was truly exceptional. The financial returns from a Waverley Novel for both author and publisher were very large. Originally Constable and Longmans agreed an edition of 5000 copies, 3500 for the Edinburgh firm and 1500 for the London, but it was left open whether the 5000 copies would be printed as one or as two separate editions. On 20 June 1815 Constable wrote to John Ballantyne requesting that ‘the whole number viz 5000 Copies be laid on at once’.37 On 11 December Cadell wrote to Archibald Con­ stable: ‘The Antiquary, 5000 copies, will not last a day. 7000 at least must be printed; but if any of this is talked of there will be fresh drafts for profits’.38 The imprint was increased to 6000 in February 1816, pre­ sumably just before printing started. On 5 April Longmans came to realise that they had ordered far too few copies and asked Constable to send ‘besides our own 1500 copies 1500 of your share’, which they offered to purchase at ‘sale price’ (i.e. the retail price less 35%) less a further 10%.39 On 8 April Constable proposed that the retail price be increased from £1.1s. to £1.4s. (£1.05 to £1.20), and they told Long­ mans ‘the additional profit would be considerable, and we do not think one dozen less of the Book would be sold’.40 The book went on sale in Edinburgh on Saturday 4 May, and it sold out within three weeks. Constable probably sold several hundred copies directly to the public from their shop in the High Street: 1000 copies would have brought in £1200. Of the rest of their share of 4500, 1500 were sold to Longmans at sale price less 10%, thus netting £990; the remainder were sold to booksellers in Scotland, the North of England and in Ireland at £1.4s., less 35%, netting £1560. The total income to Constables was therefore in the region of £3750. Their direct costs were about £1300 for printing and £60 for advertising, ofwhich one quarter was charged to Longmans. Thus Constable and Co. had direct costs of about £1020, giving them a net income of £2730. Longmans’ net income would have been the profits on their 1500 share, and on the further 1500 they bought at a 45% discount from Constable and Co. Assuming that they sold half of the 3000 copies to other retailers and sold the other half directly them­ selves, their net income would have been £1351. Out of these sums had to come the costs of running the publishing businesses, the costs of distribution, and payments to the author.

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Scott was due to receive half the ‘profits’, but this was not half the actual sums received by the publishers but, from Constable and Co., half the income from selling 4500 copies at sale price, less direct costs, i.e. £1262, and from Longmans, half the income from selling their 1500 share at sale price, less direct costs, i.e. £420. Scott’s ‘half-profits’ on the first edition must therefore have been about £1682, from which he would have paid John Ballantyne 12½%, or £210. The first edition of The Antiquary was therefore very profitable for all parties. 2. THE COMPOSITION OF THE ANTIQUARY

The Manuscript. It is probable that Scott started penning the novel on 30 December 1815, for, as we have seen, on the 29th he had written to James Ballantyne: Dear James—I’m done, thank God, with the long yarns Of the most prosy of Apostles—Paul; And now advance, sweet Heathen of Monkbarns! Step out, old quizz, as fast as I can scrawl.10 It is possible that a cryptic comment (‘I leave all my matters clear behind me’41) at the end of a note to Archibald Constable on 5 March 1816, in which he refused an invitation to dinner because he had to attend Lord Succouth on circuit, implies the manuscript version of The Antiquary was complete; the lack of an identified referent is consistent with the slightly coy way in which Scott usually talks of his novels in his letters to Constable.42 The only certain evidence about Scott’s progress has already been cited: Constables told Longmans on 9 March that Volume 1 had been printed,19, and on 15 April that Volume 3 was ‘all in types’.20 Thus even if the letter to Constable on 5 March does not refer to The Antiquary, it still follows that Scott must have completed writing it in mid-March 1816, because a week for copying and two weeks for typesetting and in-house proof-reading would have been the minimum time required to complete these tasks. It also follows that most of the novel was written in 39 Castle Street, Edinburgh, while Scott was also attending to his professional duties. On 30 December 1815, Scott was at Abbotsford; he would have returned to Edinburgh for the start of the Court of Session on 16 January and the Court sat until 11 March. The manuscript is owned by the Pierpont Morgan Library, New York, and is complete except for the ‘Advertisement’ and the ‘Glossary’. The physical evidence of the MS does not provide information about timing, but it does show that the standard processes of composition described in the ‘General Introduction’ (xii–xiv) were already estab­ lished, in this, his third novel. The pages measure approximately 26.5 × 21 cms, and are usually formed of a sheet of paper folded in half and cut, and then folded again to form quires of four leaves. Scott used the rectos for the main text, and the margins and facing versos for correcting mistakes and developing ideas. The rectos are filled with

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writing; he folded his paper about 2 cms from the left to mark his margin, but covered the rest with writing, from the top edge to the bottom, and right over to the outer edge of the paper. The only white space surrounds quoted passages of verse and chapter-heads; new chapters continue on the same page, and the speeches of different characters are run on. Yet the number of words on the rectos varies considerably, from about four to six hundred. Scott wrote with great fluency. There are an immense number of local corrections and improvements, but there is only one major dele­ tion, which, to judge from the evidence of pens, was made the next time he started work: in Volume 1, 275 words were scored out (ff. 89–90). Even this does not constitute a change of direction: in the deleted passage Isabella explains her prior acquaintance with Lovel in a private conversation with Oldbuck, but in the revised version the information is provided in a more embarrassing tripartite exchange between Isabella, Oldbuck and Sir Arthur (98.27–99.22). Only one piece of information in the deleted passage is incompatible with the later development of the story (Isabella tells Oldbuck that she believes that Lovel has resigned his commission), and this provokes a nice Oldbuck retort which is lost to the novel: ‘Indeed that is foolish—very foolish—nobody ought ever to resign—tis a general principle of mine—I never resign even an opinion’. The great majority of the local corrections and improvements were made as he wrote. An analysis of ff. 55 –56 of Volume 2 (corresponding to 176.41 to 179.7, ‘As for himself… had gone to’, in the present edition) shows that there are 17 deletions, none amounting to more than 3 words, 14 additions above the line or in the margin, and 4 additions on the verso, of which the smallest consists of 4 words and the longest 48. It is impossible to categorise satisfactorily the changes made, but three layers of correction can be discerned. From time to time Scott ‘stumbled’, but realised at once that he had not written the word he intended and immediately corrected himself. Thus he wrote ‘little’ when he meant ‘litter’, and emended the error, the replacement word being in the main line of the text: ‘carry Squire Hector out upon his 〈little〉 litter’ (179.17). He removed words which involved close verbal repetitions: ‘the 〈poor〉 faithful beast’ (179.34), which would have been the third ‘poor’ in the sentence. He began to write ‘dying’, but deleted the two letters he had completed and substituted ‘deeing’ (178.36), which is phonologically more appropriate to Jenny Rintherout. He also enhanced the writing in a number of small ways: the ms reads ‘〈bog of〉 Kittiefitting Moss’ (179.15), and the movement to a characteristically North-east form of a name for an area of boggy ground is a clear improvement. Similarly he sharpened not just the Scottish register of Edie’s speech, but the cultural reference, in changing ‘threepenny’ (an English coin) to ‘groats’, a Scottish coin made obsolete by the Union:

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‘as mony siller 〈threepenn〉 groats as the King God bless him is years auld’ (177.9–10). Quite a number of corrections seem to have been made on Scott’s re­ reading his work. Often these corrections are in the same pen and this suggests near contemporaneity, while their being above the line, or in the margin or on the verso opposite, suggests that he was looking again at what he had just written. He corrected minor errors: he originally wrote ‘So that a’ the siller I need is just to buy tobacco & snishing & may be dram at a time’, but on re-reading inserted the missing ‘a’ before ‘dram’ (177.14–15). He removed words which involved repetitions: ‘you intend to 〈burn〉 ↑reduce↓ the toast to a cinder as a burntoffering for Juno’ (174.24–25). He tightened the expression by addi­ tions and substitutions. He added ‘here’ above the line to achieve a more sensible definition of whom Edie is talking about, and to hint that some peculiar force might be at work: ‘the haill folk t here! have… gane daft’ (177.4–5). Similarly ‘he bellowing to Jenny and she again scream­ ing in reply’ is made more comically dramatic by the addition of two words: ‘he bellowing ↑down↓ to Jenny and she again screaming ↑upward↓in reply’ (179.4–5). He originally wrote that Lovel saw Edie wave his ‘hand’, but changed it to ‘blue bonnet’ (177.30), and that Sir Arthur and Isabella were going to visit ‘early in the morning’ (an improbable time as the sun would rise shortly after 5 a.m. in the second half ofJuly) but changed this to ‘early after breakfast’ (178.33) which is both more precise, more plausible, and more socially correct, as it sug­ gests 10 or 10.30 a.m. Of the 4 verso additions 3 are expansions of ideas opened in the main text. The first, ‘I hae had mair gowd offerd me within this twa or three weeks than I ever saw in my life afore’ (177.6–7), is not important, but it intensifies what Edie is saying, and delays his telling Lovel to put his ‘siller’ away, thus giving more time for the expression of his astonishment. Two of the other additions are of a similar character: ‘Umph I supposed as much again’ (178.28), and ‘steal from my larder’ (178.40). However, the fourth verso addition under discussion is, in effect, revision; Scott added the passage in which Lovel enjoins secrecy on Ochiltree (‘recommending… now put off’, 177.24–28), to facilitate the beggar’s future participation in the hoodwinking of Dousterswivel, and the conveyance of the silver ingots to Sir Arthur. The pen and ink suggest that this passage is more or less contemporaneous with the main text, and is thus evidence of Scott thinking ahead to what is to happen later in the volume. The exact timing of these corrections and improvements cannot be ascertained; sometimes the pen can be seen to be the one used for the main text two or three rectos later, which does suggest that perhaps he reread a day’s work either at the end of a stint or at the beginning of the next. But the corrections and improvements were certainly made close

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to the time of original composition: there is no question of re-reading the complete manuscript once he got to the end, or even of his re­ reading the manuscript of a complete volume, for he was sending off packets of material for copying as he wrote. A great many, but not all, of the quires have been folded; some are just folded in half, as though carried away by the copyist, but others, such as ff. 1–12 of volume 2, have been folded vertically about five centimetres from the right, and then folded horizontally into three, to create a packet in which one end could tuck into the flap. Secondly, the final versos of certain quires carry no text from the following rectos, but these rectos have been corrected and elaborated with the new material being squeezed into the margin.43 This implies that Scott had sent off everything he had written to that point so that there was no facing verso for the first page of the new fascicle. That he was sending off material regularly while the process of composition continued is supported by the fact that in the second vol­ ume he lost count of his foliation and of his chapter numbering: there are two folios 55 and 56, and Chapters 7–14 are unnumbered. Preparing the First Edition. To preserve Scott’s anonymity the

manuscript of The Antiquary would have been transcribed, and this transcription would have been used as printer’s copy. The copyist was probably John Ballantyne, for the extract from the ‘unique broadside, entitled and called “Strange and wonderful News from ChippingNorton…” ’ (Volume 1, f. 2ov: 25.32–26.5) is in Ballantyne’s hand, as are various words ‘correcting’ Scott which are to be found in the manu­ script. Many of the final versos of quires are grubby and stained as though they had been laid down on a dirty surface, and ff. 78V ofVolume 2 and 33r of Volume 3 have inky finger-prints on them, which suggests that the copying may have been done in James Ballantyne’s printing office in St John Street in Edinburgh, or even that parts of Scott’s manuscript were used as printer’s copy. John Ballantyne’s transcript would have passed in batches to James Ballantyne’s staff for typesetting. No part of this transcript has survived. Nor are any proofs known to have survived; Gillian Dyson records the sale of two corrected proof sheets in 1893, and of a ‘portion of original proof sheets with numerous corrections in the hand-writing of the author’ in 1907,44 but these have not been traced. No doubt the same processes as are described in the ‘General Introduction’ were followed: the compositors would have set batches of text and at the same time supplied punctuation, standardised spelling, and corrected minor errors, in conformity with a series of (theoretical) ‘standing orders’; the first proofs would have been read in-house against John Ballantyne’s copy; James Ballantyne would have read, and partly edited, second proofs, and sent them on to Scott; Scott would have both corrected and revised these proofs, and on receiving them back James would have

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copied Scott’s corrections and revisions on to a clean set of proofs, and returned this set to the compositor; occasionally Scott would be sent revises, but by and large James Ballantyne would have been left to supervise the translation of Scott’s corrections and revisions into print. A final set of proofs would have been used to check aspects of the printing, although occasional errors in the text would be spotted and corrected. The intermediaries (as the copyist, compositors, proof-readers and James Ballantyne are collectively known to the editors of the Edinburgh Edition of the Waverley Novels) supplied punctuation. The extent of this activity can again be discerned in an analysis of the two leaves, ff. 55 and 56 of Volume 2, previously discussed. The great majority of punctu­ ation marks in the printed text were supplied: 96 commas were added, 15 apostrophes, 5 inverted commas, 4 dashes, 4 question marks, 3 exclamation marks, 3 full stops, and 2 semicolons. Much of the rest of the punctuation involved converting the marks supplied by Scott into something different: thus 16 new paragraphs were opened, 12 full stops were substituted for dashes, 2 question marks for dashes, 1 comma for a dash, and 1 semicolon for a colon. In addition, the intermediaries did not retain the following manuscript punctuation marks: 1 full stop, 1 question mark, and 2 dashes. To a significant extent the intermediaries merely translated the punc­ tuation of the manuscript into the punctuation to be expected in a printed text. For instance, passages of dialogue are written as continu­ ous text in the manuscript, but Scott separates the different utterances by inverted commas and a dash, as in the last interchange on f. 56:‘… room”—“Why…’ (179.36–37). On each occasion Scott’s punctu­ ation is interpreted by the intermediaries as an instruction to open a new paragraph on a new line, with an indentation of the first line. Similarly, the grammatical form of a question is seen as an indication that that sentence should end with a question mark, and apostrophes are used to indicate elisions and possessives as required by convention; thus ‘ “Jenny—wheres Miss Oldbuck”—“Miss Grizzy’s in the Captains room”—’ becomes ‘“Jenny, where’s Miss Oldbuck?” [newparagraph] “Miss Grizzy’s in the captain’s room.”’ (f. 55; 178.23–25). Again, Scott separates direct speech from speech indicators by the use of inverted commas alone while the intermediaries use inverted commas plus ordinary commas, thus: ‘ “… motions” said Lovel “ as we go’ becomes ‘“… motions,” said Lovel, “as we go…”’ (f. 55; 177.1). For the rest, the intermediaries acted largely in accordance with the conven­ tions of the time: they supplied a form of punctuation which was con­ sidered appropriate to printed texts, and which was promulgated in printers’ grammars. The intermediaries also normalised Scott’s spelling. Some 15 verbs in the past tense had an ‘e’ inserted to create the conventional ‘ed’

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ending: ‘endeavourd’ became ‘endeavoured’, etc. ‘Haill’ becomes ‘hale’ (in the first edition the intermediaries have a preference for a terminal ‘e’ as a means of modifying the pronunciation of the preceding vowel); ‘mickle’ becomes ‘muckle’ (which is, on the whole, the preferred form in the first edition); ‘snishing’ becomes ‘sneeshin’; ‘lilly’ becomes ‘lily’; ‘brigg’ becomes ‘brig’; ‘yoursell’ becomes ‘yoursel’; ‘by and bye’ be­ comes ‘by and by’; and ‘do’nt’ becomes ‘don’t’. The intermediaries also systematically lowered the initial capitals supplied by Scott except on proper names; so they removed the initial capitals on ‘King’, ‘Saturna­ lia’, ‘Captain’ (twice), ‘Moss’, and ‘Uncle’ (but gave one to ‘pantheon’). They expanded 7 ampersands. They hyphenated ‘siller groats’, ‘break­ fast parlour’, and ‘setting dog’ (but removed the hyphen from ‘e’ennow’. They closed up ‘wad na’ and ‘may be’ (twice). The intermediaries also corrected minor errors: Scott wrote ‘our’ instead of its homophone ‘owre’ (177.6); he wrote ‘mend’ for ‘me and’ although there is also an ampersand in the manuscript which was prob­ ably added later by Scott as though on re-reading he recognised an ‘and’ was missing (178.21); and he wrote ‘off’ when he meant ‘of’ (178.38); and he wrote ‘if if’ (179.34). Each of these is corrected. They also got rid of a verbal repetition when ‘ere’ replaced the second of three ‘as’s’ in a sentence (177.31). And they successfully assimilated new material on the versos to the main text. Scott originally wrote ‘ “And wheres Caxon”—’ (f. 55; 178.28). He inserted a caret between the opening inverted commas and ‘And’, and on the verso wrote ‘ “Umph I supposed as much again’. The intermediaries modified the manuscript reading to unite the two: ‘ “Umph, I supposed as much again—and where’s Caxon?” ’ These changes may have been made by Scott himself in proof, but they are more likely to have been done by the intermediaries, for all, to judge from other proofs, are within their accepted competence. Their charge was to generate acceptable books from Scott’s manuscript. It is not that the manuscript is other than coherent; indeed it is amazingly coherent and is in no way defective, but it has the inevitable errors of hand-written work, and it uses the spelling and punctuation learned by a man who was at school in an earlier era. The intermediaries did not need to correct or improve Scott, but it can be said that they re-present Scott’s text in order to ensure its saleability. There was yet another layer of correction and revision, this time by Scott himself in proofs. In the manuscript there is no motto to head Chapter 7: what is now there (178.2–7) is from Joseph Hall’s Virgi­ demiarum, and it is inconceivable that any but Scott would have quoted from such an obscure work. In the manuscript Oldbuck says: ‘I ask for my sister—no answer—I call I shout—at length Jenny…’; in the first edition a rotund and inflated formulation meaning ‘I swear’ is added after ‘shout’: ‘I invocate my inmates by more names than the Romans

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gave to their deities’ (178.17–19). Such an expansion is indubitably authorial. But even small proof additions may be evidence of a creative mind engaged in ‘growing’ the text: in the manuscript Scott has Jenny say ‘ “Ye wad na hae us contradict the Captain e’en-now and him may be 〈dy〉 deeing”—’. Her insolence is heightened by the slight change from ‘Ye’ to ‘your honour’, so that the first edition reads: ‘“your honour wadna hae us contradict the captain e’en now, and him maybe dee­ ing?” ’. Such changes are almost certainly authorial, and they show that Scott used the proofs as another creative stage in the writing of The Antiquary. The changes made to the text between the manuscript and the first edition are very numerous indeed; some are Scott’s own, but the great majority are changes made by intermediaries and, by and large, are in accordance with what he wanted and expected. But he did not realise, because he did not read proofs against copy, that there were many misreadings and misunderstandings. Correcting these forms the prin­ cipal business of this edition, and this is treated below, in the section ‘The Present Text of The Antiquary'. 3. THE LATER EDITIONS The Antiquary went through ten different editions in Scott’s lifetime. Of these, only the first edition (1816), the 18mo version of Novels and Tales (1823), and the Magnum (1829) have a claim to be called ‘authorial’. The initial sales of the novel were so encouraging that a second edition was ordered almost immediately, and appeared on 27 July 1816. The next edition, called the ‘fifth’, was published in 1818; presumably the copies of the second edition were released in three separate tranches, but no copies with title pages claiming to be the third or fourth editions have been traced. The sixth edition, the last to appear in the same format as the first, appeared in 1821. After the fifth edition, the next proper edition of The Antiquary was as part of the Novels and Tales of the Author of Waverley, which appeared in 12 octavo (8vo) volumes in 1819; The Antiquary occupies Volume 4 and the first half of 5. A second edition in this format was published in 1822. Novels and Tales also appeared in duodecimo (12mo) format in 1821 and 1825 (Volumes 5 and 6), and in 18mo format in 1823 (Volume 4 and the first half of 5). The relationship between the various editions is indicated in the stemma opposite, with stages in the transmission of the text which are not editions being placed in square parentheses. The Second Edition. Some 6000 copies of the first edition of The Antiquary were printed, and went on sale in Edinburgh on 4 May 1816, and in London on 8 May. Scott was telling his friends as early as the 16th: ‘6000 went off in the first six days and it is now at press again’,45 but his estimate of sales was optimistic for on 22 May Constable still

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seems to have had copies, although London was without them: Con­ stable told Longmans that day: ‘of the Antiquary we have sent you as many as we can spare’.46 Cadell told Archibald Constable on 2 July: ‘I have settled for the profits of the new edition Antiqy long ere now but at 15 mos. I would not hear of less’.47 Constable sent the bill for the paper and the print to Longmans on 22 July, but it is not known how many copies were ordered or printed, nor how many were released at a time. In preparing the second edition of The Antiquary James Ballantyne must have used a marked-up copy of the first edition. There are about 830 variants in the second edition when compared to the first (excluding hyphenation variants). The vast majority do not appear in the 1819 octavo edition which implies that copy for the octavo was not the second edition nor its derivative the fifth. But there are 111 verbal variants common to both the second edition and the octavo, of which only 36 could be co-incidental, the result of the normal processes of standard­ isation and Scoticisation. These facts suggest a common original which both were following, and from which both diverged independently. Some of these 111 variants may have been the work of the intermedi­ aries, particularly those which eliminated close verbal repetitions. But others are certainly authorial for they could only have been written by Scott; the most notable is the footnote on page 19 of the present edition: ‘Ars Topiaria, the art of clipping yew-trees and hedges into fantastic figures. A Latin poem, entided Ars Topiaria, contains a curious account

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of the process.’. That both the second and the octavo editions were based on a marked-up first edition is a reasonable deduction, but of course an unmarked first edition accompanied by a list of readings to be changed would have had the same effect. Of the 830 or so variants, excluding hyphenation, in the second edition (a number which, like all that follow, is indicative rather than precise), the biggest categories are 1 ] 162 changes in spelling, some of which seem haphazard, such as ‘show’ to ‘shew’, and others of which seem deliberate normalisations and standardisations, such as ‘lanthorn’ to ‘lantern’, the preference for a single ‘l’ at the end of words like ‘mysel’, or the adoption of‘Mucklebackit’ as the standard form of that name; 2] the adoption of 110 Scottish spelling forms in direct speech for words common to Scots and English such as ‘ye’, ‘mak’, ‘doun’, and ‘o”; 3] the insertion of 95 commas and the removal of 92; 4] 57 instances of capitalising initial letters, in names like the ‘Green Chamber’; and 5 ] 26 semicolons substituted for commas. This kind of variation is to be expected in a Waverley Novel. But the most surprising class of variant is error: it looks as though the second edition was not properly proof-read for there are about 49 errors which should have been seen as errors without recourse to the copy. Some are the result of careless reading: Chapter 2 starts: ‘As the senior travelling’, when all other editions print, more sensibly and properly, ‘traveller’. Often parts of words are omitted, such as ‘remorsely’ for ‘remorselessly’ (2.78.22); on several occasions inverted commas are omitted at the close of speeches; there are straightforward spelling mistakes such as ‘charactess’ (2.238.8); and there are quite a number of spacing errors such as ‘Ite ll’ (3.28.11). The Fifth Edition. Collation shows that the fifth edition was set from

the second. The fifth edition corrects 48 of the 49 errors of the second but adopts nearly all of the latter’s 780 or so other variants. It also introduces another 820 of its own (again, excluding hyphenation changes). There are 1 ] about 153 spelling changes, of which the most systematic is the adoption of‘ay’ in place of‘aye’; 2 ] about 300 marks of punctuation are either inserted or removed (162 commas and 20 dashes are added and 62 commas and 26 dashes removed); 3 ] there are about 86 substitutions of one mark of punctuation for another, including 38 semicolons for commas; 4 ] there are about 91 changes in capitalisation, of which about 20 are sentence indicators, and the other 71 pertain to individual words, the most common change being the systematic use of a lower-case letter for ‘lord’ when the Earl of Glenallan is addressed; 5 ] there is little Scoticising (16 changes) and it is almost balanced bywords changed from Scots to English (15); and 6 ] there are 62 verbal changes. The 62 verbal changes include 5 words omitted and 4 added; each is a small alteration, such as that at 3.44.15 which in the first and second editions reads ‘the torpid chill of age and of sorrow’, but in the fifth ‘the

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torpid chill of age and sorrow’. There are a number of misreadings and misunderstandings, such as the alteration in Oldbuck’s misuse of Shakespeare to provide authority for his misogyny from ‘awful rule and right supremacy’ (EEWN: 36.17–18) to ‘lawful rule and right suprem­ acy’ (1.95.10). All of these changes, with the exception of two discussed below, are the normal mistakes which occur in resetting text, and none implies authorial involvement. The two that are of interest occur late in the novel: ‘Do you pretend—–’ is appended to the end of Oldbuck’s last speech in Chapter 8 of Volume 3 (297.39), and ‘in fire-haste’ is added to the end of the sentence ‘I hope the men… will make a bonfire of their gimcracks, as an army destroy their artillery when forced to raise a siege’ (347.22). Inserting the second phrase particularly would be a somewhat unexpected initiative from an intermediary; but the addition of these two phrases is not enough to justify any suggestion that Scott was involved in the production of the fifth edition, other than, possibly, to propose adding ‘in fire-haste’ in response to some comment by a correspondent. And as the fifth edition was a textual dead-end, this colourful phrase, however arrived at, was lost and appears in no other edition. The Octavo Novels and Tales (1819, 1822). Constable purchased

the copyrights of the first seven novels in 1819, and proceeded to plan a collected edition. He commissioned engravings to illustrate the title pages, telling his new publishing partner in London, J. O. Robinson, on 2 April 1819: ‘We have in considerable forwardness, a Series of 12 drawings from Scenes in Waverley & the Tales of my Landlord.—They are by our greatest artist in that line here’.48 The artist was William Allan (1782–1850), a history painter of whom Scott thoroughly approved. No doubt part of the objective in purchasing the Scott copyrights was to escape the necessity of having his books printed by Ballantyne, an almost obsessional aim particularly in Robert Cadell’s correspondence from 1814. In some displeasure Scott wrote to Archibald Constable on 19 April: You tell me you have engaged with Messrs. Ramsay to execute an ornamented edition ofthe Tales and I do not find that you have previously asked Mr Ballantyne whether he could undertake it within your time.… I need not recall to Messrs. Constable and Cadell what passed betwixt us in their shop and that there was an engagement as solemn as a pledge of honour could make it that the works with which I then parted should be printed as usual in Saint John Street.49 At that time Constable relented and placed the order with James Ballantyne and Co., but, in a letter of 9 July 1819 to Ballantyne, doubted whether James Ballantyne and Co. could cope with Archibald Constable and Co.’s autumn print order: ‘we beg that you will state explicitly and

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candidly what you can do—and what you cannot do’.50 The order in­ cluded 1500 copies of the octavo edition of the novels in 12 volumes, 2000 copies of the collected poetry in 12 volumes, plus 6250 of other reprints and 6000 copies of Ivanhoe, a total of 54,250 books. On 21 September Constables were of the opinion that Ballantyne’s could not deliver on time, and on the following day they gave the order for printing Volumes 9 and 10 to another printer.51 On 26 November the Novels and Tales were still not ready, but it seems that 650 copies had been shipped to Hurst Robinson by 3 December,52 and publication was announced in the Edinburgh Evening Courant for 9 December 1819. Control over the production of reprints of Scott’s novels had there­ fore moved away from the printing partners Walter Scott and James Ballantyne, to the publishing partners Archibald Constable and Robert Cadell. The new edition was an exercise in creative marketing: not only was the new edition illustrated and done in a handsome manner, but the first two volumes of the original three-volume publication appear in volume 4, and Volume 3 in Volume 5, thus making it necessary that a purchaser should get the set, not individual books. But no one exercised control over the text in the way that they did over the printing and promotion. The Antiquary was one of the novels in the 1819 octavo Novels and Tales printed by Ballantynes, and, as has been demonstrated, was probably set from a marked-up copy of the first edition. It is not clear why the second and fifth editions were ignored ; and when the next ‘new’ text is inspected, the inevitable conclusion is that the text of The Antiquary was ‘developing’ haphazardly. The volume of variation is enormous ; in addition to the 111 verbal variants deriving from the ‘marked-up first edition’, another 1433 are generated by the 1819 octavo: 1] there were about 307 changes in spelling; 2] 170 commas and 36 other punctuation marks were added and 105 firstedition commas and 41 other marks were removed; 3] 137 marks of punctuation were substituted for others; 4] 65 words were Scoticised while 30 forms which were Scottish in the first edition were Anglicised ; 5 ] there were about 195 changes in capitalisation of which putting the initial letter of ‘lord’ in the lower case is by far the most common example, and a further 33 changes in capitals marking the beginning of a sentence ; and 6 ] there are about 200 verbal variants. The great majority of the verbal variants are small : a letter omitted or added, a change from plural to singular, a word omitted or added, or one small word substi­ tuted for another. Though apparendy small, many involve real textual deterioration, as when, in the manuscript, first edition and the EEWN, Aldobrand Oldenbuck’s printing equipment includes ‘fonts’ (85.28), but ‘founts’ in the 1819 octavo ; or when, in the manuscript, first edition and the EEWN, Oldbuck enjoys ‘all the comfits’ of a Scottish breakfast (180.25), but ‘all the comforts’ of a Scottish breakfast in the octavo; or when, in the manuscript, first edition and the EEWN, Oldbuck is

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‘avised of the contrary’ (48.3) but is ‘advised’ in the octavo; or when the servants of Knockwinnock are to be given the traditional reward of ‘ale and beef’ (340.1) in the manuscript, first edition and the EEWN, but seem to have to choose between the two (‘ale or beef’) in the octavo. One telling phrase (here in italics) was completely omitted: ‘the Monk­ barns heritors aye employed him [Rab Tull] in their law business to keep up their connection wi’ the burgh’ (71.24); what remains after the phrase was lost makes little sense by itself. A number of small phrases were added or substituted but all are pedestrian: for instance, in the first edition Monkbarns says that the quotation from Aubrey is ‘near the middle of the page’ (71.35), but the octavo adds ‘I think’. By 5 July 1821 there were only 25 copies of the octavo Novels and Tales left in Edinburgh.53 A new edition was ordered; it was shipped to Lon­ don in January 1822, and publication was announced in the Edinburgh Evening Courant on 2 February. There were new vignettes on the title pages by Alexander Nasmyth (1758–1840), the Scottish painter who is now best known for his portrait of Burns, but who in his day was primarily famed for his landscapes. It was not that Allan’s work for the 1819 octavo was not liked, but that the title pages were made uniform with those of the octavo Historical Romances which appeared on 6 June 1822. The 1822 octavo version of The Antiquary used the 1819 edition as copy-text, and introduced more than 500 new variants, which repres­ ents a slowing down of the rate of change. The biggest category is again punctuation. To some extent, there was an attempt to be more system­ atic in spelling: ‘farther’, ‘ay’, ‘inquire’, ‘by’ and ‘shew’ are preferred to their alternatives. But these standardisations were arbitrary: ‘inquire’ was the more common form of the word in the first edition; ‘enquire’ was the preferred form in 1819; in 1822 all examples of‘enquire’ were changed back to ‘inquire’. Verbal changes involve one letter or one word: Aldobrand Oldenbuck was originally driven to ‘establish his household gods’ at Monkbarns (85.19) but in 1822 his household ‘goods’ were what he established; Sir Arthur asks to speak to Oldbuck the night after the storm and the rescue, and in all previous editions Isabella ‘conducted the Antiquary accordingly to her father’s apartment’ (97.6); but in the 1822 octavo she ‘conducted the Antiquary according to her father’s appointment’. In fairness, however, some of the changes were corrections; for instance Sir Arthur is called a ‘baronet’ (39.24), which corrects the error of the first edition and of the 1819 octavo, and it was realised that the Ladies Memorandum-book (42.31) was a real publication which deserved its capitals. The Duodecimo Novels and Tales (1821, 1825). The first duo­

decimo edition in 16 volumes was announced in the Edinburgh Evening Courant on 31 March 1821; the second appeared unheralded in the

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spring of 1825. Of the first 150054 copies were ordered; the print-order for the second is not known. The Antiquary occupies Volumes 5 and 6, thus prefiguring exactly the Magnum division of the text in 1829. The 1821 version was set from the 1819 octavo; it repairs a number of its minor errors, and in so doing it occasionally, and accidentally, reverts to a first edition reading: there was no recourse to editions prior to 1819. In addition to the 1500 or so variants introduced into the 1819 octavo, the 1821 duodecimo intro­ duces more than 850 of its own. The 1825 duodecimo, set, of course, from its 1821 predecessor, maintains the accumulation of variation, but none is of fundamental interest. The two duodecimo editions are a textual dead-end; there is no evidence in letters that Scott saw them while in production, and collation evidence does not demonstrate authorial involvement. The Sixth Edition (1821). Aware that he had created a demand for Novels and Tales ofthe Author ofWaverley, Constable also saw that some customers wished to have the Novels and Tales in a format compatible with the new novels which were appearing, and so in 1821 he generated a 24-volume set of the Novels and Tales largely out of unsold copies of the old single editions of the novels, but with a new title page and a uniform date. However, no copies of old editions of The Antiquary can have been left, for a new edition was printed, some copies appearing under the banner ‘Sixth Edition’, and others as Volumes 7, 8 and 9 of Novels and Tales ofthe Author ofWaverley. Constable made use of the freedom given by ownership of the copy­ right, for almost certainly the sixth edition was not printed by James Ballantyne and Co. There is no colophon, and Ballantyne’s books always state that they are printed by James Ballantyne and Co.; the volumes use type of the same design as that in the original editions, but the actual letters are slightly more refined, which suggests that they were not Ballantyne’s types; and, what is crucial, the whole attitude to re­ printing is totally different from that pertaining in the Ballantyne busi­ ness. The sixth edition is set from an uncorrected copy of the first, and is astonishingly faithful to its original. For instance, in Chapters 3 and 4 of Volume 1, there is a total of only ten variants. Of these, 3 are intelligent solutions to problems of sense: at 19.8, all printed editions except the sixth read ‘conventional revenues’ as a result of the copyist misreading the manuscript’s ‘conventual revenues’, but the sixth edition reads ‘con­ ventual’ ; at 20.4 in the sixth edition, Oldbuck says he lives a ‘Cœnobite’, but the first edition reads ‘Cænobite’; and at 31.7 all editions except the sixth print the nonsense ‘a blithe gae-down wi’ had in’t’, but the sixth recognises that ‘wi” should have been ‘we’ and emends accordingly. In addition the sixth Scoticises once, emends the spelling of one Scots word, makes 2 mistakes, and omits 2 commas and 1 hyphen. The

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difference in printing practice between editions acknowledged as Bal­ lantyne productions and the sixth suggests that it is most improbable that the latter was printed by James Ballantyne and Co. The 18mo Novels and Tales (1823). Constable forecast a new market

for Scott’s works with a small inexpensive edition. Hurst, Robinson and Co. were clearly impressed for in a letter of 14 August 1821 they ordered 5000 copies, which were to be delivered for publication on 10 October 1822, and which were to be printed by Ballantynes ‘in their best style on a new Type’.55 Work on preparing the edition had begun by April 1822; printing was completed in mid-August 1823, and the last consignment was sent to London on 5 September.56 The new ‘mini­ ature edition’ at £4.4s. (£4.20) was advertised in the Edinburgh Evening Courant on 20 September 1823. Copy text for the 18mo was the 1822 octavo, and the 18mo follows its division of the text, with the original first two volumes in Volume 4, and the third in the first half of Volume 5. Unlike the other four editions of Novels and Tales, Scott was interested in the 18mo. He wrote to James Ballantyne in a letter dated by Grierson ‘[ 1822 ]’: ‘I send part of Cor­ rected Waverley to balance proofs’, and again on 16 September 1822: ‘I send two proofs and Copy also last Vol: of novels. I shall wish to correct the succeeding volumes also of the new edition’.57 He is therefore likely to have read the proofs of the 18mo version of The Antiquary, but in fact there are few unequivocal authorial changes. To the description of Oldbuck in Chapter 2 of Volume 1 he adds ‘he had money in the funds’, a telling phrase which emphasises Oldbuck’s financial commitment to the Hanoverian dynasty: ‘His wishes were very moderate; he had money in the funds, and as the rent of his small property rose with the improvement of the country, it soon greatly exceeded his wants and expenditure’ (18mo, 4.20.5–8; EEWN, 15.15–17). Late on, when Elspeth just before her own death fantasises about telling Eveline Nev­ ille of the death of the old Countess, she says, in the 18mo: ‘Teresa— Teresa—my lady calls us! Bring lights—lights—, the grand stair-case is as mirk as a Yule midnight’ (18mo, 5.125.22); in all other editions she says ‘bring a candle’ (EEWN, 315.36). But the 18mo had no textual descendants, and so both the telling point about Oldbuck, and the Shakespearean embellishment, were lost and appear in no other edition. In all there are about 3070 variants in the 18mo, of which more than 1000 are the 18mo’s own. Once more these include the correction of previous error, some corrections to Latin quotations for which Scott himself may have been responsible, and some carefully executed stand­ ardisations. But the most notable standardisation is an error: the 18mo changes every instance of direct speech ending in inverted commas followed by a long dash (Scott’s sign in the manuscript and first edition of speech being interrupted by the following speaker), to a long dash

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followed by inverted commas, originally a sign of speech trailing off. Most verbal variation consists of changes to one or two letters, and this produces some distinguished blunders: John o’ the Girnell’s solicitude for the women of the parish means that ‘honest men’s hearts were never unblessed with an offspring’ in the 18mo, while it is their ‘hearths’ which are so blessed in other editions (EEWN, 88.18), ‘sweet-meats’ (112.10) become ‘sweat-meats’, and ‘grey hairs’ (313.24) become ‘grey heirs’. Such mistakes are sufficiently common to raise questions about whether, in the case of Scott, authorial proof-readings can confer real authority to the subsequent edition. The Interleaved Set and the Magnum. In 1823 Archibald Constable proposed a collected edition of all Scott’s fiction, corrected and annot­ ated by the author, and to facilitate its preparation he had prepared an interleaved set of the novels. Scott demurred, came round to the idea in 1825, but as the financial crash ofjanuary 1826 putin doubt the owner­ ship of the copyrights he spent the next two years on other literary activities. In 1827 Robert Cadell, who had become Scott’s sole pub­ lisher, resurrected the scheme for a complete, annotated version of the Waverley Novels, and it was finally published in 48 volumes, a volume a month, between 1 June 1829 and 3 May 1833. The full story of the making of the ‘Magnum Opus’, or just ‘Magnum’, as the final edition is known, is to be found in Jane Millgate’s Scott's Last Edition (Edinburgh, 1987). The first 12 volumes of the Interleaved Set are based on the 1822 octavo Novels and Tales. The Antiquary occupies Volume 4 and the first part of Volume 5, as in the octavo editions, and Scott made 293 entries correcting, expanding and annotating his text. Most of the work was done in October 1828; he wrote to Robert Cadell asking for assistance in tracking information about Bedesmen on 4 October, and about Burns’s idea of becoming a beggar on 15 October, and then on 2 November he said: ‘The Antiquary is ready for you excepting one note in the 3d volume which I cannot write till I see a file of newspapers including February 1804’.58 Scott’s revisions include only 8 changes in spelling (most being to reduce the Scottish register in Oldbuck’s speech), 7 corrections of error (e.g. ‘yang’ to ‘gang’, 4.121; and ‘positum’ to ‘posita’, 4.58, to secure agreement with ‘castra’ thus correcting his own mistake away back in the manuscript), and 8 changes of punctuation of which the most interest­ ing are the 2 dashes added to Taffril’s instruction to Edie Ochiltree to move off the field of the duel: ‘At any rate wait there till we come back, ↑—↓ and ↑—↓ get off with you’ (4.327). In the manuscript no hesitancy is suggested at all, so the dashes indicate a change in Scott’s perception of Taffril’s relationship with Edie. By far the greatest num­ ber of changes are verbal. The biggest single addition is his expansion of

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the original ‘Advertisement’, and there are 23 notes, one of which he deleted, ranging from a gloss on the word ‘roughies’ (4.344) to the note which concludes The Antiquary in the Magnum, ‘Alarm of Invasion’ (facing 5.237). The biggest single category of change is the addition of 155 speech indicators; the majority are no more than the ‘said his uncle’ kind, but many are more expansive and interesting: when Oldbuck challenges Edie Ochiltree about his knowledge of the chest of silver ingots Scott adds ‘answerd Edie assuming a countenance of great sim­ plicity’ (5.136). There are a further 90 verbal changes. Most are very small; in the description of Oldbuck in Chapter 2 Scott alters ‘Mr Oldbuck was habitually parsimonious, but not mean’ to ‘Mr Oldbuck was habitually parsimonious, but in no respect mean’—thus slightly strengthening Oldbuck’s moral standing. The longest such change is only two sentences: ‘the Antiquary was himself rather surprised at the degree of attachment which he could not but acknowledge he enter­ tained for the stranger, ↑The riddle was notwithstanding easily solved Lovel had many qualities worthy 〈of〉 to attract 〈to〉 regard but 〈his chief in Oldbuck〉 he won our antiquaries heart by being upon most occasions an excellent listener. ↓’ (4.243–44 and facing). As J. H. Alexander has observed, this is a ‘pleasant example’ of an addition,59 but it also illustrates well the problems created by Scott’s revisions. Firstly, the addition is not directly assimilable into the text, and when it appears in the Magnum the awkward phrase, ‘many qual­ ities worthy to attract regard’, has been edited to read ‘many attractive qualities’ (Magnum, 5.216.28–29). Secondly, Scott’s imaginative un­ certainty is manifest in the 3 deletions—when he wrote the novel origin­ ally there is a flow of words on to the page with little hesitancy—and this is indicative of the author’s lack of imaginative engagement in revising the text. Thirdly, Scott proposes a self-regarding motive for Oldbuck’s attachment to Lovel, but this runs counter to and undercuts the persist­ ent suggestion that Oldbuck’s liking is due to an unconscious recogni­ tion of Eveline in Lovel; Scott’s instinctive knowledge of his text, so clearly present although not necessarily conscious when he first wrote, is no longer there. Robert Cadell must have received Scott’s completed notes and cor­ rections in mid-November. In his diaries for 1828 and 1829 he records that he was busy on the notes for TheAntiquary on 24 November, 8 and 9 December, 21 January, and 28 January, and says he ‘revised’ The Anti­ quary on 22 and 27 January.60 It is clearly he who edited the notes and corrections so that they were suitable for reproduction in print; even allowing for the fact that he had to edit Scott’s new material, his tran­ scriptions are not wholly reliable, and he omitted completely one major note on Edie Ochiltree and the praetorium (facing 5.253). It was prob­ ably his method to transcribe the new material in due form into an 1819 octavo copy of The Antiquary. This can be discerned from examining

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those variants in 1822, but not in 1819, and which were not corrected by Scott in the Interleaved Set; overwhelmingly, those variants do not appear in the Magnum. Two examples will suffice: the thief whose services were ‘adjusted’ to a neighbouring baron in 1822 (4.44.16), were ‘adjudged’ in 1819 (and in the first edition and the manuscript), and it is ‘adjudged’ which appears in the Magnum (5.35.20); secondly, Aldobrand Oldenbuck sets up his household ‘gods’ in Fairport in the Magnum (5.154.31), not his household ‘goods’, which, as we have seen, was the reading introduced in 1822 (4.173.23). Punctuational variants, less liable to deliberate revision, support the conclusion. Altogether, there are about 3600 variants in the Magnum version of The Antiquary when compared to the first edition, of which 1800 came from earlier editions and authorial revisions, and 1800 were generated by the Magnum itself. Some of these must have been produced by Scott when correcting proofs; it is difficult to believe that a printer or even Robert Cadell would change ‘I agree with Mr Wordsworth’ (EEWN, 3.13) in the Advertisement to ‘I agree with my friend Wordsworth’. But it is equally difficult to believe that most of the changes were the author’s: they involve more punctuation; they involve standardisations (e.g. in the Magnum ‘De’il’ always becomes ‘Deil’, and ‘aye’ ‘ay’, while ‘connexion’ is preferred to ‘connection’, and ‘show’ to shew’); and they also involve a detailed application of a prosaic common-sense logic: for instance, the worldly wisdom of the first-comer for a coach secures for himself the best berth before the arrival of his ‘competitor’ (EEWN, 6.25) but ‘competitors’ in the Magnum; and when Oldbuck and Sir Arthur ‘fell upon’ yet later times (38.42) in their historical disputes, the Magnum substitutes ‘their conversation turned on’, and the voracious metaphor is lost. Most of the added verbal material is non-imaginative: Oldbuck finds Lovel’s company ‘too congenial to repine’ (11.17) in all editions save the Magnum which has ‘too congenial to lead him to repine’, and an extra note tells us that the sovereign who ‘now holds the throne’ (39.4) was George III. A major transposition of text is intended to prevent the ladies drinking port after dinner with the men, and dis­ cussing politics: ‘When dinner was over… shadow of a shade’ (45.33–37) is moved to open the paragraph beginning ‘After the ladies had left the apartment’ (47.36). Other verbal changes often look like compositorial error, as when ‘thereby’ is changed to ‘thereabout’ (29.36). The Antiquary was published as Volumes 5 and 6 of the Magnum Opus in October and November 1829, on time as it never had been before.

4. THE PRESENT TEXT OF THE ANTIQUARY Nothing in the history of the text of The Antiquary in its development from Scott’s manuscript through to its publication in the Magnum

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Opus can lead an editor to wish to modify the general policy of the Edin­ burgh Edition of the Waverley Novels. All editions except for the first and the sixth are unreliable: spelling was normalised in one edition only to be normalised differently in the next; the punctuation is unstable, and many changes seem quite arbitrary or careless; error accumulates. It could be argued, and it has been argued, that James Ballantyne and his workforce were always attempting to improve the presentation of the Waverley Novels; it could equally well be argued that the Ballan­ tyne business was too committed to production to care about accuracy. But that there was another printer in 1821 who seems to have believed in the importance of fidelity to the copy-text shows up the weakness of the argument that the aim ofJames Ballantyne and Co. was to improve Scott’s text, for in the sixth edition there is both accuracy and improve­ ment, with the latter being seen in the application of critical intelligence to making sense of what was non-sense. After the first edition, there are three versions of The Antiquary which might be considered authorial, the 18mo of 1823, the Interleaved Set where the revisions to The Antiquary date from 1828, and the Magnum text of 1829. The proofs of the 18mo were almost certainly corrected by Scott, and so some of the 3070 variants in the 18mo will be his (in addition to those derived from the hypothetical marked-up first edition) but the great majority are not. That Scott read the proofs cannot be held to imply that he approved of the changes made; all one can deduce is that he did not correct those changes. And as he did not perceive some particularly foolish mistakes in the 18mo, his proof-reading must have been superficial; it was certainly something less than a creative re­ engagement with the text. Besides, the correcting of proofs limits creat­ ivity for changes have usually to be accommodated within the existing layout of the text. The Interleaved Set could be considered as a possible basis for a new edition, for here Scott indicates the final adjustments he wished to make to his text. Unfortunately, the printed text he revised was corrupt, and he did not recognise it. It was corrupt because it contains the errors made by the intermediaries in translating the manuscript into print, plus the 2000 and more further changes which gathered in the 1819 and 1822 octavos. And he did not recognise it was corrupt because he did not even correct the gross errors of the 1822 octavo, such as the change of ‘household gods’ into ‘household goods’. Paradoxically the curious transmission of Scott’s revisions from the 1822 octavo through the 1819 octavo saved the Magnum text from some flagrant errors, but the Magnum added many more variants. Some of the 3600 changes are undoubtedly Scott’s: at least some of the correc­ tions in the marked-up first edition are his; 269 revisions in the Inter­ leaved Set are his; and it is very probable that some of the verbal variants unique to the Magnum are also his. Even so, 3000 plus variants are

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almost certainly the products of successive, somewhat slap-happy, re­ settings of the novel, and of Robert Cadell’s copy-editing. However, the feature which most distinguishes the first edition from these later versions “of the novel, is the evidence of intellectual and imaginative engagement. Even in the Interleaved Set the small number of revisions, and the trifling nature of the majority (the biggest single category being the insertion of dialogic signposts), suggest that there was no real re-engagement with the text. His imagination seems to have been much more involved in extending the advertisement, writing notes, and telling of new tales in and through them. This present edition of The Antiquary is therefore based on the first, but the first-edition text has been corrected with readings from the manuscript which were lost through misreading or misunderstanding or through misguided attempts to correct or improve what Scott had written. In addition it incorporates the verbal readings from the hypo­ thetical marked-up first edition common to the second edition and to the 1819 octavo (except when an emendation derived from the manu­ script has made the later change redundant), together with a small number of purely second-edition emendations which were required to ‘naturalise’ those adopted from the marked-up first edition. These revi­ sions belong to the original creative process both imaginatively and temporally, for the second edition was underway less than a month after Scott had corrected the last proofs of the first edition. Even if some of the corrections are not actually authorial they belong in spirit and in practice to the processes which produced the first edition. Be­ cause of this, changes in the second edition in the immediate context of a new reading derived from the marked-up first edition have been seen as a continuation of the intermediaries’ responsibilities and have also been accepted. In an earlier era Sir Walter Greg and Fredson Bowers might have argued that the first edition does indeed represent the form of the text closest to what Scott seems to have wanted and that it should therefore be chosen as base-text (i.e. the text on which the new edition is to be based), but that his later substantive revisions in the Interleaved Set should be incorporated as they represent his final thoughts on the text. This editorial process, familiarly known as ‘Greg-Bowers’ by textual editors, reached its zenith in the 1960s and early 70s, but then came under sustained attack. The strongest objections were that the process creates a text without historic basis, and that it conflates material from different periods of an author’s life. Contexts change; circumstances change. The old writer will not think of his work or treat his work in the way that he did when middle-aged, and the old man’s view of the output of the young man will certainly have changed from what it was then. In other words it would be wrong to incorporate material dating from 1828 into a novel of 1816. The text must be true to its period. What Douglas

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Mack has said of The Tale ofOld Mortality may be equally well applied to The Antiquary: The original version of The Tale of Old Mortality represents the novel as conceived and written by Scott: it is the novel which helped to establish and confirm the reputation of the Author of Waverley; the novel that was read by Scott’s first readers. The Magnum version represents what Scott made of Old Mortality towards the end of his life; it offers his last thoughts on his text; it is a fruit of Scott’s labours as an editor of the Waverley Novels; and it is a fruit of his efforts to cope with the results of the financial disaster of 1826. Each version is a product of a different stage of Scott’s career—of a different Scott, one might almost say. Each version has its own coherence and its own integrity. A modern editor might edit either version (or indeed both, separately); but any attempt to produce a conflated text would run the risk of distortion.61 The aim of the present edition is therefore to provide a version of The Antiquary closer to what should have been produced in 1816 had conditions in the printing office been less pressurised, and had all the intermediaries had more time to think. In the main this involves a comprehensive re-examination of the manuscript to identify where Scott’s intentions, as revealed in local areas in the manuscript, were misinterpreted and misunderstood. Punctuation and Orthography. The present text for the most part

accepts the first edition’s punctuation, because the punctuation sup­ plied by the intermediaries accords with the conventions of the day, because Scott expected his text to be punctuated in this way, and be­ cause the job was done sensibly, even intelligently and sensitively. The text was not punctuated evenly by the intermediaries; for instance, some areas of the text have more semicolons than others, presumably because one compositor had a preference for semicolons. No attempt is made in this edition to standardise or regularise such unevenness, which is accepted as Scott-like, and is certainly a noticeable characteristic of the first edition. Nonetheless, mistakes were made. The intermediaries did not per­ ceive clearly the distinction between the ways in which Scott punctuated narrative and direct speech. Although his punctuation in narrative is always light it is conventional, whereas in direct speech a series of principal clauses may be separated by dashes, as though one utterance, with the normal full-stop and capital being used to indicate sentence division. The insertion of semicolons into the following passage, after ‘sir’ and again after ‘nonsense’, suggests pauses, whereas the original manuscript dashes, including the two here restored, imply a Miss Bates habit of speech and confusion of mind:

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“My brother… has anhumorous way of expressing himself, sir —nobody thinks ony thing of what Monkbarns says—so I beg you will not be so confused for the matter of his nonsense—but you must have had such a warm walk beneath this broiling sun—would you take ony thing?—a glass of balm-wine?” (43.38–43) In a later speech of Oldbuck’s the first edition alters the rhythm and the balance of the utterance by changing the hierarchy of punctuation; the first-edition readings are in square parentheses:

“ … It is at such moments as these, Mr Lovel, that we feel the changes of time—the [time. The] same objects are before us— those inanimate things which we have gazed on in wayward infancy and impetuous youth, in anxious and scheming manhood—they are permanent and the same—but [ same; but] when we look upon them in cold unfeeling old age—can [ age, can] we, changed in our temper, our pursuits, our feelings, changed [feelings,—changed] in our form, our limbs, and our strength, can [strength,—can] we be ourselves called the same?—or [ same? or ] do we not rather look back with a sort ofwonder upon our former selves, as being separ­ ate and distinct from what we now are?…” (74.42–75.9)

The problem here is the inconsistency with which manuscript dashes are treated. A new sentence is created after ‘time’ where the manuscript has a dash; the semicolon after ‘same’ replaces a dash; three dashes are not changed, while one dash is changed to a comma; two comma-dash combinations are inserted where there is no manuscript punctuation; one dash is replaced by a question mark. In the manuscript Scott pro­ vided clear signals about how this sentence should be subdivided, and by retaining his own dashes his intentions have been restored in this edi­ tion; at the same time, the commas and the question mark, all of which were added by the intermediaries to articulate the sub-units, have been accepted as necessary and proper. In spite of these examples, punctuational emendation normally in­ volves only one or two marks: for instance, where a new sentence has been created when Scott clearly separates two principal clauses by a dash followed by a lower case letter, or where a clear sentence division indicated by a full stop and a following capital have been ignored; where a question mark has been inserted after a statement when there is nothing to suggest that the statement should be uttered in a querying tone; where a long dash and inverted commas are transposed—a long dash followed by inverted commas indicating speech which has trailed off, and inverted commas followed by a dash indicating interrupted speech. But it is not invariable that such changes are emended back to their manuscript form: it has to be manifest that what has been done in punctuating Scott’s text misinterprets his purpose as revealed in the manuscript reading. A large number of other non-verbal changes made by the intermedi­

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aries in preparing the first edition, such as the raising and lowering of initial letters, the addition and removal of hyphens, and the insertion of apostrophes, have been accepted as broadly consistent with the conven­ tions governing the transference of manuscript text into print. However, the manuscript form is restored when the first edition is clearly in error. For example, in the first few pages of the novel the first edition lowers the initial capitals of‘Kirk’ and ‘Session’, but the manuscript was right as the referents are the Church of Scotland and the Court of Session, specific institutions; the capitals are restored in the EEWN (6.9; 12.22 and 13.7). Similarly, Scott wrote of a ‘vehicle of little-ease’ in the manuscript, but the intermediaries did not understand that ‘little-ease’ was a single nominal form (dating from the sixteenth century, meaning a confined space, and also being the name of a dungeon in the Tower of London), and so removed the hyphen; the very first emendation to this text restores ‘little-ease’ (5.16–17). The first edition’s orthography has likewise been largely accepted. There are an enormous number of inconsistencies in the way in which specific words are treated, and this edition does not seek to standardise them for inconsistency is a consistent feature of printed books of the period, and it would be unhistorical to seek to eliminate it. Nonetheless there are places where the normalisations adopted are misleading, par­ ticularly in direct speech; the general ‘rule’ followed by the EEWN is that the normalisation used must also be used by Scott, and that it must not imply a change in phonetic value. For instance, in the manuscript Scott never uses ‘cam’, and so ‘came’ has been restored. He uses ‘burnt’ only when someone is to be ‘burnt’ alive, or when using the biblical word ‘burnt-offering’; on all other occasions he writes ‘burnd’. It was a mistake to normalise Scott’s ‘burnd’ to ‘burnt’ on three occasions, and to ‘burned’ on two, not because of the inconsistency, but because Scott does not use ‘burnt’ in this way, and because there is a difference in phonetic value. On five occasions Scott writes ‘fa’an’, and he never writes ‘fa’en’, while the first edition always produces ‘fa’en’; ‘fa’an’ has been restored. Scott twice writes ‘prithee’, an entirely normal word and form; twice this is rendered ‘pr’ythee’. Although the latter spelling was used in the eighteenth century it looks aberrant and if pronounced logically would result in a mispronouncing of the word; ‘prithee’ has been restored. The most significant of such issues is the treatment of ‘mickle’ and ‘muckle’. In the manuscript Scott writes ‘mickle’ on 41 occasions, and ‘muckle’ on 16; in print these words appear once as ‘meikle’, 4 times as ‘mickle’, and 52 times as ‘muckle’. It would have been convenient if in the manuscript one form had been the preserve of Edie Ochiltree, say, and the other of different characters, but in fact Edie uses ‘mickle’ on 26 occasions and ‘muckle’ on 13; Grizzel, Jenny Rintherout and Elspeth use ‘muckle’ once, but each also uses ‘mickle’. There is no easy way of coming to a decision as to whether ‘mickle’ and

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‘muckle’ were properly treated in the base-text, but because there is a difference in phonetic value between the two forms, and because the distinction could be significant, the manuscript inconsistency has been preferred to that of the first edition. Other inconsistencies, such as ‘eneugh’, ‘eneuch’, ‘aneugh’ and ‘eneugh’, or ‘had’ and ‘haud’, or ‘manna’ and ‘maunna’, or ‘jealous’ and ‘jalouse’, or ‘chield’ and ‘chiel’, or ‘by’ and ‘bye’, or ‘mysel’ and ‘mysell’ (and all other words of the same kind), remain because the inconsistency comes from the manuscript in any case and because there is no or little difference in implied phonetic value. When dealing with proper names the intermediaries tended to stand­ ardise, but in The Antiquary they did this imperfectly. The first edition calls the Meiklebackits ‘Mucklebackit’ or ‘Mucklebacket’. On the first occasion the name appears in the manuscript, Scott wrote out ‘Meikle­ backit’ clearly and unambiguously. In all he uses this spelling 18 times (although on some occasions it is difficult to decide whether he has written ‘ei’, ‘ie’, or ‘ic’); he wrote ‘Mucklebackit’ 17 times, but 11 of these are in Volume 3. It seems from this evidence that Scott intended ‘Meiklebackit’, for that was his first, clear spelling, and it predominated until print enforced a different spelling. The EEWN has therefore emended the name to ‘Meiklebackit’. The intermediaries failed to standardise the spelling of‘Grizzel’; on the first occasion that it is used Scott clearly writes ‘Grizzel’, although the word is broken over a line­ end, and for this reason the name is standardised in this form in the present edition, even although the spelling ‘Grizel’ or ‘Grizell’ is actu­ ally used more often in the novel as a whole. Scott never calls Mackit­ chenson ‘Mackitchinson’, nor Alison Breck ‘Ailison’; these first-edition spellings are therefore rejected. Verbal Emendations from the Manuscript. The intermediaries

were also expected to make many other kinds of change. They seemed to have operated by a set of ‘standing orders’ which involved them in changing words repeated in close proximity to each other, correcting clear grammatical errors, substituting nouns or proper names for pro­ nouns at the beginning of paragraphs, adding speech indicators, insert­ ing single words into Scott’s lacunae, and changing standard English forms to Scots forms in the speech of Scots-speaking characters. When correcting proofs Scott continued these processes as well as introducing new material and revising the old. Proofs are an invaluable means of distinguishing the author’s revisions and corrections from the work of the intermediaries; what emanates from the author is, of course, accepted, but other changes are examined by EEWN editors to ascer­ tain whether they are the product of a reasonable application of standing orders, or of misreadings and misunderstandings. Those changes which seem to be the result of a ‘reasonable application of standing orders’ are

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accepted while those which are not in accordance with the presumed standing orders are normally considered error and rejected, as are those which result from their mechanical and insensitive application. Unfortunately no proofs of TheAntiquary are known to survive, and so it is not possible to distinguish with certainty the changes made by the author from those made by the intermediaries. Nonetheless legitimate change can usually be distinguished from error. The key test of whether a change is likely to be authorial is to consider whether the new reading is an enhancement. If a passage has been extended by more than two or three words, if a change is noticeably imaginative, or if a more vivid word or passage has been substituted for what was there, the change is likely to have been authorial. On the other hand, where there is a reduction in sense or a discontinuity in the narrative, where a more obvious word replaces a more unusual, where what is printed seems wrong or unidio­ matic when the manuscript reading is quite acceptable, or when a meta­ phor is lost, there is a strong case for arguing that there is error rather than revision. Of course there is a chance that some of Scott’s own, less imaginative, changes in proof might be rejected as error, but these emendations will result in the restoration of what was indubitably writ­ ten by Scott, and the reader may be confident that the present text is much closer to the ideal than any previously published. 1 ] Wrong omissions and insertions. One of the most obvious reasons for emending is to restore passages omitted in copying the manuscript. A verso insert or a full line of manuscript that does not appear in print was almost certainly accidentally missed, and so ‘those worthy burgo-mas­ ters’ (50.22–23) and ‘It was full time… swept away by their reflux’ (59.25–28) were verso inserts, and ‘themselves for want of money… must fight’ (297.28–29) and ‘his evidence . . . you are omni’ (305.38–39) were whole manuscript lines which did not appear in the first edition and are restored in this. The very large number of single words or short phrases omitted are more difficult to judge, but in the first chapter of Volume 3, for instance, 12 words or short phrases have been restored, for their omission cannot be justified by standing orders and does not seem to be authorial revision. Caxon does not understand the proverbial utterance ‘a Kelso convoy’, and the descriptive phrase ‘the simple’ is omitted from the speech indicator in the first edition but restored here (238.4). In reply, Oldbuck wishes to express his exaspera­ tion, and has to think of an insult that is not insulting; he says ‘thou art a —a—mere periwig-maker’ (238.6–7), while in the first edition he says ‘thou art a mere periwig maker’. The third restored word is ‘jar’—‘it was that jar which stood upon the sideboard’ (239.29–30)—a word essential to express the difference between Oldbuck and his niece’s evaluation of the broken lachrymatory. Words like ‘the’ when omitted are also restored if their omission alters the meaning and if there is no sign of Scott revising in the immediate vicinity, as in: the ‘resemblances

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… betwixt the popular customs on such occasions and those of the ancients’ (242.21–22), where Oldbuck is talking of the customs of a particular set of people. The intermediaries’ tendency to omit is more pronounced than their tendency to add. For instance, there is only one example of an insertion in this chapter as against twelve of omission: Hector says that he is sorry that he ‘expressed himself hastily’ (244.20), whereas the first edition reads ‘so hastily’, and it is clear that the first edition is wrong because the addition of ‘so’ sets up a repetition with ‘so generous and good’ in the next line, and because there is no possible rhetorical benefit in reitera­ tion. At other times additions create readings which seem barely idio­ matic as when in the first edition Snuffy Davy ‘would detect you an old black-letter ballad’; the EEWN follows the manuscript and reads: ‘would detect an old black-letter ballad’ (24.3–4). A more complicated example concerns Elspeth’s explanation of why the Glenallans are buried at night (214.7–13). Scott’s first version was revised in manuscript; further additions were made later, but as these additions both repeat themselves and create verbal repetitions it is likely that they were made separately, and without proper consideration of their relationship to their context. Normally there can be no choosing between supposedly ‘good’ and ‘bad’ readings, but, exceptionally in this case, two out of three of the intermediaries’ alterations have been re­ jected and one retained as a necessary clarification. The addition or omission of one or two letters may also distort Scott’s intentions, and where change is not in accordance with ‘standing orders’ the manuscript reading is restored. Thus at 15.28 Scott wrote that Oldbuck had the ‘usual resource, the company of the clergyman and of the doctor’; the first edition’s ‘resources’ is grammatically wrong. Old­ buck expresses pleasure and astonishment that Lovel should have been able to see a mitre on an inscription above a door and remarks on ‘what it is to have young eyes’ (20.21), but the base-text reads ‘younger eyes’; the point is not that Lovel’s eyes are younger but that they are young. 2 ] Misreadings and misunderstandings. In the first edition, misreadings and misunderstandings abound. Many Scots words in the direct speech of Scots speakers are rendered in their standard English form, or in a different Scots form from what is in the manuscript; for instance there are no less than 27 instances of this in the last chapter of Volume 1, and this edition restores mak (2), mickle (4), frae, brimstane, anither, ye, than (3), sae, tauld, powing and powed, be express, ane, powney, whae, what na gate, ganging (2), nae, saxpence, and snishing. In addition ‘belive’ was misread as ‘believe’, which required a consequential addi­ tion to the text to make sense of the misreading: ‘there will be a down­ come there belive’ (111.35) became ‘there will be a downcome there, believe me’. Material in other languages was misread, almost certainly because the intermediaries did not understand it: so ‘Benvenuto Cel­

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lini’ became ‘Benevento Cellini’ (26.20), ‘Clwyd’ became ‘Cluyd’ (49.5), ‘Scharlathan’ became ‘Schartathan’ (170.34), and ‘justior’ was replaced by a nonexistent Latin word ‘justitior’ (295.34). Many English words were misread to the detriment of the sense; in the following list of examples from the first fifty pages the correct reading is given with the misreading following the slash: deburse / disburse (9.18), errant / arrant (15.9), conventual / conventional (19.8), crammed / covered (21.39), extent / expense (23.35), transplanted / transported (29.8), received / recorded (29.15), Loyal / Royal (35.17), zealous / jealous (35.32), invite / write (36.5), dredging-box / drudging-box (36.33), Southron / Southern (51.30). While some of such changes may have resulted from misguided attempts to make sense of what was not under­ stood, the majority must be attributed to straightforward carelessness. 3 ] Wrong substitutions. At times when applying their ‘standing orders’ the intermediaries made mistakes. For instance (to choose examples again from the first fifty pages), ‘valued’ was changed to ‘esteemed’ (25.13) to avoid repetition with line 15, but it seems very likely, because of the parallelism, that the repetition was intended: ‘Here were editions valued ... Here was a book valued’. At times the desire to avoid repeti­ tion, itself wholly appropriate, had an unfortunate or even unidiomatic result: at 39.29 the ‘son of the typographer’ was changed to the ‘repres­ entative of the typographer’ to avoid a repetition with another ‘son’ three lines below—but the repetition seems preferable to the clumsy substitu­ tion which expresses a very different kind of relationship; and at 51.23 Sir Arthur has his ‘hand upon the handle of the drawing-room door’, which is certainly repetition, but the substituting of ‘grasp’ for ‘hand’ involves a use of ‘grasp’ for which there is no support in the OED. At 50.12 the intermediaries inserted the word ‘history’ to complete a sen­ tence, but they failed to notice that the incomplete sentence was inter­ rupted speech: “‘ ... in laughing either at him or his”–— [new paragraph] “Henry …” ’. In all such cases, where substitutions appar­ ently carried out in accordance with ‘standing orders’ either misinter­ pret Scott’s intentions or result in some kind of error, the manuscript reading has been restored. 4] The role ofJohn Ballantyne. It is probable that the manuscript was transcribed by John Ballantyne as there are a few minor additions which seem to be in his hand. These additions were carried into the first edition, and most have been rejected. What is most significant is not their existence, but the fact that several misinterpret what Scott had written. For instance, when Edie Ochiltree teases Oldbuck about the praetorium he says that he and his friends had a drinking-party in some very rainy weather: ‘a bit blithe gae-down we had in some sair rainy weather’ (31.7). Originally ‘we’ was misread as ‘wi”, and ‘’t’ was added to ‘in’ so that die phrase became ‘a bit blithe gae-down wi’ had in’t, some sair rainy weather’. This does not make sense, yet it goes through every

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printed edition with the exception of the sixth. Secondly, later, after the silver ingots have been found, Edie suggests that Dousterswivel might be paid with what he next finds: ‘the least ye can do is to gie him a’ that’s left behint’ (195.3–4). In the manuscript John Ballantyne has deleted ‘a” and inserted ‘that o’t’ above the line; no doubt he wished to get rid of a repeated ‘a”, but repeats ‘that’ instead, and generates a difficultto-say and unnatural idiom. That Ballantyne visibly misunderstands Scott strengthens the editorial conviction that the very many similar unattributable intrusions in the first edition may be safely rejected. 5] Problems with Scott’s revisions in manuscript. Very often passages added by Scott on the versos needed to be adjusted to fit their context in the main text opposite, and usually the intermediaries were successful in doing what was required. However The Antiquary poses two new prob­ lems which were not solved by the intermediaries: new verso material which cannot be made to fit the context, and authorial revisions which exacerbate the problems they were intended to resolve. At the end of the novel Oldbuck asks Lovel how he came by the silver, and Lovel’s original reply was ‘Fare D’Argent Tennant and Compy. of Fairport had just imported some bullion’ (355.6–7). This explanation is weak, and Scott saw it was weak for after completing the novel he scored it out and inserted on the verso the passage which appears in the first edition: “It was a quantity of plate which had belonged to my uncle, and was left in the custody of a person at Fairport. Sometime before his death he had sent orders that it should be melted down. He per­ haps did not wish me to see the Glenallan arms upon it.” (3-351.1–7) The replacement passage has an appropriate whiff of familial corrup­ tion, but it anticipates information yet to be revealed: at this point Lovel knows that Geraldin Neville was not his father but he does not know that Neville was his uncle, and he does not know of any connection he may have with the Earl of Glenallan. The replacement passage is therefore a mistake; its errors were not rectified in any edition published in Scott’s lifetime, and thus the only acceptable solution is to revert to the original passage even although Scott deleted it. The solution to this problem offers a model for solving problems posed by two other passages. In the first edition Jenny Rintherout says that Maggie Meiklebackit will have heard how the late Countess of Glenallan is ‘to be buried at St Ruth’s as this night fa’s’ (2.282.16–17); in the manuscript ‘as’ was added above the line while ‘fa’s’ must have been added to complete the sense by an intermediary or by Scott in proof. However, night has already fallen—indeed, it was ‘long past midnight’ (211.19)—and so it is apparent that the revision muddles the chronology. There was nothing wrong with the original manuscript reading, ‘she’s to be buried at St Ruth’s this night’ (212.42–43), and so

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this reading is restored in the present edition. Finally, the paragraph in which Scott describes Elspeth’s reaction to the funeral of Steenie (248.36–249.9) was penned easily and fluently on the recto, but Scott revised the passage extensively in manuscript. As can be seen in the emendation list where the different stages in the development of the passage are set out, the revisions seem hurried and careless, are not properly assimilated to the original text, and create verbal repetition. An attempt to tidy the passage was made later, in the course of preparing the first edition, but this was less than successful. EEWN editors are advised that, when examining changes made in the course of translating holograph document into type, they should con­ sider whether the import of the passage was understood by the person making the changes, even if that person was the author, and that, if they feel that the import was not appreciated, they should restore the manu­ script reading. This principle has been applied here, exceptionally, in favour of Scott’s original manuscript version. The changes made by the intermediaries to the text of The Antiquary are too numerous to count—but certainly in excess of 50,000. The 2000 or so emendations that have been deemed necessary is a large number in itself, but it is a small proportion of everything that the intermediaries did. That is a measure of their success. But, those 2000 changes are crucial to our changing perception of the achievement of Walter Scott. He penned the text quickly, but the manuscript is a record of an aston­ ishingly controlled imaginative outpouring; its failings are local; its intentions are nearly everywhere clear. The modern editor, assisted as the intermediaries never were by the resources of modem scholarship, has been able to reconsider every variant, has been able to realise the essential rightness of the words actually written by Walter Scott. He has been able to restore what was lost, and is able to offer the modem reader something closer to the ideal than has ever been available before.

NOTES

All manuscripts referred to are in the National Library of Scotland (NLS) unless otherwise stated. 1 See Stuart Piggott, ‘The Ancestors ofJonathan Oldbuck’, in Ruins in a Landscape (Edinburgh, 1976), 133–60, and Iain Gordon Brown, The Hobby-HorsicalAntiquary (Edinburgh, 1980). 2 Donald A. Low, ‘Walter Scott and Williamina Belsches’, TLS, 23 July 1971, 865–66. 3 The Letters ofSir Walter Scott, ed. H. J. C. Grierson and others, 12 vols (London, 1932–37), 1.49. 4 J. G. Lockhart, Memoirs ofthe Life ofSir Walter Scott, Bart., 7 vols (Edin­ burgh, 1837), 4.13; H. J. C. Grierson, Sir Walter Scott, Bart. (London, 1938), 131. 5 Grierson, 131.

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6 MS 789, p. 479. 7 Letters, 1.478; MS 789, p. 288. 8 Letters, 1.480. 9 Letters, 4.145. 10 Letters, 4.147. 11 MS 2566, f. 18ov; MS 789, p. 315 (to John Ballantyne, 17 June 1815); p. 479 (to Longman and Co., 23 January 1816). 12 Reading University Library, Longman I, 99, no. 107. 13 MS 789, P.315. 14 MS 789, p. 340. 15 MS 321, f. 383v. 16 MS 319, f. 83v; Reading University Library, Longman I,99, no. 153. 17 MS 789, p. 479. 18 Reading University Library, Longman I, 99, no. 166. 19 MS 789, p. 516. 20 MS 789, pp. 544, 547. 21 MS 789, p. 552. 22 MS 789, pp.558, 559. 23 MS 321, f. 280 (Cadell to Constable, 15 October 1814); MS 319, f. 47 (Constable to Cadell, 18 October); MS 319, f. 53 (Constable to Cadell, 19 October); MS 319, ff. 61–62 (Constable to Cadell, 24 October); MS 321, f. 299 (Cadell to Constable, 25 October); MS 319, f. 63 (Constable to Cadell, 28 October). 24 MS 321, f.423v. 25 MS 789, p. 470. 26 Reading University Library, Longman I, 99, no. 203. 27 MS 789, p. 503; Reading University Library, Longman I, 99, no. 107. 28 Reading University Library, Longman I, 99, no. 216. 29 see The Tale of Old Mortality, ed. Douglas Mack, EEWN 4b (Edinburgh, 1993), 368. 30 e.g. Reading University Library, Longman I, 99, nos 179, 186. 31 Reading University Library, Longman I, 99, no. 101. 32 MS789, p. 503. 33 MS 789, p. 22. 34 see The Black Dwarf, ed. P. D. Garside, EEWN 4a (Edinburgh, 1993), 125–28. 35 The Comic Poems of William Tennant, ed. Alexander Scott and Maurice Lindsay (Edinburgh, 1989), ix. 36 MS 789, p. 283. 37 MS 789, p. 316. 38 MS 321, f. 438r. 39 Reading University Library, Longman I, 99, no. 195. 40 MS 789, p. 538. 41 Letters, 4.188. 42 compare Letters, 4.215 (18 April 1816). 43 Volume 1, f. 99; Volume 2, ff. 29,45,55b, 67; Volume 3, ff. 21,33,51,67, 91. 44 Gillian Dyson, ‘The Manuscripts and Proof Sheets of Scott’s Waverley Novels’, Edinburgh Bibliographical Society Transactions, 4 (1960), 22.

NOTES

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45 Letters, 4.233; see also 4.238. 46 MS 789, p. 575. 47 MS 321, f. 484. 48 MS 790, p. 434. 49 Letters, 5.367. 50 MS 790, p. 535. 51 MS 790, pp. 648–49. 52 MS 790, pp. 686,692. 53 MS 323, f. 208r. 54 MS 23232, f. 60r. 55 MS 326, f. 42r. 56 MS 323, ff. 238r, 245v; MS 792, p. 138; MS 320, f. 160. 57 Letters, 7.170, 245. 58 Letters, 10.511; 11.12; 11.34. 59 J. H. Alexander, ‘Descriptive Guide to the Interleaved Set’, in Scott’s Interleaved Waverley Novels, ed. Iain Gordon Brown (Aberdeen, 1987), 11. 60 MS 21018, ff. 50v, 52v; MS 21019, ff. 5v, 6r, 6v. 61 The Tale of Old Mortality, ed. Douglas Mack, EEWN 4b, (Edinburgh, 1993), 383.

EMENDATION LIST

The base-text for this edition of The Antiquary is a specific copy of the first edition, owned by the Edinburgh Edition of the Waverley Novels. All emendations to this base-text, whether verbal, orthographic, or punctuational, are listed below, with the exception of certain general categories of emendation described in the next paragraph, and of those errors which result from accidents of printing such as a letter dropping out, provided always that the ‘correct’ reading has been found in at least one other copy of the first edition. The following proper names have been standardised throughout on the authority of Scott’s preferred usage as deduced from the MS: MacIntyre for M‘Intyre (a form which never appears in the MS); Meiklebackit in place of Mucklebackit and Mucklebacket; Grizzel for Grizel and Grizell; and Mackitchenson for Mackitchinson. The word ‘Highland’ is used 30 times in the novel. In the MS the initial letter is a capital on only 10 occasions; in the first edition the word begins with an upper-case letter on 23 occasions; the EEWN completes the process and ‘Highland’ now begins in the upper case on all occasions it is used. Inverted commas are sometimes found in the first edition for displayed verse quotations, sometimes not; the present text has standardised the inconsistent practices of the base-text by eliminating such inverted commas, except when they occur at the beginnings or ends of speeches. The typographic presentation of mottoes, volume and chapter headings, letters, and the opening words of volumes and chapters, has been stand­ ardised. Ambiguous end-of-line hyphens in the base-text have been interpreted in accordance with the following authorities (in descending order of priority): predominant first edition usage; the 1819 octavo Novels and Tales; Magnum; MS. Each entry in the list below is keyed to the text by page and line number; the reference is followed by the new, EEWN reading, then in brackets the reason for the emendation, and after the slash the base-text reading that has been replaced. The great majority of emendations are derived from the MS. Most merely involve the replacement of one reading by another, and these are listed with the simple explanation ‘( MS )’. The spelling and punctuation of some emendations from the MS have been normalised in accordance with the prevailing conventions of the base-text. And although as far as possible emendations have been fitted into the existing base-text punc­ tuation, at times it has been necessary to provide emendations with a base-text style of punctuation. Where the MS reading adopted by the EEWN has required editorial intervention to normalise spelling or punctuation, the exact MS reading is given in the form: ‘( MS actual reading)’. Where the new reading has required editorial interpretation 394

EMENDATION LIST

395

of the MS, in the provision of punctuation for example, the explanation is given in the form ‘( MS derived: actual reading)’. Occasionally, some explanation of the editorial thinking behind an emendation is required, and this is provided in a brief note. The following conventions are used in transcriptions from Scott’s MS: deletions are enclosed 〈thus〉 and insertions ↑thus↓; an insertion within an insertion is indicated by double arrows ↑↑thus↓↓; super­ script letters are lowered without comment; the letters ‘NL’ (new line) are Scott’s own, and indicate that he wished a new paragraph to be opened, in spite of running on the text, whereas the words ‘[new para­ graph]’ are editorial and indicate that Scott opened a new paragraph on a new line. In spite of the care taken by the intermediaries, some local confusions in the MS persisted into the first edition. When straightening these, the editor has studied the MS context so as to determine Scott’s original intention, and where the original intention is discernible it is of course restored. But from time to time such confusions cannot be rectified in this way. In these circumstances, Scott’s own corrections and revisions in the Interleaved Set have more authority than the proposals of other editions, but if the autograph portions of the Interleaved Set have noth­ ing to offer, the reading from the earliest edition to offer a satisfactory solution is adopted as the neatest means of rectifying a fault. Readings from the later editions and the Interleaved Set are indicated by ‘(Ed2)’, etc., ‘(ISet)’ or ‘(Magnum)’. Emendations which have not been anticip­ ated by a contemporaneous edition are indicated by ‘(Editorial)’. In all these cases the MS reading is as in the first edition unless otherwise stated. In addition to readings from the MS, this edition adopts the 111 readings which are derived from the hypothetical marked-up first edi­ tion, as discussed in the ‘Essay on the Text’; these emendations are indicated by ‘(Ed2*)’, as it is the second edition which first registers these revisions, but as some coincide with emendations derived from the MS, and as some generate their own repetitions, there are not 111 instances of‘(Ed2*)’ in the emendation list. 5.19 6.12 6.23 6.40 7.9 7.21 7.29 8.11 8.12 8.12 8.14 8.17 8.43 9.1 9.2

little-ease ( MS ) /little ease something ( MS )/ somewhat berth ( MS )/birth Kirk ( MS )/ kirk the ( MS ) / their the( MS )/a customer—indeed ( MS ) / customer.—Indeed keeped ( MS keepd) / kept here—you ( MS )/ here, you woman? Eh?” (Ed2*) / woman?” constructed (Ed2*) / composed saw ony ( MS )/ saw ever ony doest ( MS )/ Doest doest ( MS does) / Doest leasing-making?—Answer and ( MS leasing-making—Answer &) / leasing-making? Answer; and

396

9.4 9.7 9.7 9.9 9.12 9.18 9.19 9.29 9.42 9.43

10.13 10.21 10.21 10.25 10.30 10.35 10.42 10.43 11.10 11.12 11.15 11.20

11.21 11.22 11.23 11.24 11.26 11.27 12.21 12.22 12.28 12.30 12.31 12.33

12.40 13.2 13.5 13.7 13.10 13.23 13.29 14.19 14.19

14.25 14.33 15.8

EMENDATION LIST

is it ( MS )/Is it hast ( MS ) / Hast coach?—aye ( MS coach—aye) / coach? aye yallow ( MS ) / yellow O man! man! ( MS ) / O, man, man! deburse ( MS )/ disburse will ( MS ) /Will consequences that might ensue. (Ed2*) / consequences. as he ( MS ) / as if he relish or perhaps understand his ( MS ) / relish, or perhaps understand, his a ( MS )/much not principal ( MS )/ not the principal cause; for ( MS ↑cause↓ For) / cause of it; for ony(MS)/any Mid-Lothian.”—And ( MS Mid Lothian”—And) / Mid-Lothian,” and influence human actions ( MS )/ influence actions well ( MS )/with would ( MS )/ should wettish ( MS ) / wet of peevish indignation ( MS ) / of indignation never felt ( MS )/ did not feel Fly, quoth she? ( MS derived: Fly? ↑quoth she?↓ ) / Fly! quoth she? Scott added ‘quoth she’ without deleting the preceding question mark which is at the end of a line in the MS. The new punctuation follows the preceding ‘Diligence, quoth I?’, a phrase which is not in the MS and was probably added in proof. has moved ( MS )/ moves man—And ( MS ) / man; and friend, if you have no objections we’ll ( MS ) / friend, we’ll be happy ( MS ) / be very happy entrenching the castra stativa and the castra ( MS )/ entrenching castra stativa and castra historians—lack-a-day ( MS )/ historians. Lack-a-day ideot ( MS ) / idiot Session ( MS ) /session ye had had some ( MS ) / you had some him—it’s ( MS him—its) / him. It’s house—Hutchinson ( MS )/ house, Hutchinson Fifteen (Editorial) / fifteen [ MS as Ed1 ] Scott refers to the fifteen judges of the Court of Session; elsewhere (e.g. at 71.18) he capitalises ‘Fifteen’ when used as a collective noun. Ow( MS ) / Ou there’s ( MS theres) / there is me!” ( MS )/me?” Session ( MS )/ session his little sanded ( MS ) / his sanded on ( MS )/in and of larger ( MS )/ and larger children (Ed2*) / infants , had (Ed2) /, a boy and girl, had Ed2 tidies up the revisions in the marked-up first edition. a son and daughter (Ed2*) / her children shewed ( MS shewd) / shared father, having (Ed2) / father having

EMENDATION LIST

15.9 15.9 15.16 15.23 15.27 15.28 15.31 15.40 16.9 16.13

16.36 16.36 16.40 16.41 17.7 17.10 17.11 17.27 17.28 17.29 18.20 18.34 19.8 19.43 20.4

20.13 20.16 20.21 20.21 20.35 20.41

21.7 21.8 21.11 21.25 21.28 21.35

397

Ed1 supplies the closing comma round the phrase ‘having died’ but not the opening one. elder ( MS )/ eldest errant ( MS )/ arrant soon exceeded ( MS soon 〈greatly〉 exceeded) / soon greatly exceeded Laird ( MS ))/laird The base-text lowered the initial capital here, but retained it at 14.4. on ( MS )/in resource ( MS )/ resources him ( MS )/himself he ever saw ( MS ) / he had ever seen dog?—was ( MS dog—was) / dog? Was Fairport, and (Editorial) / Fairport, (the town near to which Monk­ barns was situated,) and The MS reads ‘–—naming the town near which Monkbarns was situated and’. The phrase was necessary to identify the town when it had no name but once Fairport was named (presumably in proofs; see 13.25) and said to be in the neighbourhood ofMonkbarns, the defining phrase here became redundant and should have been deleted. nae(Ed2*)/no do ye mind ( MS )/ do you mind Bossballoh ( MS )/ Rossballoh sitting to ( MS ) / sitting in to well—you ( MS )/ well, you drunk ( MS ) / drank friend, I suppose we ( MS ) / friend, we upon ( MS ) /on Lovel—Lovel? ( MS ) / Lovel?—Lovel? On ( MS )/on fouth ( MS and Burns) /routh correspondent ( MS )/ corresponding conventual ( MS ) / conventional *Ars Topiaria, the art of clipping yew-trees and hedges into fantastic figures. A Latin poem, entitled Ars Topiaria, contains a curious account of the process. (Ed2*) / [no foot-note] coenobite ( MS 〈cœ〉 coenobite) / Cænobite In the MS the ligature looks more like ‘æ’ than ‘œ’, but which it is cannot be determined; the deleted ligature is definitely ‘œ’, and this is, in any case, the correct spelling. all but ( MS )/ almost I profess that ( MS I profess (I think) that)/I profess, I think that young ( MS ) / younger mitre—it ( MS ) /mitre, it corner, ascend ( MS corner ascend) / corner—ascend of putting … to rights, and ( MS of putting … to rights and) / of arranging … and It seems that ‘putting to rights’ was cut to avoid the repetition with 49.19, but it is clear from the use of italics in both the MS and Ed1 at 21.6 that the phrase is deliberately repeated. student.) Go (Ed5) / student,) Go your little ears ( MS ↑ your↓ little ears) / your ears visit was to ( MS )/visit to thing in ( MS ) / thing else in size, but obscurely ( MS ) / size, obscurely Highland (Ed2) / highland

398

21.39 22.14 22.17 22.39 23.32 23.33 23.33 23.35 24.3 24.3 24.6 24.14 24.16 24.27 24.36 24.43 24.43 25.2 25.2 25.13 25.13 25.14 25.19 25.36

26.6 26.10 26.20 26.21 26.24 26.28 26.32 26.39 27.2 27.18 27.23 27.40 27.41 27.43 28.1 28.2

28.4 28.5 28.8 28.7 28.7

EMENDATION LIST

crammed ( MS cramd) / covered loci, or tutelar ( MS )/ loci, the tutelar Heavystern ( MS )/ Heavysterne reapers walk ( MS ) / reapers use to walk laid lance ( MS )/ laid his lance such ( MS )/these this excess; but ( MS thise excess but) / such excess of expenditure; but extent ( MS )/ expense could ( MS ) / would detect an ( MS ) / detect you an at ( MS )/of uplifted ( MS )/ lifted-up the easy equivalent (Ed2*) / the equivalent book—tobacco ( MS ) / book. Tobacco least ( MS )/lest our ( MS )/the pleasure—then ( MS )/ pleasure!—Then such treasures ( MS ) / such a treasure this (displaying ( MS )/ this—(displaying valued ( MS ) / esteemed scarce ( MS )/ scarcely best—Here ( MS )/best; here of letters ( MS ) / of the letters Night (Editorial) / Noon There is a copy of the broadside in the British Library which reads ‘nine of the clock at night’. The extract quoted was transcribed by John Ballantyne (but it is not known what copy he had access to) and is stuck into the MS; presumably he made a mistake. at much of this ( MS ) / at this perhaps (Ed2*) / mayhap Benvenuto ( MS )/ Benevento drank ( MS ) / drunk treasures ( MS ) / treasure arose ( MS ) / rose came ( MS ) / cam Scott does not use this form in the MS; in The Tea-table Miscellany (1724) Allan Ramsay printed ‘came’. monks were … spent ( MS ) / monks had … been spent of fruit-trees (MS of 〈the〉 fruit trees) / of the fruit-trees this ( MS )/the Halfstarvet ( MS Halfstarved) / Half-starvet The form of the name ought to be the same as Haltweary (27.23) which the base-text did not hyphenate. Indistinctly? ( MS ) / Indistinctly! your own powers ( MS )/ your powers Indistinctly? Why ( MS )/ Indistinctly! why trace ( MS )/traces Indistinct? Why ( MS Indistinct—Why) / Indistinct! why It is appropriate to follow the punctuational pattern established above, and followed below. Indistinct? Why ( MS Indisctinct?—Why) / Indistinct! why ideots ( MS )/ idiots will plough ( MS )/ have ploughed gravely ( MS gra [ edge of paper: new line ] ely) / greatly third—But ( MS )/ third; but

EMENDATION LIST

28.16 28.40 28.41 28.43 29.8 29.15 29.19 29.20 29.32

30.17 30.32 31.1 31.1

31.4 31.7 31.7

31.9 31.17 31.28 32.11 32.25 32.29 32.39 32.41 32.41 32.42 32.43 33.7 33.12 33.16 33.22 33.38 33.42 33.43 34.3 34.5 34.11 35.6 35.17 35.20 35.21 35.26 35.32 35.35 35.41

399

Indistinct? Why ( MS ) / Indistinct! why Sanders ( MS ) / Saunders Stukeley ( MS ) / Stukely The MSreadingis correct. Johnie ( MS ) / Johnnie transplanted ( MS ) / transported received ( MS ) / recorded instruction”–—( MS ) / instruction”— “You ( MS ) / “—You posita (ISet) / positum Although there are mistakes in some of Oldbuck’s quotations, his Latin grammar is sound; so ‘positum’ ought to be treated as an authorial error and emended accordingly. ecstatic (Ed2*) / extatic Bedesmen ( MS ) / Bedes-men I just ken ( MS ) / I ken about (Ed2*) / anent The replacement of‘anent’ was probably intended to remove the chime with ‘ken’. three neighbour herds ( MS ) / three herds we ( MS ) / wi’ in ( MS ) / in’t The apostrophe and ‘t’ were added by someone else in the MS. hae (Ed2*) / have some ( MS ) / an hear’t ( MS ) / hae’t tale-piot—But ( MS ) / tale-pyet; but Johnie ( MS ) / Johnnie say he had beguiled ( MS ) / say that he beguiled Scots—na ( MS ) / Scots. Na Johnie ( MS ) / Johnnie quo’( MS ) / quo book-leared ( MS book-leard) / book-learned Johnie ( MS ) / Johnnie Awa ( MS ) / Away gae (Ed2*) / gave Johnie ( MS ) / Johnnie poor-rates ( MS ) / poor’s-rates and their dog-whips ( MS ) / and dog-whips space (Ed2*) / district district (Ed2*) / parish some humour ( MS ) / some good-humour folks ( MS ) / folk farther ( MS ) / further rampauging (Ed2*) / rampaging Loyal ( MS ) / Royal and I grieve to say that he ( MS and I grieve to say ↑it↓ he) / and, I grieve to say it, he The ‘it’ added to the MS is in another hand. a tea-table ( MS ) / the tea-table of Mr Lovel ( MS ) / of Lovel some zealous friend ( MS ) / some jealous friends he entirely ( MS ) / he had entirely Substitute ( MS ) / substitute ‘Substitute’ is here a proper noun, standing for Sheriff-Substitute.

400

EMENDATION LIST

36.1 raise Lovel (Ed2*) / raise Mr Lovel 36.4 ideot ( MS ) / idiot 36.5 invite ( MS ) / write 36.13 17 current ( MS ) / 17th curt. 36.13 coenobitical ( MS ) / caenobitical 36.33 the dredging-box ( MS ) / a drudging-box 37.31 on ( MS ) / upon 37.36 liberty to return to their old mansion of Knockwinnock, drink ( MS ) / liberty, and returned to their own mansion of Knockwinnock, to drink 37.41 downfall ( MS ) / downfal 38.3 occurring ( MS ) / occuring 38.17 and a trustee ( MS ) / and trustee 39.1 Kirk, a ( MS ) / kirk, and a 39.7 this ( MS ) / the 39.11 This, the ( MS ) / This, with the 39.15 little ( MS ) / litile 39.20 came, [newline] And ( MS came” [newparagraph] And) / came;” [newline] and 39.24 baronet’s ( MS Baronets) / baron’s 39.29 son ( MS ) / representative 39.34 offices ( MS ) / office 39.35 caustic ( MS ) / satirical 40.2 and an attractive ( MS ) / and attractive 40.32 Tuesday 17th ( MS ) / Tuesday the 17th 40.36 papa ( MS ) / sir 41.19 yes—we ( MS ) / yes; we 42.10 upon ( MS ) / on 42.10 17 July ( MS ) / 17th ofjuly 42.15 smelled ( MS smelld) / smelt 42.24 true samples ( MS ) / but samples 42.31 Ladies’ Memorandum-book ( MS Ladies memorandum book) / ladies’ memorandum-book This was a real publication, so Ed1 ought to have standardised with upper-case letters. 42.33 present ( MS ) / represent 42.39 of‘Twelfth Night,’ ( MS derived: of As You Like it,) / of the ‘Twelfth Night,’ While correcting Scott, the intermediary made his own error. 43.3 8 sir—nobody ( MS ) / sir; nobody 43.39 ony (Ed2) / any Ed2 follows the marked-up first edition’s emendation at 43.42 below. 43.40 nonsense—but ( MS ) / nonsense; but 43.40 had such a ( MS ) / had a 43.42 ony (Ed2*) / any 43.42 balm-wine ( MS ) / balm wine 44.3 Doest ( MS ) / Dost 44.37 frequent ( MS ) / present 44.38 menial ( MS ) / female 44.42 this advantage ( MS ) / the advantage 45.17 heave ( MS ) / throw 45.27 receipt ( MS ) / recipe 45.28 and ( MS ) / And 45.31 aye ( MS ) / Aye 46.7 regni, as ( MS ) / regni,—as 46.7 is—unless ( MS ) / is, unless

EMENDATION LIST

46.7 46.9 46.10 46.18 46.33 48.7 48.7 48.34 48.35 49.5 49.26 49.26 49.28 49.30 49.31 49.31 49.32 49.40 50.5 50.12 50.22 51.4 51.10 51.16 51.17 51.17

51.17 51.23 51.26 51.30 52.31 52.31 52.32 52.32 52.36 52.36 52.36 52.42 52.43 53.4 53.8 53.8 53.12 53.19 53.20 53.25 53.29 53.39 54.14

4OI

come ( MS ) / comes are ( MS ) / is kind (Ed2*) / sort papa ( MS ) / sir Bubble?— (Ed2) / Bubble— has ( MS ) / had the whole company ( MS ) / the company Arthur (8vo 1819) / Robert pause. [new paragraph] “It ( MS ) / pause.—“It Clwyd ( MS ) / Cluyd What ( MS ) / what There’s ( MS ) / There is MacDhonail ( MS ) / Macdonald Macchan—ugh—ugh ( MS ) / Macchan—ugh, ugh Kenneth—ugh—ugh ( MS ) / Kenneth—ugh, ugh Macferedith—Eachan ( MS ) / Macferedith, Eachan that ( MS ) / which you, Mr Oldbuck; you ( MS ) / you,” Mr Oldbuck; “you well. What ( MS ) / well—What his”–—[new paragraph] “Henry (MS his”----- “(M)Henry ) / his history.” [new paragraph] “Henry of those worthy burgo-masters Sebaldus ( MS of ↑those worthy burgo­ masters↓ Sebaldus) / of Sebaldus A verso insert was missed by the copyist. well—Mr ( MS ) / well, Mr see ( MS ) / hear mischief, Sir Arthur,” ( MS mischief Sir Arthur”) / mischief,” Antiquary; “Qui (8vo 1819) / Antiquary; Qui vadat (Editorial) / vadit The Latin quotation is not in the MS; normally neither Scott nor Oldbuck makes mistakes in Latin grammar, whereas the intermediaries were largely ignorant of other languages. —you’ll (8vo 1819) / —“you’ll hand ( MS ) / grasp Why ( MS ) / why Southron—’Twas ( MS ) / Southern—’twas It’ll ( MS ) / I’ll leddies ( MS ) / ladies Frighten? ( MS ) / Frighten! leddies—have ( MS ) / ladies. Have title ( MS ) / reason powder-pluff ( MS ) / powder-puff easier ( MS ) / easy be ( MS ) / by carriage—they ( MS ) / carriage, they be ( MS ) / by offered— ( MS ) / offered him— God!—my ( MS ) / God! my Keep ( MS ) / keep word has ( MS ) / word that has to ( MS ) / To give ( MS ) / gave such a general ( MS ) / such general picturesque (Ed2*) / very high gave no ( MS ) / gave them no

402

54.18 54.18 55.11 55.16 55.30 55.33 55.33 56.1 56.5 56.12 56.28 56.29 56.30 56.30 56.36

56.41 56.43 56.43 57.1 57.10 57.11 5 7.13 57.17 57.21 57.22 57.25 57.25 57.35 57.37 57.40 58.3 58.6 58.8 58.12 58.13 58.13

58.18 58.24 58.33 58.34 58.37 59.3 59.4 59.5 59-8 59.14 59.25

EMENDATION LIST

with ( MS ) / by tradition recorded ( MS ) / tradition had recorded main land ( MS ) / mainland towards ( MS ) / toward apprehension ( MS ) / apprehensions of immediate ( MS ) / of an immediate reach Knockwinnock, he said, long (Ed2*) / reach, he said, Knockwin­ nock long which had brought ( MS ) / which brought straighter ( MS ) / straiter strongly (Ed2*) / really Halket-head? the ( MS ) / Halket-head! The Fyers!—it ( MS ) / Fyers! it syne ( MS ) / since abreast ( MS ) / a-breast northern ( MS ) / southern Not only is this the MS reading but, notwithstanding the uncertain geography of The Antiquary, Knockwinnock is south of Monkbarns. came ( MS ) / cam yet—but ( MS ) / yet. But beguiled!—for ( MS ) / beguiled! for now?—See yonder the ( MS ) / now? See, yonder’s the yet!—take ( MS ) / yet! Take Tak ( MS ) / Take yonder?—this ( MS ) / yonder? This Isabel ( MS ) / Isabella along ( MS ) / upon lowest ledge ( MS ) / lower ledges never, as he ( MS ) / never, he sae (Ed2*) / so hope ( MS ) / hopes of ( MS ) / in suspense and terror ( MS ) / terror and suspense the lofty precipice ( MS ) / the precipice child!—my ( MS ) / child! my father!—my father ( MS ) / father! my dear father dyke—in ( MS ) / dyke, in snaw—or ( MS ) / snaw, or wave—what ( MS derived) / wave, what In MS ‘wave’ comes right at the edge of the paper and there is no room for the dash which previous dashes imply. hae nae (Ed2*) / have no certain ( MS ) / sure struggle?—is ( MS ) / struggle? Is crag—or ( MS ) / crag, or scarce ( MS ) / scarcely suddenly ejaculated ( MS ) / ejaculated suddenly craig ( MS ) / crag hollowed ( MS hollowd) / holla’d rape ( MS ) / rope than ( MS ) / then attained.... Lovel ( MS attaind. ↑It was full time for Sir Arthur and she had already been lashd by one or two huge waves and by clinging to the rock had with some difficulty saved themselves from being swept away by their reflux.↓ Lovel) / attained. Lovel

EMENDATION LIST

59.41 60.8 60.9 60.9 60.13 60.15 60.26 60.29 60.39 60.41 60.43 60.43 61.4 61.4 61.4 61.5 61.9

61.13 61.26 62.1 62.3 62.7 62.10 62.11 62.13 62.28 62.32 63.3 63.4 63.11 63.16 63.32 63.43 64.24 64.31 64.32 8 64.3 8 64.3 65.4 65.8 65.10 65.39 65.43

66.1 66.2 66.3 66.5 66.11 66.11

403

This verso addition was missed by the copyist. they had so ( MS ) / they so mony sic ( MS mony sick) / many such hame (Ed2*) / home abroad—but ( MS ) / abroad, but intuitively ( MS ) / instinctively confidence, [newparagraph] “I’ll ( MS confidence—↑N.L.↓ “I’ll) / confidence.—“I’ll an’ ( MS an) / and down—and ( MS ) / down, and well—and ( MS ) / well, and her and she ( MS ) / her—she sitting, half ( MS ) / sitting half reclining beside ( MS ) / reclining, beside —hark ( MS ) / —Hark did ( MS ) / Did hollo ( MS ) / halloo shriegh ( MS ) / skriegh the sea-mews’ clang with which ( MS the sea mews clang with which) / the clang of the sea-mews by which came ( MS ) / were King Lear (Ed2*) / [ no attribution ] Monkbarns!” ( MS ) / Monkbarns,” God ( MS ) / God’s Steenie—Steenie Wilkes—bring ( MS ) / Steenie, Steenie Wilks, bring them—low ( MS ) / them low Hillo-hilloa ( MS Hillo hilloa) / Hilli-hilloa ye(Ed2*) / you exalted ( MS ) / conveyed hazard (Ed2*) / risk Ochiltree ( MS ) / the old mendicant sudden and strong ( MS ) / sudden, strong may”–—[ new paragraph ] ( MS ) / may”—[ new paragraph ] In Ed1 the dash is short because it is at the end of the line. Arthur’s dung far ( MS ) / Arthur’s far farewell ( MS ) / farewel hallow ( MS ) / halloo twalpenny ( MS ) / tenpenny While Mr Oldbuck ( MS While Mr. Oldbuck) / While Oldbuck the authority ( MS ) / that authority what ( MS ) / What this?”—then ( MS ) / this?” then Bide ( MS ) / bide mickle ( MS ) / meikle wi’( MS wi) / with wad be, maybe, rueing( MS wad be maybe ruing) / wad maybe be rueing “I and I and I,” ( MS “I & I & I”—) / “I,” “and I,” “and I,” Although the base-text is more ‘logical’ it loses the sense of the collect­ ive utterance of several voices. anes ( MS ) / ance gang ( MS ) / gae pit ( MS ) / put awmous.” And ( MS awmous—” I And) / awmous;”and here ( MS ) / Here ideot ( MS ) / idiot

404

66.12 66.24 66.29 66.38 66.40 67.3 67.19 67.21 67.33 67.35 67.39 68.1 68.7 68.9 68.16 68.26 68.26 68.35 68.35 68.36 69.5 69.6 69.14 69.17 69.19 69.22 69.27 70.6 70.12 70.15 70.16 70.23 70.26 70.29 70.31 71.1 71.1

71.2 71.4 71.7 71.7 71.14 71.17 71.18 71.19 71.22 71.22 71.34 71.35 72.2 72.3

EMENDATION LIST

gat ( MS ) / got what ( MS ) / What shathmont ( MS ) / shathmont Salmont ( MS ) / salmont sole ( MS ) / whole remnant ( MS ) / remains fright ( MS ) / fight power ( MS ) / powers o’( MS ) / of sae ( MS ) / so upstairs ( MS ) / up-stairs Why ( MS ) / why Sair ( MS ) / sair not, woman, at ( MS not woman at) / not at banes—and ( MS ) / banes, and sitiation ( MS ) / situation caa’d ( MS ) / ca’d Dear, brother ( MS ) / Dear brother ye … ye ( MS ) / you … you frae ( MS ) / from producing ( MS ) / proposing a bottle ( MS ) / another bottle The previous bottle was of port which Scott does not call wine. Oldbuck received ( MS ) / Oldbuck had received we have before ( MS ) / we before heaved ( MS ) / hurl’d ye just ( MS ) / ye but just enow ( MS ) / enough a ( MS ) / his draw cork ( MS ) / draw a cork Girnell (Editorial) / Girnel palmer with ( MS ) / palmer, with the ( MS ) / te ghost ( MS ) / ghosts ran ( MS ) / run Glenstyrim ( MS ) / Glenstirym And ( MS ) / and ye will have a gude (Ed2) / you will have a good This and the next two Ed2 emendations are accepted because they parallel the changes made to Grizzel’s speech in Ed2*. But–—” ( MS ) / But”–— hae (Ed2) / have o’(Ed2) / of that room ( MS ) / that the room Session ( MS ) / session Weel ( MS ) / Aweel Fifteen ( MS ) / fifteen Griselda refers to the judges of the Court of Session. town-clerk, came ower to mak ( MS ) / town-clerk, he cam ower to make I hae ( MS ) / I’ve than ( MS ) / then a most melodious ( MS ) a melodious eightieth ( MS ) eighteen purpose—and ( MS ) / purpose. And touzled mony ( MS ) / touzled out mony

EMENDATION LIST

72.7 72.9 72.9 72.11 72.12 72.15 72.16 72.23 72.26 72.27 72.30 72.32 72.35 72.38 72.40 72.41 73.4 73.14 73.17 73.25 73.29 73.34 73.37 73.43 74.1 74.13 74.14 74.41 75.1 75.4 75.5 75.6 75.7 75.7 75.24 75.29 75.30 75.42 76.2 76.7 76.45 77.5 77.9 77.15 77.17 77.31 78.30 78.31 78.35 78.38 78.39 79.3 79.11

405

night) on things concerning ( MS ) / night) concerning And ( MS )/and o’( MS )/of vera ( MS ) / very fussil ( MS) / fissil tale ( MS ) / story be ( MS )/by man—for ( MS ) / man for Than ( MS ) /Then came ( MS ) /cam came ( MS ) /cam owerwhelmed ( MS ) / overwhelmed language ( MS ) / languages than ( MS ) /then it—Rab ( MS ) / it. Rab claiths ( MS ) /claes than (Editorial) / then The word is not in the MS but should appear in the form generally used by Griselda in this part of the MS. It’s ( MS Its) / It is witnesses’ (8vo 1819)/ witnesses akin (MS) / a-kin expressing relationship ( MS ) / expressing a relationship chymist ( MS ) / chemist fellow ( MS ) / writer brother ? (MS ) / brother— anither ( MS ) / another thing I presume is ( MS ) / thing is it ( MS ) /rest you—but ( MS ) / you, but time—the ( MS ) /time. The same—but ( MS ) / same; but age—can ( MS ) / age, can feelings, changed ( MS feelings changed) / feelings,—changed strength, can ( MS strength can) / strength,—can same ?—or ( MS same—or) / same ? or earlier ( MS ) / earliest dead and distant ( MS ) / distant and dead apartment. The (MS ) / apartment The or in cheering ( MS ) / or cheering boar ( MS ) /bears in ( MS ) /on of the imagination ( MS ) / of imagination scape ( MS ) / escape no, she ( MS no she) / no—she felt that he ( MS ) /felt he power ( MS ) /powers shaking his ( MS ) / shaking off his there is so ( MS ) / there should be so sceptic ( MS ) / sceptical faggot MS ) / faggots had already crumbled ( MS ) / had crumbled this ( MS ) /the fly—the ... resist—and ( MS ) / fly, the ... resist, and him ( MS ) /them

406 79.41 80.12 80.38 80.42 81.4 81.15 81.16 81.18 81.19 82.1 82.4 82.8 82.18 82.18 82.22 82.22

82.23 82.29 82.36 82.38 83.18 83.31 83.33 84.6 84.33 85.2 85.5 85.6 85.7 85.27 86.2 86.3 86.11 86.24 86.37 87.6 87.24 87.25 87.33 87.34 88.6 88.9 88.20 88.24 88.36 88.40 89.4

emendation list

perturbed ( MS perturbd) / disturbed again resound the ( MS ) / again the pleasant ( MS ) / pleasing hae ( MS ) / have hae crops ( MS have crops) / wear crops than ( MS ) /then wig?—ye ( MS ) /wig?—Ye head—Ye ( MS ) /head—ye beautifuest ( MS ) / beautifaest receipt ( MS ) / recipe doing justice to ( MS ) / partaking ony(Ed2)/any The Ed2 emendation is accepted as it parallels the Ed2* change at 82.18. ony (Ed2*) / any out o’(MS) / out of waken ye (Ed2*) / wake you screeching (MS) / skreighing While the substitution of‘skreighing’ was a proper piece of Scoticising, the intermediary did not notice that it introduced a repetition with ‘skreigh’d’ below. o’(Ed2)/of The Ed2 emendation is accepted as it parallels the Ed2* changes at this point. likes ( MS ) / liket wirricows ( MS ) / worricows ane’s (Ed2*) / one’s more MS )/less but. I ( MS ) /but; I But is to me ( MS ) / but is to me of the tide (8vo 1819) / of tide something ( MS ) / somewhat believe that they ( MS ) / believe they hands ( MS ) /hand Prithee ( MS ) / Pr’ythee clasp;—MS )/clasp;”— Horace—he ( MS ) / Horace. He was ( MS ) /is affirmed ( MS affirmd) / affirms womankind, his ( MS womankind his) / womankind,—his Yung-frau ( MS ) / Yung-fraw same in ( MS ) / same with were now bent ( MS ) / were bent occupy all the ( MS ) / occupy the don’t ( MS dont) / do not eye ( MS ) /eyes and worldlings ( MS ) / and the wordlings Ion ( MS ) /Jon wes ( MS ) /was which he ... must consider as ( MS ) / which they ... must have con­ sidered as way down to ( MS ) / way to haddock, and ( MS ) / haddocks and do ( MS ) /Do bid ye ... bid ye ( MS ) / bid you ... bid you

EMENDATION LIST

89.9 89.12 89.13 89.14 89.18 89.19 89.22 89.24 89.30 89.38 90.7 90.17 91.6 91.35 91.39 92.7 92.13 92.15 92.15

92.20 92.25 92.26 92.34 92.34 92.36 92.36 92.37 92.42

93.6 93.7 93.7 93.8 93.15 93.22 93.28 93.35 93.40 93.43 94.7 94.10 94.33 94.40 95-3 95.4 95.11 95.28 96.13 97.38 98.4 98.9 98.33

407

be the better, and bonnier ( MS ) / be better, and the bonnier ye for’t ( MS ) /you for them Monkbarns, the de’il ( MS ) / Monkbarns, de’il closer ( MS ) / close in ( MS ) /into than ( MS ) / then than ( MS ) /then now the ( MS ) / now—the and had ( MS ) / wi’ the bit ( MS ) / our bit self-complacence ( MS ) / self-complacency yet they are (Ed2*) / yet are upstairs ( MS ) / up stairs under ( MS ) /lower wandering ( MS ) / wanderings been never ( MS ) / never been sowp ( MS ) /soup tongue and ( MS ) / tongue or make ( MS ) /gar A verso addition ends with ‘gar’ while the main text ends with ‘make’; the return to the recto reading disposes of an immediate repetition. vera ( MS verra) / very anes ( MS ) /ance dune ( MS ) / done you’re ( MS derived: your) /you are so MS)/So na ( MS ) /no anes ( MS ) /ance than ( MS ) /then cows and horse ( MS ) / cow-ills and horse-ills A black cross in the margin (the copyist’s sign of a problem) induced the revision of a pithy idiom into a more explicit but more clumsy phrase. ae house ( MS ) / ony single house refused ae ( MS ) / refused at ae can ( MS ) / canna naebody ( MS ) / onybody a thought ( MS ) / o’ thought our just debts ( MS ) / our debts unprovided neither ( MS ) / unprovided for neither dune ( MS ) / done snishing ( MS ) / sneeshin mickle ( MS ) / muckle wi’it ( MS wi it) / wi’t canny ( MS ) / canna preceding dreadful evening ( MS ) / preceding evening Isabel ( MS ) / Isabella agreeable ( MS ) / agreeably were ( MS ) /was As You Like It ( MS ) / As you like it as(Ed5)/at specimens ( MS ) / mineralogy you came ( MS ) / you have come gout; “but ( MS ) / gout; but those on ( MS ) / those samples on any but ( MS ) / any one, but

408 99.35 1oo.2 100.3 100.9 100.25 101.12 1o1.17 101.23 101.35 102.3 102.9 102.16 102.16 102.17 102.17 102.19 102.25 102.32 102.33 102.35 103.22 103.26 103.31 103.32 103.36 104.1

104.19 104.27 105.28 105.31 105.33 106.3 106.5 106.18 106.19 106.31 106.36 106.42 107.14 107.21 107.21 107.29 107.30 107.31 108.3 108.12

108.23 108.25 109.12

emendation list politics—poor fellow!—he ( MS ) /politics. Poor fellow! he him—and ( MS ) / him; and not he shall have—my very best ( MS ) / not—he shall have my best most ( MS ) / much chameleon ( MS ) / cameleon storms ( MS ) / storm Oldbuck—it may be so—but ( MS ) / Oldbuck, it may be so; but the ( MS ) / this say truth ( MS ) /say the truth out the ( MS ) /out of the on ( MS ) /upon gentlemen, I ( MS ) / gentlemen—I one, took ( MS one took) / one—took concern—and ( MS ) / concern, and outlay. We ( MS outlay—We) / outlay; we Bunyan—we ( MS ) / Bunyan, we But ( MS ) /but spot—that ( MS ) / spot. That blind ( MS ) / blunt times—and ( MS ) / times; and so ( MS ) / as lad? ( MS ) / lad! visis fides (MS and Cicero) / visis, fides somniantium (Editorial) / somnientium The MS reading is probably as Ed1. cloud (Ed2*) / crowd out a (8vo 1822)/out to a The MS reads ‘pointed out to you a prudent line of conduct’. It is probable that ‘to you’ was marked for deletion in proof and that only ‘you’ was in fact removed. motto—Your ( MS ) / motto; your own,” ( MS ) / own it,” Why ( MS ) /why literary,” ( MS ) / literary,,” I pitched ( MS ) / I have pitched could ( MS ) / can Shakespeare (8vo 1819)/ Shakspeare confession ( MS ) / confusion manner—and (ms manner and) / manners:—And myself have ( MS ) / have myself time was my ( ms) / time, and that is my do. You ( ms do You) / do, you it—in (Editorial) / it, in Why ( MS ) /why thee ( MS ) /the rhymes ( MS ) / rhyme as ( MS ) / like dost ( MS ) /Dost “But now,” ( MS ) / “But,” visions ( MS ) versions No doubt the Ed1 reading was intended to avoid a repetition with ‘visionaries’, but here the repetition is intentional. forms ( MS ) /form And ( MS ) /and niver ( MS ) /never

EMENDATION LIST

409

109.12 quarter—and ( MS ) / quarter. And 109.15 look to his companion), (ISet) / look) to his companion, 110.3 Coy. ( MS ) /Co. 110.22 came ( MS ) /cam 110.23 what ( MS ) /What 110.36 scarce ( MS ) / scarcely 111.5 Baby.” (MS Baby—”) / Baby ?” 111.7 for ( MS ) /to 111.11 merchants’ ( MS ) / merchant’s 111.20 that is ( MS ) / that’s 111.21 lassie—after ( MS ) / lassie, after 111.22 mak ( MS ) /make 111.23 mickle ( ms) / muckle 111.27 sailor’s (8vo 1819)/ sailors 111.30 correspondensh ( MS ) / correspondence 111.35 there belive ( MS ) / there, believe me 111.42 Here’s ( MS ) /There’s 111.42 frae ( MS ) / from 112.1 coach ( MS )/ carriage 112.10brimstane ( MS ) / brimstone 112.12 mickle ( MS ) /muckle 112.13 anither ( MS ) / another 112.24 tradesman and customer ( MS ) / tradesmen and customers 112.34 grandmother ( MS ) / mother 112.36 ye ( MS ) / you 112.36 make the ( MS ) / make up the 113.8 Fairport for a queer callant— ( ms) / Fairport— 113.9 mak ( MS ) /make 113.12 than ( MS ) /then 113.14 than ( MS ) /then 113.14 sae ( MS ) / so 113.19 tauld ( MS ) /tell’d 113.20 powing ( MS ) /pu’ing 113.23 a-douking ( MS derived: a [newline] bathing) / a [new line] douking The form needs the hyphen to avoid being misunderstood. In Ed2* ‘a’ was changed to ‘to the’, which, as it makes no sense in the context, is evidence of the unhyphenated form being susceptible to misreading. 113.26 powed ( MS pow’d) /pu’d 113.33 be express ( MS ) /by express 113.34 the callant ( MS ) / our callant 113.35 miles ( MS ) /mile 113.41 dares ( MS ) / dare 113.42 the night ( ms) / this night 114.1 than ( MS ) /then 114.9 ane ( MS ) /yane 114.11 powney ( MS ) /poney 114.17 A, weel weel, ( MS A weel weel) / Aweel, weel, 114.23 cracking ( MS ) / crack 114.24 hollow ( MS ) /halloo 114.31 Coy. ( MS ) /Co. 114.31 and all ( ms) / and that all 114.41 its ( MS ) /their 115.6 which had ( MS ) /that had 115.18 farther ( MS ) / further 115.34 rein ( MS ) /reins

410

115.39 115.40 115.42 115.43 116.4 116.4 116.7 116.7 116.11 116.34 116.35 116.42

116.42 117.23 117.30 117.30 119.9 119.13 119.17 119.19 120.1 120.3 120.20 120.26 120.35 120.40 120.43 121.14 121.23 121.42 122.25 122.36 123.1 123.3 123.16 123.21 123.34 123.38 123.39 123.41 124.25 124.29 125.16 125.18 125.27 125.31 125.39 126.2 126.36

127.13

EMENDATION LIST

Whae’s ( MS ) / Wha’s what na gate’s ( MS ) / what an a gate’s ganging ( MS ) /gaun “To Monkbarns.” ( MS ) / “I’m gaun to Monkbarns.” ganging ( MS ) / gaun thought he ( MS ) / he thought its ( MS ) /it’s nae ( MS ) /no Lovel (Ed2*) / Neville horse ?—why ( MS ) / horse ? why mickle ( MS ) /muckle saxpence (Ed2) / sixpence The Ed2 reading is adopted because it corresponds to the MS reading at 117.30. mickle ( MS ) / muckle lay ( MS ) /take saxpence ( MS ) / sixpence snishing ( MS ) / sneeshin First (Editorial) / Second mickle ( MS ) /muckle beef-steak ( MS ) /beef-stake her ( MS ) /the mickle ( MS ) / muckle mickle ( MS ) / muckle the day (Ed2*) / to-day came ( MS ) /cam deuce? ( MS ) /deuce! on ( MS ) /upon carved through-stanes ( MS ) / carved-through stanes foot ( MS ) /feet Scottish ( MS ) /Scotch never having ( MS ) / having never lass, that ( MS ) /lass that Come (Ed2*) / come seamstress ( MS ) / sempstress unwholesome (Ed2*) / unhealthy forwards ( MS ) / forward so( MS ) /as joke ( MS ) /joker griesly ( MS ) /grisly than—You ( MS ) /then—you Britains ( MS ) / Britons pæna ( MS ) /pæna ear ( MS ) /ears no, no ( MS ) No, no you not ( MS ) / not you suppress ( MS ) /repress I’ll ( MS ) / I shall flights (Ed2*) / flight vanity ( MS ) / variety as horse’s (MS derived: they) / as the horse’s Replacing a pronoun with the appropriate noun in the opening sentence of a paragraph was one of the changes authorised by the hypothetical ‘standing orders’. Wardour, trotted (Ed2*) / Wardour trotted

EMENDATION LIST

127.15 127.23 129.14 129.33 129.41 129.43 130.26 130.38

131.25 131.32 131.39 132.23 132.27 132.43 13 2.43 133.3 133.4 133.6 133.14 133.15 133.26 133.31 133.38

133.41 133.43 134.4 134.9 134.12 134.17 134.20 134.26 134.40 134.40 134.40 135.3 135.4 13 5.11 135.27 135.33 136.4 136.12 136.16 136.17 136.17 136.20 136.20 136.31

411

In Ed1 there is a space at a line-end where this comma should have been. Hope ( MS ) / hope portly ( MS ) / stately which for some time was merely ( MS ) / which was for some time merely foot’s-breadth ( MS ) / foot-breadth the spray of that bramble ( MS ) / that spray of a bramble recitations hors ( MS ) / recitations, hor in ( MS ) / on buildings which (18mo) / buildings, which This sentence was added post-manuscript, but is not well adjusted to its context. The 18mo is the only edition to have perceived this and its emendation is accepted here. this. I ( MS ) /this—I Heytesbury’s ( MS ) / Heytesburg’s national ( MS ) / natural Arthur’s (8vo 1819) / Robert’s tiends, parsonage (MS teinds parsonage) / tiends of the parsonage time ( MS ) / times such power and awful importance ( MS ) / such awful power and import­ ance names (Ed2 *) / name inhabitants. But ( MS ) / inhabitants; but raised (MS raisd) /reared abomination. Lovel ( MS ) / abomination—Lovel by looking at the ( MS ) / by considering what are the pardonsh ( MS ) /pardon vara ( MS )/vary vara ( MS derived: very) /vary In MS Dousterswivel’s form of‘very’ is ‘vara’; thus, if a Dousterswivel ‘very’ is to be changed it should be to ‘vara’. width ( MS ) /wid some ( MS ) / something ceremoniesh ( MS ) / ceremonish talk nothing of you ( MS ) / talk of nothing you vara ( MS ) /very vara ( MS ) /vary von ( MS ) /Von vara ( MS ) /vary is very ( MS )/is a very too ( MS ) /also vara ( MS ) / vary Ach ( MS ) /Ah bum poor me ( MS ) /burn me copse at ( MS ) / copse - thicket at waters ( MS ) / water one ( MS ) /an his ( MS ) /this Art ( MS ) /art this nothing ( MS ) / this is nothing Artur ( MS ) /Arthur Botherowl ( MS ) / Botherhowl as ( MS ) / than waters ( MS ) / water Oak (Ed2*) / oak

412

137.5 137.10 137.11 137.23 137.39 138.19 138.22 138.28 138.32 138.34 138.35 138.39 139.8 139.20 139.20 139.30 139.31 140.3 140.6 140.7 140.11 140.18 140.18

141.30 141.35 142.2 142.16 142.17 142.18 142.30 143.11 143.31 143.34 144.7 144.32 144.35 145.36 145.37 145.42 146.15 146.39 147.17 147.32

148.12 148.15 148.21

EMENDATION LIST

these gentlemens ( MS ) / those gentlemans vara ( MS ) /very has ( MS ) /had least ( MS ) /lest subterranean ( MS subterranian) / subterraneous the latter ( MS ) /they Morgenbrodt (Ed2) / Morgenbrodt The names of places are not normally italicised, and so the Ed2 emendation is accepted. orator ( MS ) / man Brockenberg in good credit for ( MS ) / Brockenberg for conferred (MS conferd) /condemned apprehension ( MS ) / apprehensions will be left (MS derived: will left) / are left preacher ( MS ) / capuchin burned (MS burnd) /burnt Elector ( MS ) / Electorate was ( MS ) /were loves ( MS ) / haunts brothers ( MS ) / brother in ( MS ) /on brothers ( MS ) / brother Brockenberg ( MS ) / Brokenberg the valley (Ed2) / the glen, or valley The Ed2 emendation is accepted because as the word ‘glen’ has already been used 4 times it does not need to be defined now. encompassed (Ed2) / surrounded The Ed2 emendation is accepted because it disposes of a close repeti­ tion. deposited for being ( MS ) / deposited in order to its being and he set ( MS ) /and set in this respect proved ( MS ) / proved in this respect fantastic ( MS ) / fantastical and wild gestures ( MS ) / and gestures waking ( MS ) / awaking interview ( MS ) / intercourse shout ( MS ) / shouts rekindle ( MS ) / kindle communicating ( MS ) / communication aristocracy (Ed2*) / nobility von ( MS )/Von dangers ( MS ) / danger restored for a moment to ( MS ) / restored to in ( MS ) / on towards ( MS ) /toward miseries (Ed2*) / evils am honest ( MS ) / am an honest eyes ( MS ) /eye cavaliere servente ( MS ) / cavaliere servienté In the MS Scott put accents on both words (cavalieré serventé), but neither is necessary, and the EEWN completes what the intermediaries began. description ( MS ) / descriptions the sensitive heart ( MS ) / the heart tear—to deface what ( MS ) / tear, to deface, what

EMENDATION LIST

148.40 149.17 149.21 149.28 149.32 150.7 150.24 150.31 150.34 150.43 151.8 151.8 151.1 o 151.18 151.35 151 .37 151.42 152.2 152.4 152.16 152.20 152.33 15 2.43 153.3 153.38 153.43 154.4 154.18 154.23 155.8 155.22 155.27 155.39 156.32 156.38 157.2 157.5 157.19 157.20 158.5 158.6 158.10

158.10 158.15 158.29

158.43 159.8 159.17 159.23 159.29 159.30 159.31 159.34

413

downward ( MS ) / downwards and the worthy ( MS ) / and worthy Tiend Court ( MS Tiend court) / tiend court Tiend Court ( MS tiend-Court) / tiend court induced ( MS ) / endured undistinguishable ( MS ) / indistinguishable that’s ( MS thats) / that is mean Sir ( MS ) / meant to ask Sir What? ( MS ) /What! “I ( MS ) /“——I consider the ( MS ) / consider that the by ( MS ) /from printer’s (MS printers) / printers’ my old ( MS ) /my good old All ( MS ) /all brother—into ( MS ) / brother. Into headlong ( MS ) / headstrong Master ( MS ) /Mr triple ( MS ) / treble engaged ( MS ) /concerned and served ( MS ) / and have served having ( MS ) / language awanting ( MS ) / wanting will ( MS ) / shall Lovel ( MS ) / Level’s paths ( MS ) /path in nurse’s ( MS ) / in the nurse’s Meiklewame ( MS ) / Mucklewhame interposition ( MS ) /interference right whatever to ( MS ) / right to was ( MS ) /were You ( MS ) /you MacIntyre ( MS ) / M’Intyre’s title ( MS ) / right dropped (MS dropd) / dropt denounced ( MS ) / announced him—there ( MS ) / him. There are in ( MS ) / are involved in innuendo ( MS ) /inuendo these ( MS ) /this one ( MS ) /a must in that case, he ( MS derived: must ↑ that case ↓ he) / must then, he degraded ( MS ) / dishonoured demand ( MS ) /demands circumstances——” ( MS ) / circumstances hardly leave me an altern­ ative.” which brought ( MS ) / which has brought But ( MS ) /but rencontre ( MS ) /rencounter in ( MS ) / on escritoire ( MS ) / escritoir escritoire ( MS ) / escritoir I would beg ( MS ) /Ibeg An affectionate ( MS ) / an affectionate

414

159.41 160.16 160.22 160.27

160.31 160.35 160.35 160.38 160.43 161.2 161.3 161.6 161.7 161.15 161.22 161.35 161.43 162.2 162.4 162.5 162.6 162.7 162.7 162.8 162.8 162.8 162.12 162.24 162.30 162.32 162.34 162.34 163.5 163.16 163.18 163.21 163.22 163.27 163.28 163.28 163.29 163.29 163.35 164.10 164.14 164.14 164.29 165.2 165.5

EMENDATION LIST

answered (MS answerd) / said old Edie Ochiltree ( MS ) / old Ochiltree livery—if he’s not (MS livery—if hes not) / livery. If he is not beg pardon—Mr Taffril, I ( MS beg pardon—Mr Taffril I) / beg your pardon, Mr Taffril—I have with ( MS ) / say with Indebted ? ( MS ) / Indebted! What... What ( MS ) / what... what curfuffle (MS / carfuffle Scott marks the first ‘u’ as ‘u’ in the MS. thareout ( MS ) / thereout friend”–— ( MS ) / friend”— anes ( MS ) /ance bit o’ freedom ( MS bit of freedom) / bit freedom tap that I ( MS ) / tap I naeman ( MS ) /naebody auld fellow soldier ( MS ) / auld soldier palmer or eremite, the preacher or ghostly ( MS palmer or eremite ↓ the preacher or ghostly) / palmer, or eremite preacher, the ghostly amang ( MS ) /among but have ( MS ) / have but brithers ( MS ) / brothers mithers ( MS ) / mothers heart ?—and ( MS ) / heart ? And britherless ( MS ) / brotherless friendless? Ohon ( MS ) / friendless?—Ohon o’t—Think ( MS ) / o’t. Think o’t ( MS ) /on’t man but ( MS ) / man—but herry ( MS ) / harry on ( MS ) / in any very rational ( MS ) / any rational before—in ( MS ) / before. In further ( MS ) /farther get ( MS ) /go agreed both ( MS ) / agreed that both my ( MS ) /My surgeon now came ( MS ) / surgeon came ye ( MS ) / you What’s done ( MS) / what’s done upon ( MS ) /on way ( MS ) /sail this ( MS ) /that I will ( MS ) / I shall Mussel-Crag—away ( MS ) / Mussel-Crag. Away sleuth-hounds ( MS ) / sluth-hounds sturdy ( MS ) / steady that(Ed2*)/which reflection ( MS ) /reflections isolated and detached to ( MS ) / isolated to precarious and hazardous steps ( MS ) / precarious steps rock, that the screen of an aged oak which, anchored ( MS derived: rock ⟨which the screen⟩ ↑ screened by the boughs of ↓ of an aged oak which ↑ anchord ↓ by its thick & twisted roots in the upper part of the cleft flung its branches almost straight outward from the cliff conceald effec­

EMENDATION LIST

165.18 165.26 165.27 165.28 165.30 165.31

165.35 165.36 165.41 166.1 166.12 166.13 166.13 166.14 166.14 166.22 166.28 166.37 166.38 166.39 166.42 166.43 167.11

167.15 167.17 167.20 167.21 167.22 167.33 167.38 167.41 167.42 167.43 167.43 168.14 168.28 168.29 168.31 168.41 169.5

415

tually from all observation.) / rock, screened by the boughs of an aged oak, which, anchored On rereading this sentence Scott observed a repeated ‘which’, and substituted the phrase ‘screened by the boughs of’ for the clausal form ‘which the screen of’; this would have been acceptable had the sentence stopped with ‘cliff’, but it left ‘concealed effectually’ without either a subject or object. Replacing the first ‘which’ with ‘that’ and returning to the intitial reading provides a simple solution to the problem, and one which was used at 164.14. inward ( MS ) / inner useless and ugsome ( MS ) / useless ugsome whan ( MS / when cry them in and say, ( MS ) / cry, pow( MS ) / pu’ mends (ISet) / minds It is not possible to tell from the MS whether Scott wrote ‘minds’ or ‘mends’, but as ‘mends’ makes better sense, his ISet correction is accepted. folk ( MS ) / folks treasures ( MS ) / treasure garr’d (Ed2*) / gard ony ( MS ) / only And than ( MS ) / and then worricows ( MS ) / worricous gyre-carlines ( MS ) / gyre-cærlins thae ( MS ) / the lights he ( MS ) / lights that he are ( MS ) / were agitated ( MS ) / agited folk that we ( MS ) / folk we various ( MS ) / foreign but what a ( MS ) / but a say, it ( MS ) / say it a’but ( MS ) / a’; but shirra’s-officers (MS derived: sheriffs officers) / shirraff-officers The form ‘shirraff is aberrant and is not used by Scott. The usual Scots form of the word, ‘shirra’, which is used by Scott, is therefore substi­ tuted. onything ( MS ) / ony aweel ( MS ) / Aweel free ( MS ) / safe de’il ( MS ) / di’el burrough ( MS ) / borough and ( MS ) / but place that I’ve ( MS ) / place I’ve than ( MS ) / then awa’ ( MS ) / away than ( MS ) / then had seen ( MS ) / saw could ( MS ) / might where ( MS ) / when below. The ( MS ) / below—the doun-bye ( MS down-bye) / dounbelow biggings ( MS ) / buildings and frankincent ( MS ) / and the frankincent

416 i 69.8

169.9 169.9 169.23 169.24 169.29 170.1 170.9 170.11 170.21 170.23 170.30 170.33

171.10 171.15 171.18 171.18 171.19 171.30 171.31 171.32 171.34 171.35

171.36 172.15 172.15 172.17 172.20 172.22 172.23 172.24 172.24 172.33 172.40 172.43 173.28 173.34 173.37 174.2 174.4 174.9 174.10 174.11 174.12 174.18 174.25 174.27 174.29 174.35

emendation list acceptable—Or ( MS ) / acceptable, or parofle ( MS ) / parade Lovel, that if ( MS ) / Lovel, if gay( MS ) / gae warld ( MS ) / world lantern (Ed2*) / lanthorn midst ( MS ) / middle for one ( MS ) / for an Divine ( MS ) / great sow de seed ( MS ) / sow the seed plate—they ( MS ) / plate, they You ( MS ) / you Schedbarschemoth Scharlathan ( MS ) / Shedbarschemoth Schart­ athan In ‘Schedbarschemoth’ a ‘c’ was simply omitted; a long stroke crossing the‘t’ in ‘Scharlathan’ misled the copyist into thinking there were two t’s. quiver ( MS ) / quaver with( MS ) / in hour—And ( MS ) / hours; and vara (MS derived: very) / vary pleasure—you (MS derived: pleasure you) / pleasure. You oboe ( MS ) / oboi Ehrenhold ( MS ) / Erenhold in ( MS ) / on that is do any great ( MS ) / that is—do any thing—great occasions ? (MS derived: occasions”—“Bah) occasions. The sentence was misread (see previous emendation) and when emended a question mark is required. no!—sometimes ( MS ) / no! sometimes N—No ( MS ) / n—no partake his (MS) / partake of his explosion, which ( MS ) / explosion of sneezing, which me ( MS ) / us geister (Editorial) / geistem begin ( MS ) / begun be bestermost ( MS ) / be de bestermost bettermost ( ms) / bestermost go ( MS ) / Go allerbestmost of usage ( MS ) / allerbestmost usage and prolongation ( MS ) / and a prolongation moments ... were ( MS ) / moment... was earthy ( MS ) / earthly had come ( MS ) / came yet ( MS ) / still lantern (Ed2*) / lanthorn made—that ( MS ) / made. That Goldiebird’s ( MS ) / Goldieword’s if ( MS ) / If Suppose ( MS ) / suppose his guilty ( MS ) / the German’s guilty mickle ( MS ) / muckle than ( MS ) / then mickle ( MS ) / muckle He ( MS ) / he

EMENDATION LIST

174.36 174.36 174.39 174.39

174.40 174.43 175.3 175.5 175.6 175.11 175.14 175.15 175.15 175.16 175.17

175.18 175.24 175.26 176.28 176.33

176.41 176.43 177.1 177.6 177.15 177.24 178.8 178.12 179.15 179.41 180.21 181.27 181.28

181.30 182.1 182.13 182.23 182.24 182.27 182.28 182.29 182.33 182.37 182.37 183.8 183.12 183.14

417

than ( MS ) / then wad hae liked ( MS ) / wad liked but ( MS ) / But doesna ( MS ) / disna Scott does not use the form ‘disna’. be ... be ( MS ) / by .. .by Ow ( MS ) / Ou He wad ( MS ) / he wad garr’d (Ed2*) / gard trow ( MS ) / true He had ( MS ) / he had knowe—now ( MS ) / knowe. Now birss ( MS ) / birse gude—He’s ( MS guid) / good—he’s wad hae thought ( MS ) / wad thought them, ( MS ) / them the deeper, The addition of‘the deeper’ is a clumsy attempt to make explicit what is already clear. again ( MS ) / against Edinbrugh ( MS ) / Edinburgh kintray ( MS ) / country dews ( MS ) / dew offing. Close ( MS derived: offing Close) / offing—close As this is narrative a full-stop is more appropriate than the dash. consequences ( MS ) / consequence in ( MS ) / on farther ( MS ) / further mickle ( MS ) / muckle snishing ( MS ) / sneeshin rendered to him ( MS ) / rendered him Old Play (Ed2*) / [ no attribution ] mug ( MS ) / jug nothing I suppose—I ( MS derived: nothing I suppose I) / nothing—I suppose I it’s ( MS its) / it is hot-blooded ( MS ) / hot-headed Oldbuck entering ( MS ) / Oldbuck’s entering that as the (MS that ⟨as that⟩ the) / that the It seems probable that Scott accidentally deleted ‘as’ along with the extra ‘that’; this necessitated the later addition of‘and’ (see the next emendation) to separate two principal clauses. others, she ( MS ) / others, and she ceremonial ( MS ) / ceremonies ejaculation was ( MS ) / ejaculation of wonder was thereon—amounting ( MS ) / thereon, amounting see”—— ( MS ) / see”— there is ( MS ) / there’s to——eleven ( MS ) / to eleven shilling ( MS ) / shillings till nausea ( MS ) / till you nauseate Bullion ? ( MS ) / Bullion! lead—what ( MS ) / lead. What already been ( MS ) / been already pounds ?” ( MS ) / pounds! ” for being thankfully repaid ( MS ) / of being repaid

418

183.16 183.26 183.30 184.5 184.7 184.8 184.12 184.21 184.24 184.31 185.1 185.4 185.9 185.11 185.18 185.27 185.28 185.39 185.40 186.4 186.19 186.31 187.20 187.25 187.31 187.35 187.40 188.3 188.4 188.28 188.31 188.31 188.42 188.43 189.7 189.39 190.24 190.38 190.39 190.41 190.43 191.18 191.37 191.38 191.40 191.41 2. 1 19 192.3

192.13 192.39 193.10 193.10

emendation list pause: either ( MS ) / pause—either farther ( MS ) / further I really wonder (Ed2*) / I wonder my own eyes (Ed2*) / my eyes how——” ( MS ) / how”—— midnight last ( MS ) / midnight the last Indeed? ( MS ) / Indeed! then been ( MS ) / been then discernment. But ( MS ) / discernment; but at ( MS ) / of One ( MS ) / one Thyræus ( MS ) / Thyracus The reading in the MS looks like ‘Thyracus’, but could be ‘Thyraeus’, which happens to be correct. snuff-mull—but ( MS ) / snuff-mill. But sense of ( MS ) / sense or will suit ( MS ) / will best suit history ( MS ) / antiquities Aye! aye! ( MS ) / Aye, aye, gold and ( MS ) / gold or suspect ( MS ) / suppose ask how ( MS ) / ask you how this occasion ( MS ) / these occasions rung ( MS ) / rang Arthurs ( MS ) / Arthur put in one ( MS ) / put one further ( MS ) / farther t’other ( MS ) / the other possible to ( MS ) / possible—to dat (Ed2*) / that at Mr Oldbuck ( MS ) / at Oldbuck cornucopia ( MS ) / cornucopia Oldenbook ( MS ) / Oldenbuck see ( MS ) / find these feelings being ( MS ) / those feelings from being ninth ( MS ) ninth you—dat is all—I ( MS ) / you, dat is all; I objection ( MS ) / objections think ( MS ) / Think Monkbarns, when ( MS Monkbarns when) / Monkbarns—when anes ( MS ) / ance mak ( MS ) / make their ain kintra ( MS ) / their country kindness ( MS ) / goodness ken’t ( MS ) / ken it anes ( MS ) / ance than ( MS ) / then maks ( MS ) / makes labour ( MS ) / labours parallelogram (8vo 1822) / parallellogram In the MS Scott wrote ‘paralellogram’. “WellI ( MS ) / “I was then too ( MS ) / was too halves ( MS ) / halvers neighbour’s (ISet) / neighbours

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419

193.34 of perhaps ( MS ) / perhaps of 193.37 windfall ( MS ) / windfal 193.39 had at least equalled ( MS ) / had equalled 194.31 see ( MS ) / find Scott wrote ‘see’, but ‘find’ was written over it, probably byJohn Ballan­ tyne. 194.40 how ( MS ) / where 194.40 would have ( MS ) / would not have 195.1 honours ( MS ) / honour 195.2 Maister ( MS ) / Mr 195.2 mickle ( MS ) / muckle 195.3 him a’ that’s ( MS ) / him that o’t that’s John Ballantyne appears to have deleted the MS ‘a’ and written ‘that o’t’ above the line. 195.5 mickle ( MS ) / muckle 195.16 amongst ( MS ) / among In MS ‘amongst’ was deleted and ‘in’ substituted, probably by John Ballantyne. 195.18 found ( MS ) / seen 196.9 but some two ( MS ) / but two 196.9 de ( MS ) / the 196.15 the open grave ( MS ) / the grave 196.21 Ochiltrees!” ( MS ) / Ochiltrees” 196.24 ye ( MS ) / you 196.25 A ( MS ) / I 196.25 thinking that it ( MS ) / thinking it 196.25 vera ( MS ) / very 196.29 twa three ( MS ) / twa or three 196.33 What? ( MS ) / What! 196.33 counsel ( MS ) / council 196.36 dey (Ed2*) / they 196.40 gelt ( MS ) / golt 196.42 Dusterdivel ( MS ) / Dusterdevil 197.4 And ( MS ) / and 197.5 ony ane (Ed2*) / any one 197.6 siller ( MS ) / silver 197.11 at an unco ( MS ) / at unco 197.16 No, no! ( MS ) / No, no, 197.16 Dusterdivel ( MS ) / Dusterdevil 197.17 brither and brither ( MS ) / brother and brother 197.21 I am na ... I am na ( MS ) / I am nae ... I’m no 197.21 book-leared ( MS book-leard) / book-learned 197.22 mickle ( MS ) / muckle 197.36 Starch? ( MS ) / Starch! 197.37 Search ... Search ( MS ) / search ... search 197.38 distinc ( MS ) / distinct 197.39 Search Number I ( MS ) / search—number one 198.2 eard ( MS ) / earth 198.4 kintra ( MS ) / country 198.5 tauld ye about ( MS ) / tauld about 198.5 treasures ( MS ) / treasure 198.13 who ( MS ) / that 198.13 easily be ( MS ) / be easily 198.36 every ( MS ) / ony 198.36 grit ( MS ) / great

420

EMENDATION LIST

aye out-taken ( MS ) / aye, out-taken kintra ( MS ) / country whan ( MS ) / when strength to keep ( MS ) / power to keep country. God ( MS ) / country, God mickle ( MS ) / muckle fa’an ( MS ) / fa’en to; ( MS ) / to, ne’er ( MS ) / never word ( MS ) / words than ( MS ) / then out and to ( MS ) / out to mickle ( MS ) / muckle this is all ( MS ) / this all mine own countries ( MS ) / mine countries mickle ( MS ) / muckle arts ( MS ) / art wi’( MS wi) / with Dousterdivel ( MS ) / Dousterdevil how ( MS ) / How Search Number I ( MS Search No I) / Search—No. I. As this is a representation of writing it ought to have the same form as when first used. 200.30 mickle ( MS ) / much 200.31 your first has ( MS ) / yon kist is 200.32 mickle ( MS ) / muckle 200.32 init ( MS ) in’t 200.38 whin ( MS ) / wheen 200.38 glower (Ed2*) / stare 200.41 lantern (Ed2*) / lanthorn 201.3 Mistygoat’s ( MS ) / Mishdigoat’s 201.4 told you de ( MS ) / told de 201.5 disturbances ( MS ) / disturbance 201.10 be the bettermost ( MS ) / be bettermost 201.12 Mistygoat’s ( MS ) / Mishdigoat’s 201.14 Arthurs ( MS ) / Arthur 201.14 take away some ( ms) / take some 201.15 Mistygoat’s ( MS ) / Mishdigoat’s 201.18 twal (Ed2*) / twelve 201.19 watch here for ( MS ) / watch for 201.38 not it ( MS ) / it not 201.41 bleeze ( MS ) / blast 202.11 swept (Ed2*) / passed 202.15 the faint and piping ( MS ) / a faint and passing 202.35 lantern (Ed2*) / lanthorn 202.37 dem up on ( MS ) / dem on 202.38 you’re ( MS ) / you are 203.6 ait-strae ( MS ) / ait-straw 203.20 tak ( MS ) / take 203.26 Dousterdrivel ( MS ) / Dusterdivel 203.34 guten (Editorial) / guter 203.36 Edie—for ( MS ) / Edie, for 203.40 if he was ( MS ) / were he 204.1 lantern (Ed2*) / lanthorn 204.8 than ( MS ) / then

198.41 199.4 199.4 199.6 199.15 199.18 199.22 199.24 199.27 199.28 199.33 199.39 199.42 200.2 200.3 200.6 200.9 200.11 200.27 200.29 200.29

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421

204.18 stead ( MS ) / instead 204.28 yon? ( MS ) / yon! 204.28 it is ( MS ) / it’s 204.29 on it ( MS ) / in 204.29 looked ( MS lookd) / lookit 204.30 in it ( MS ) / in’t 204.34 Stop? ( MS ) / Stop! 204.38 mickle ( MS ) / muckle 204.38 through-stane (Ed2*) / trough-stane 204.39 spleet ( MS ) / split 205.1 truly ( MS ⟨already⟩ ↑ truly ↓ ⟨said⟩) / already 205.10 puts ( MS ) / put 205.11 Maister Dousterdivel ( MS ) / Mr Dusterdivel 205.12 I’m ( MS ) / I am 205.13 end ( MS ) / ends 205.14 be ( MS ) / by 205.20 I find ( MS ) / I’ll find 205.26 I am ( MS ) / I’m 205.30 being a man of ( MS ) / being of 205.35 behint ( MS ) / behind 206.10 part ( MS ) / parts 206.27 practices ( MS ) / practice 206.37 lantern (Ed2*) / lanthorn 206.43 western (Editorial) / eastern The door is said to be in the west at 169.17; in any case, a chancel does not have an eastern door. 207.5 But“Bah!” (MS But “bah”) / “But bah!” 207.7 four ( MS ) / for 207.23 a fearful solitude ( MS ) / a solitude 208.35 it ( MS ) / opposition 209.3 Dousterswivel—is ( MS ) / Dousterswivel, is 209.4 ye wussed ( MS ) / ye had wussed 209.15 Robbed?... Murdered? ( MS ) / Robbed!... Murdered! 209.16 speak out pretty ( MS ) / speak pretty 209.16 fear? ( MS ) / fear! 209.19 Adie ( MS ) / Edie 209.27 pounds and murdered by ( MS pounds and murderd by) / pounds by 209.35 sallees ( MS ) / saulies 209.35 them—Sae ( MS ) / them, sae 210.1 tottered (Ed2*) / sallied 210.11 upon ( MS ) / on 210.20 wins ( MS ) / earns 210.26 eleventh (Editorial) / ninth 210.37 the part ( MS ) / that part 211.31 you’se ( MS ) / you’s 211.32 been a’ ta’en ( MS been a ta’en) / been ta’en 211.34 wants ( MS ) / wanted 211.35 thing—sae, as sune ( MS ) / thing. Sae, as soon 211.37 came ( MS ) / cam 211.37 doun (Ed2*) / down 211.41 night and ( MS ) / night—and 211.41 A ( MS ) / a 211.42 you’se ( MS ) / you’s 211.43 her (Ed2*) / the 212.3 Ow ( MS ) / Ou

422

EMENDATION LIST

212.6 whin ( MS ) / wheen 212.7 Sae ( MS ) / As 212.9 than ( MS ) / then 212.10 pits (Ed2) / puts This and 4 of the following emendations are accepted from Ed2 be­ cause they parallel the spirit of the 2 Ed2* emendations. 212.10 doun(Ed2) / down 212.11 ahint (Ed2*) / behint 212.11 howdie ( MS ) / houdie 212.13 toun (Ed2) / town 212.14 it’s a’ sauld (MS its a sauld) / it’s sauld 212.15 And ( MS ) / and 212.17 Shew ( MS ) / shew 212.18 just tak ( MS ) / just to tak 212.20 doun (Ed2) / down 212.22 a’ (Ed2*) / a 212.22 tight, thack and rape, when (8vo 1819) / tight thack and rape when This and the previous emendation realise Scott’s meaning. 212.23 thae ( MS derived: they) / them In the MS the second line of this aphorism begins with ‘thae’; thus it seems that ‘they’ is a homophone. 212.23 gudes ( MS ) / goods 212.24 thae ( MS ) / them 212.24 Shew ( MS ) / shew 212.25 farmer-bodies wad ( MS ) / farmer-bodies, that wad 212.26 to market ( MS ) / to the market 212.27 whare’s ( MS ) / where’s 212.28 whan ( MS ) / when 212.28 gane ?—and ( MS ) / gane ? And 212.28 whare’s ( MS ) / where’s 212.31 gaberlunzie ( MS ) / Gaberlunzie 212.32 an’ ( MS ) / and 212.33 meikle ( MS ) / muckle 212.34 mickle ( MS ) / muckle 212.36 sneeze ( MS ) / snee e 212.38 kintra’s (MS kintras) / country’s 212.43 Ruth’s this night, wi’ ( MS Ruth ↑ as ↓ this night wi’) / Ruth’s as this night fa’s, wi’ The ‘as’ was added by Scott on rereading the MS ; its addition created an imperfect sentence and ‘fa’s’ was inserted later to complete the sense. However, the burial was at midnight and the time is now after midnight (see 211.19); thus ‘as this night fa’s’ is a mistake; the EEWN returns to the first MS reading. 212.43 papist servants ( MS ) / papists, servants 213.4 it will ( MS ) / it’ll 213.4 mickle ( MS ) / muckle 213.7 in(Ed2*) / by 213.8 time?—I ( MS ) / time ?I 213.10 But( MS ) / but 213.14 again’ my ( MS) / again in my 213.41 fa’an ( MS ) / fa’en 214.9 had freedom ( MS ) / had mair freedom Scott’s first version ofthis passage was revised in MS. Further changes were made later, but as these additions repeat themselves, it seems likely that they were made at different times between the MS and Ed1,

EMENDATION LIST

214.10 214.11 214.27 214.29 214.33 214.37 214.39 214.41 215.18 215.20 215.26 215.30 215-37

215.40 215.43 216.1 216.22 216.27 216.28 216.32 216.38 216.38 216.40 217.2 217.9 217.20 217.37 217.37 218.14 218.17 218.17

218.18 218.21 218.23 218.24 218.29 218.36 218.43 219.3 219.4 219.23 219.25 219.29 220.5

423

and without proper consideration of the passage as a whole. Even after these changes the passage was still unsatisfactory, and Scott revised it further in the ISet. Two additions (this and the next emendation), which were probably added by Scott in proof, have been cut in this text, but one has been retained, ‘in the day-time’, as this is all that is neces­ sary to rectify what was wrong. secrecy— ( MS ) / secrecy than in the daylight— andby the ( MS ) / and the hand ( MS ) / hands is ( MS ) / be anes ( MS ) / ance Alison ( MS ) / Ailison whan ( MS ) / when ye(Ed2*) / you heart ( MS ) / hearts never out ( MS ) / never gang out than ( MS ) / then came ( MS ) / cam gane (MS derived: gain) / ga’en The Countess has already gone to account for herself, so the past rather than the present tense is appropriate; thus ‘gain’ would seem to be a homophone. daft auld ( MS ) / auld daft gie a ( MS ) / gie them a burned ( MS burnd) / burnt Ruth? ou ( MS Ruth ou) / Ruth’s?—Ou odd ( MS ) / Odd knockit (Ed2*) / knocked as ( MS ) / that just A ( MS ) / I fa’an ( MS faan) / fa’en than ( MS ) / then pounds that it (MS) / pounds it man! ( MS ) / man. to ( MS ) / in sun-shiny ( MS ) / sun-shiney in ( MS ) / on mickle ( MS ) / muckle yestreen—at ( MS ) / yestreen— [line end] —at itis sae (MS sae itis ↑sae↓) / sae it is It appears that Scott changed the position of‘sae’ but failed to delete as required. na ( MS ) / not Ruth ( MS ) / Ruth’s was aye their ( MS ) / was their scorn they ( MS ) / scorn that they that ( MS ) / what eye( MS ) / eyes mercy by doing a deed of mercy, ( MS ) / mercy, ow( MS ) / ou in ( MS ) / o’ the mechanical ( MS ) / her mechanical in ( MS ) / on the mysterious ( MS ) / this mysterious estates ( MS ) / estate

424

221.12 221.16 221.23 221.28 221.31 221.31 221.32 221.37 222.6 222.15 223.13 223.16

223.21 223.31 223.32 223.38 224.1 224.4 224.4 224.18 224.35 224.37 225.16 225.23 225.36 225.40 226.6 226.14 226.23

226.24 226.26 226.29 226.29 226.30 226.34 227.8 227.25 227.29 227.30 227.42 228.13 228.20 228.23 228.25 229.2 229.8 229.12

229.15

EMENDATION LIST

door ( MS ) / doors discerned (MS discernd) / discovered the ragged ( MS ) / this ragged I am ( MS ) / I’m double or ( MS ) / double folk, or that’s to the ( MS ) / that’s the wi’(MS wi) / hae in ( MS ) / of the certainty ( MS ) / a certainty and his ( MS ) / and by the personage ( MS ) / person envoy ate, drunk, and (MS envoy ate drunk and) / envoy drank ale, and It is likely that ‘ate’ was misread as ‘ale’; a simple transposition turned this into sense. be ( MS ) / have been than ( MS ) / then us ( MS ) / me did come back, ( MS ) / did, sic a seerpreese ( MS ) / sic seerpreese And ( MS ) / and came ( MS ) / cam’ mickle ( MS ) / muckle time. But in ( MS ) / time. In artists ( MS ) / masters confident ( MS ) / conscious Aberdonian ( MS ) / Aberdeen man the old countess ( MS ) / she compression of feeling ( MS ) / suppression of maternal sorrow Earl, be ( MS ) / Earl, to be by ( MS ) / with seemed ( MS seemd) / appeared This and the following five emendations reverse post-manuscript changes which were intended to remove close repetitions, but on this occasion the substitutions were effected mechanically. to meet ( MS ) / and advanced toward seemed yet more remarkable (MS seemd yet more remarkable) / they exhibited was very striking station ( MS ) / condition is liable ( MS ) / can sink frame ( MS ) / form Ochiltree ( MS ) / the old man severer ( MS ) / severe king’s puir beadsman ( MS ) / king’s beadsman mendicant, demanded ( MS ) / mendicant, he demanded whom ( MS ) / whence Meiklebackit?” ( MS Mucklebackit”) / You doat, old man!” me?—What can this ( MS ) / me!—what can that Elspat is ( MS ) / Elspeth’s than ( MS ) / then awsome ( MS ) / awful it ( MS ) / he burned ( MS burnd) / burnt are an old and a miserable beggar asking ( MS ) / are now old and miserable, asking na ( MS ) / nae

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425

grace, if I might say sae, to repent o’ them—and ( MS grace if I might say sae to repent o’ them—and) / grace to repent of them, if I might say sae, and 230.19 came aff ( MS ) / cam off 230.31pits ( MS )/puts 231.6 clash ( MS ) / clashes 231.8 mither ( MS ) / mother 231.9 than ( MS ) /then 231.9 ower ( MS derived: our) / o’er 231.10 ower ( MS ) /o’er 231.14 maks ( MS ) / makes 231.17 for? ( MS ) /for! 231.20 rules admit ( MS ) / rule admits 231.30 be ( MS ) / to 232.1 spouses ( MS ) / dames 232.11 But ( MS ) /but 232.13 man e’er ( MS ) / e’er man 232.15 anes ( MS ) /ance 232.15 on ( MS ) /in 232.20 elders sat on the turf and looked ( MS elders sate on the turf and lookd) / elders looked 232.26 smith had also ( MS ) / smith, also, had 232.38 would ( MS ) /might 232.40 rules ( MS ) / rule 233.2 and ( MS ) /or 233.38 gone far beyond ( MS ) / gone beyond 234.14 a ( MS ) / the 234.17 Highland (Editorial) / highland 234.20 thae ( MS ) /these 234.25 Doustersnivel ( MS ) / Dustersnivel 234.25 man! ( MS ) /man. 234.33 whan ( MS ) /when 234.35 about ( MS ) / for 237.18 Ow ( MS ) /Ou 237.30 expectit ( MS ) / expected 237.31 expectit ( MS ) / expected 238.4 answered the simple Caxon ( MS ) / answered Caxon 238.6 art a—a—mere ( MS ) / art a mere 238.15 over ( MS ) / ower It was a mistake to Scoticise this word as Oldbuck is writing. 238.16 Quære ( MS ) / Quære As Oldbuck is writing in his own notebook the italics in this and the next emendation are inappropriate. 238.16 Mem ( MS ) /Mem 238.40 my glove (Ed2*) / a glove 239.5 do I talk ( MS ) / talk I 239.7 Where’s ( MS ) / where’s 239.8 wi’(Ed2*) / with 239.16 summoner ( MS ) / summons 239.25 this (Ed2*) / the 239.29 that jar which ( MS ) / that which 239.33 salt—but ( MS ) / salted. But 239.38 broken——flowerpot ( MS ) / broken—flowerpot 240.1 expeditus—or ( MS ) / expeditus, or 240.23 him twenty ( MS ) / home twenty 229.16

426 240.24 240.30 240.37 240.40

241.38 241.41 242.1 242.3 242.3 242.15 242.17 242.22 242.36 242.40 243.15 243.18 243.21 243.30 244.5 244.6 244.18 244.20 245.7 245.9 245.11 245.24 245.27 246.15 246.16 246.24 246.30 246.31 248.2 248.4

248.14 248.25 248.29 248.37

EMENDATION LIST Oldbuck eagerly, ( MS ) / Oldbuck, would ( MS ) / could will ( MS ) / shall O, you, my dear boy, are ( MS O you my dear boy are) / O, my dear boy, you are quite (Ed2*) / fully or who dislike ( MS ) / or dislike become ( MS ) /becoming audience for applause, ( MS ) / audience, with a tone of self-complacence ( MS ) / with self-complacence and they sate ( MS ) / and sate his ( MS ) / the betwixt the popular ( MS ) / betwixt popular Those ( MS ) / These Scandia (Editorial) / Scania The MS clearly reads ‘Scania’, but there is no classical support for such a spelling, and the slip was never picked up. MacAlpine ( MS ) / M’Alpin “did you absolutely believe that (Ed2*) / “that it, sir? (Ed2*) / it? MacAlpine ( MS ) / M’Alpin ancestors!—the ( MS ) / ancestors! The rock ( MS ) / rocks are as hot ( MS ) / are hot myself hastily ( MS ) / myself so hastily MacAlpine ( MS ) / M’Alpin MacAlpine ( MS ) / M’Alpin Oisin ( MS ) / Ossian Oisin ( MS ) / Ossian what?’ ( MS ) / what!’ furies—he ( MS ) / furies.—He it—I ( MS ) / it. I strength, she wrenched ( MS ) / strength, wrenched not quite upon ( MS ) / not upon low—Egad ( MS ) / low——Egad steadfastly ( MS ) / stedfastly brief, and almost harsh and fierce ( MS brief and almost harsh and fierce) / brief, harsh, and almost fierce which ( MS ) / that of hands ( MS ) / of her hands stem ( MS ) / stun The following emendation is discussed in the ‘Essay on the Text’, 391. The original MS text has been restored, but the punctuation, spelling, and small corrections (e.g. for repetition) follow Ed1. EEWN reading: Seated in her accustomed chair … the encroaching shadows of death. Original MS reading: Seated in her accustomd chair with her usual air of apathy and want of interest in what surrounded her she seemd every now and then mechanically to resume the motion of twirling the spindle—then to look towards her bosom for the distaff—then to be caught by the black colour of the gown in which they had dressd her— then to appear embarassd as if by the number of persons by whom she was surrounded—then finally to raise her head with a ghastly look as if she had at once & for the first time acquired sense to comprehend her inexpressible calamity and fixd her eyes upon the bed which containd

EMENDATION LIST

427

the coffin of her grandson. But she spake not a word neither had she shed a tear nor did those of the family understand either from look or expression to what 〈exp〉 extent she understood the uncommon bustle around her. So she sate among them like a connecting link between the surviving mourners and the dead corpse which they bewaild—a being in whom the light of existence was already obscured by the incroaching shadows of death. Revised MS reading: Seated in her accustomd chair with her usual air of apathy and want of interest in what surrounded her she seemd every now and then mechanically to resume the motion of twirling the spindle—then to look towards her bosom for the distaff ↑ although both had been laid aside—She would then look round as if surprized at missing the usual implements of her industry and appear ↓ —〈then to be〉 caught by the black colour of the gown in which they had dressd her 〈 —then to〉 appear embarassd as if by the number of persons by whom she was surrounded—then finally 〈to〉 ↑ she woud↓ raise her head with a ghastly look as if she had at once & for the first time acquired sense to comprehend her inexpressible calamity and fix〈d〉 her eyes upon the bed which containd the coffin of her grandson, ↑ These alternate feelings of ↑ embarassment ↓ wonder 〈grief and fear〉 & grief seemd 〈sp??edly to follow each other〉 to succeed each other more than once upon her torpid features. ↓ But she spoke not a word neither had she shed a tear nor did those of the family understand either from look or expression to what extent she understood the ↑ 〈necessity of the〉 melancholy cause and purpose of the ↓ uncommon busde around her. So she sate among the〈m〉 ↑ funeral assembly ↓ like a connecting link between the surviving mourners and the dead corpse which they be­ waild—a being in whom the light of existence was already obscured by the incroaching shadows of death. Ed1 reading: Seated on her accustomed chair, with her usual air of apathy, and want ofinterest in what surrounded her, she seemed every now and then mechanically to resume the motion oftwirling her spindle —then to look towards her bosom for the distaff, although both had been laid aside—She would then cast her eyes about as if surprised at missing the usual implements ofher industry, and appear caught by the black colour of the gown in which they had dressed her, and embar­ rassed by the number of persons by whom she was surrounded—then, finally, she would raise her head with a ghastly look, and fix her eyes upon the bed which contained the coffin ofher grandson, as if she had at once, and for the first time, acquired sense to comprehend her inex­ pressible calamity. These alternate feelings of embarrassment, wonder, and grief, seemed to succeed each other more than once upon her torpid features. But she spoke not a word, neither had she shed a tear; nor did one of the family understand, either from look or expression, to what extent she comprehended the uncommon bustle around her. So she sat among the funeral assembly like a connecting link between the surviving mourners and the dead corpse which they bewailed—a being in whom the light of existence was already obscured by the encroaching shadows of death. 249.10this melancholy house ( M S ) / this house Scott deleted the word ‘melancholy’ when revising the passage above in order to avoid repetition; but the new phrase, ‘melancholy cause and purpose of the’, was omitted. As the EEWN has returned to the original MS reading for the passage above, it is right to restore ‘melancholy’ here.

428

EMENDATION LIST

249.41 in ( MS ) / on 250.1 those ( MS ) / these 250.11 But to ( MS ) / To 250.12 this honest parson ( MS ) / the honest clergyman 250.17 was as yet incapable of ( MS ) / was incapable as yet of 250.32 What ( MS ) / what 250.32 there, or what for ( MS ) / there, and eh! what for 250.41 as, pressing ( MS ) / as, in pressing 250.41 this (Ed2*) / his 251.11 indicating (Ed2*) / to express 252.15 grave.” ( MS ) / grave.’ 252.17 Alison ( MS ) / Ailison 252.27 sallies ( MS ) / saulies 252.39 it. And ( MS ) / it; and 252.43 these ( MS ) / their 253.6 confided ( MS ) / consigned 253.6 to the bosom of its ( MS ) / to its 253.9 action ( MS ) / adieu 254.14 this?… this? ( MS ) / this!... this! 254.18 ae ( MS ) / a 254.35 dimmed ( MS dimd) / drowned 254.41 gait is ( MS ) / gait’s 255.11 auld decayed woman ( MS auld decayd woman) / auld woman 255.12 shall na ( MS ) / shall not 255.13 corse ( MS ) / corpse 255.14 of her disposition ( MS ) / of disposition 255.21 wha … wha ( MS ) / wha’… wha’ 255.21 day ( MS ) / time 255.28 in ( MS ) / on 255.31 wha ( MS ) / wha’ 255.34 Glenallan? ( MS ) / Glenallan! 256.6 on ( MS ) / in 256.11 that is ( MS ) / that’s 256.19 know ( MS ) / knew 256.20 said this ( MS ) / spoke thus 256.28 What ( MS ) / what 256.34 mortal men ( MS ) / mortals 256.37 mickle ( MS ) / muckle 256.41 burthen ( MS ) / burden 256.42 wha ( MS ) / wha’ 257.9unco … unco ( MS ) / unco’... unco’ 257.12 oldest ( MS ) / eldest 257.12 has ( MS ) / had 257.14 mither ( MS ) / mother 257.16 he’s got ( MS hes got) / he has gotten 257.16 there’s ( MS ) / There’s 257.31 mortal’s ( MS ) / mortal 257.32 my grey head ( MS ) / my head 257.36 fisher’s ( MS derived: fisher) / fisherman’s The word is right up at the edge ofthe paper; a letter may have been lost but not a syllable. Thus ‘fisher’s’ was probably intended. 258.8 The ( MS ) / the 258.12 Ah, yes! I ( MS Ah yes! I) / Ah! yes, I 258.23 Godsake ( MS ) / God’s sake 258.31 appeared dead to all that passed around ( MS appeard dead to all that

EMENDATION LIST

429

passd around) / seemed dead to all around 258.43 that marked sort ( MS that markd sort) / that sort 259.39 came ( MS ) / cam 259.39 himsel—her ( MS ) / himsel. Her 260.5 wha ( MS ) / who 260.43 but ( MS ) / But 261.29 Strathbonnall ( MS ) / Strathbonnel 261.39 What ( MS ) / what 262.7 the—the——” ( MS ) / the—the”—— 262.24 came ( MS ) / cam 262.38 Clochnaben (8vo 1819) / Clachnaben 262.39 nae ( MS no) / Nae 262.40 wrang—the ( MS ) / wrang.—The 263.13 his bony finger ( MS ) / his finger 263.14 my withering heart ( MS ) / my heart 263.19 can put … creature ever crawled (Ed2*) / can ever put … creature crawled 263.37 her ( MS ) / the 263.38 you again went abroad, ( MS ) / you went abroad again, 265.11 came ( MS ) / cam 265.18 But ( MS ) / but 265.22 na, na ( MS ) / Na, na 265.34 But ( MS ) / but 265.35 hear—lang ( MS ) / hear. Lang 265.38 sin-syne ( MS ) / since syne 265.39 e’e ( MS eye) / een In Scoticising ‘eye’ the intermediaries changed the word from singular to plural. 266.3 dead, since ( MS ) / dead, and since 266.4 lives—Let ( MS ) / lives, let 266.14 trode ( MS ) / trod 266.19 fa’an (Editorial) / fa’en In the MS Scott wrote ‘was dropd’; this phrase was replaced later, but as Scott always writes ‘fa’an’ in the MS the Ed1 reading is emended. 266.23 You do indeed ( MS ) / You indeed 266.40 that ( MS ) / this 267.13 Tiend Court (MS Tiend court) / tiend court 267.14 Church ( MS ) / church 267.22 me do ( MS ) / me to do 267.25 wark ( MS ) / warks 267.30 in silent attention (Ed2*) / leaning on his cane Scott forgot that the seal had stolen Oldbuck’s cane; Ed2* corrects the error. 267.35 the cause of ( MS ) / a cause for 268.4 And ( MS ) / and 268.6 me to ( MS ) / ane 268.8 mickle ( MS ) / muckle 268.10 almaist ( MS ) / maist 268.15 this ( MS ) / there 268.17 onto ( MS ) / into 268.23 mickle ( MS ) / muckle 268.26 again ( MS ) / against 268.31likit you right weel ( MS ) / likeit you weel 268.40 on their countenance ( MS ) / in their countenances 269.5 me ( MS ) / one

430

EMENDATION LIST

269.9 Earl— ( MS ) / Earl”— 269.10 such an ancient ( MS ) / such ancient 269.18 with ( MS ) / to 269.22 like a” ( MS ) / like” 269.29 and look ( MS ) / and who looks 269.35 meetings—upwards…since—at ( MS ) / meetings upwards…since at 269.37 you who ( MS ) / you of a lady who 270.12 as the ( MS ) / as to the 270.20 others at the time I was ignorant that ( MS ) / others I was ignorant at the time that 270.31 Neville’s extraordinary death ( MS ) / Neville’s death 271.21 know ( MS ) / knew 271.24 nor ( MS ) / or 272.10 I have had ( MS ) / I had 272.13 anchorets ( MS ) / anchorites 272.14 all ( MS ) / All 272.36 when ( MS ) / where 272.41 ought perhaps to ( MS ) / ought to 273.1 and were ( MS ) / and you were 273.24 right and wrong ( MS ) / right or wrong 273.25 any presence ( MS ) / any one’s presence 273.34 vocations ( MS ) / vocation 274.11 near to the ( MS ) / near the 274.11 ringing of the bell (Ed2*) / striking of the gong Scott forgot that Oldbuck rejected the modem gong; Ed2* corrects the error. 275.26 fish and ( MS ) / fish—and 275.29 gaefa’ ( MS ) / guffá 275.32 ony( MS ) / any 275.33 powsowdie ( MS ) / pousowdie 275.34 strange man ( MS ) / strange servant man 275.36 Mrs ( MS ) / Miss 275.39 suddenty ( MS ) / sudden 275.40 vivres ( MS ) / vivers 276.1 And if ( MS ) / and if 276.2 my leisure ( MS ) / myself 276.22 in retired ( MS ) / a retired 276.32 Falernum ( MS ) / Falernian 277.34 Constituent Assembly ( MS constituent Assembly) / constituent assembly 277.35 constitution (Ed2*) / government 278.3 head but ( MS ) / head; but 278.5 soldier’s professional experiences ( MS ) / soldier’s experiences 278.10 and that ( MS ) / and believed that 278.29 marry ( MS ) / Marry 278.36 or of moor-fowl ( MS ) / or moor-fowl 279.6 spirit nor fortitude ( MS ) / fortitude nor spirit 279.19 much without ( MS ) / without much 279.25 catch at it too rapidly as ( MS ) / catch too rapidly at it as 279.26 hope—I ( MS ) / hope, I 279.27 this ( MS ) / thus 279.27 ascertained concerning the transactions of ( MS ) / ascertained, by my former enquiries concerning the event of 279.33 the country ( MS ) / that country 279.36 indelible than that of mere illegitimacy, had ( MS ) / indelible, had

EMENDATION LIST

431

279.40 deadly ( MS ) / extremely 280.4a hospital ( MS ) / an hospital 280.10 view ( MS ) / light 280.14 impossible my ( MS ) / impossible—my 280.16 means—he ( MS ) / means. He 280.17 or ( MS 〈n〉or) / nor 280.23 Examinations&ctaken… OldbuckJ.P…. 18th.February 17—( MS ) / Examinations, &c. taken… Oldbuck,J.P…. 18th of February, 17— 280.40 any, indeed, anything could ( MS ) / any thing, indeed, could 282.13 in ( MS ) / on 282.15 advice. If ( MS ) / advice—If 282.18 importance. Use (MS importance Use) / importance—use 282.18 perfect and ( MS ) / perfect; and 282.23 interfere with (Ed2*) / derange 282.32 tankard or ( MS ) / tankard—or 283.7 familiar. It ( MS ) / familiar: It 283.24 castrum ( MS ) / castrum 283.25 clothed instead with ( MS ) / clothed with 283.34 Hij ( MS ) / H 283.35to common ( MS ) / to a common 283.40 Whilkens—or ( MS ) / Whilkens, or 283.41 shall ( MS ) / may 284.7 present even to ( MS ) / present to 284.17 Shakespeare (Ed5) / Shakspeare The motto does not appear in the MS. 284.34 beg to speak wi’ (MS beg to speak wi) / like to see 284.34 awa’—and the coach will be here incontinent.” ( MS ) / awa.” It seems probable that Caxon would be repetitious, and the final phrase is therefore restored. 284.36 one’s (8vo 1819) / their 284.40 teemed ( MS ) / toomed 284.42 the ( MS ) / my 285.3 it ( MS ) / they 285.3 Lord that ( MS ) / Lord—that 285.5 him ( MS ) / his 285.9 whin ( MS ) / wheen 285.12 And when I said that your ( MS ) / and when I said your 285.16 and that he ( MS ) / and he 285.23 mickle ( MS ) / muckle 285.28 But ( MS ) / but 285.31 discourage ( MS ) / encourage 285.37 bebaith ( MS ) / baithbe 285.41 in ( MS ) / with 286.4 cruise in ( MS ) / cruise on in 286.5 out sae far ( MS ) / sae far out 286.7 vesshel ( MS ) / veshel 286.7 on shore ( MS ) / ashore 286.7 asinder ( MS ) / asunder 286.17 owerlay ( MS ) / overlay 286.17 belang clean to ( MS ) / belang to 286.39 No ( MS ) / No 287.8 hand ( MS ) / hands 287.30 been so long ( MS ) / so long been 287.38 manner ( MS ) / manners 288.2 for ( MS ) / of

432

EMENDATION LIST

288.10matters I ( MS ) / matters, that I 288.10 say that I ( MS ) / say I 288.26 Highland (Editorial) / highland 288.28 And ( MS ) / and 288.37 present, Mr ( MS ) / present,” Mr 289.9 as … for ( MS ) / for … to 289.10 is ( MS ) / be 289.10 give such ( MS ) / give you such 289.14 depute ( MS ) / deputy 289.26 that ( MS ) / who 289.38 But ( MS ) / but 289.41 ’twill ( MS ) / it will 290.16 yet as I ( MS ) / yet I 290.18 importance, I ( MS ) / importance. I 291.9 whole game-bags of grouse ( MS ) / whole bags of moor-fowl and black game The changes overlooked Hector’s intention of shooting on 12 August, the opening day of the grouse season. 291.10 is not always ( MS ) / is always 291.11 family,—all ( MS ) / family where he has studied to appear obliging,—all 291.12 and he was ( MS ) / and was 291.17 which ( MS ) / that 291.31 nae ( MS ) / na 291.34 simmer ( MS ) / summer 291.37 him ( MS ) / he 292.3 and the green ( MS ) / and green 292.3 be ( MS ) / haebeen 292.4 to ye ( MS ) / t’ye 292.10 poor old creatures ( MS ) / poor creatures 292.16 having got a ( MS ) / having a 292.40 nu ( MS ) / now 293.4 again ( MS ) / against 293.14 hae ( MS ) / have 293.17 na ( MS ) / no 293.18 I am ( MS ) / I’m 293.26 interrogations ( MS ) / interogatories 293.28 occasions, he, the declarant, refuses ( MS occasions he the Declarant refuses) / occasions, the declarant refuses 293.29 are na ( MS ) / are no 294.3 it’s (Ed2) / its 294.11 bail ( MS ) / security 294.12 Monkbarns ( MS ) / the Antiquary 294.25 a slight ( MS ) / A slight 294.34 in the Mart ( MS ) / on the Mart 294.35 in the Links ( MS ) / on the Links 294.40 here is ( MS ) / here’s 295.20 mind’s ( MS ) / mind is 295.34 justior ( MS ) / justitior 296.2 came up, ( MS ) / came, 296.14 declares that he ( MS ) / declares, “he 296.14 to do so ( MS ) / so to do 296.18 truth, &c. ( MS truth &c) / truth,” &c. 296.23 ugly. But ( MS ) / ugly; but 296.31 thought so, that would ( MS thought so that would) / thought that, it would

EMENDATION LIST

433

297.9 below.—I’ll ( MS ) / below,—I’ll 297.25 body ( MS ) / person 297.25 they ( MS ) / was 297.27 small-debt court ( MS small debt court) / small debt-court 297.27 plead … in person ( MS plead themselves for want of money to retain counsel as our people must fight in person) / plead in person A whole line of MS was omitted; the next three changes were occa­ sioned by the omission. 297.29 retain enough of your professed ( MS ) / retain the professed 297.30 sword ( MS ) / quill 297.30 regret the acuteness ( MS ) / regret the want of the acuteness 297.41 seal ( MS ) / fish 298.27 for!” ( MS ) / for.” 298.30 I hoped ( MS ) / I had hoped 298.31 “ye ( MS ) / “thatye 298.36 has ( MS ) / had 298.38 likit ( MS ) / liked 298.40 fire! ( MS ) / fire. 299.1 I am ( MS ) / I’m 299.6 And Lovel ( MS ) / and Lovel 299.8 One ( MS ) / one 299.12 vengeance—no ( MS ) / vengeance. No 299.12 It ( MS ) / it 299.20 kylevine ( MS ) / keelyvine 299.22 odd ( MS ) / Odd 299.23 mickle ( MS ) / muckle 299.35 he ( MS ) / was 299.37 whenever ( MS derived: whever) / as soon as 299.43 But ( MS ) / but 300.10 Aulularia (Magnum) / Aulalaria 300.13 that ( MS ) / the 300.15 Dear, sir, ( MS ) / Dear sir, 300.20 ye ( MS ) / you 300.22 ye are ( MS ) / ye’re 300.34 was na ( MS ) / was nae 300.36 maks ( MS ) / makes 300.40 find out some ( MS ) / find some 301.1 Who ( MS ) / who 301.2 you will remind ( MS ) / you remind 301.10 ye will ( MS ) / ye’ll 301.11 if I will ( MS ) / whether I’ll 301.13 o’ ( MS ) / of 301.14 He! ( MS ) / He, 301.19 forfeitures. Unless ( MS ) / forfeitures, unless 301.21 Number (Editorial) / No. Emended in line with the first use at 197.39. 301.23 gowden ( MS ) / golden 301.23 him ( MS ) / her 301.25 fain be (Ed2*) / be fain 301.26 than ( MS ) / then 301.28 Edie, the ( MS ) / Edie, as the 301.29 ceased—I ( MS ) / ceased, I 301.32 any thing of ( MS ) / any of 301.33 honour be ( MS ) / honour may be 301.37 live we ( MS ) / we live

434

EMENDATION LIST

301.38 He instantly ordered ( MS ) / He ordered 3o1.40 entitled ( MS ) / inclined 302.5 “In the what?” said the Baillie—“it was not in the Thames the accident ( MS ) / “Troth, I fear there may be too much reason for it, Monkbarns; and yet let us hope the best. The accident It is likely that ‘In the’ was misread as ‘Troth’, and that Scott had to rewrite apparent nonsense in proof. 302.6 but on ( MS ) / in 302.32 never can ( MS ) / can never 3 03.2 Aha! my boy—come ( MS ) / Aha, my boy!—come 303.3 You must ( MS ) / you must 303.11 drudgery of justice business ( MS ) / drudgery business 303.26 correspondences ( MS ) / correspondencies 303.28 down the political ( MS ) / down political 303.35 at the least ( MS ) / at least 303.38 Act seventeen hundred and one ( MS ) / act of 1701 304.1 What ( MS ) / what 304.11 this ( MS ) / their 304.14 It (Editorial) / it 304.16 not keep snapping ( MS ) / not be keeping snapping 304.23 was ( MS ) / were 304.29 that had belonged ( MS ) / that belonged 304.31 would. I ( MS ) / would—I 304.33 you ( MS ) / You 304.34 ‘Captain … Knight in Arms’ ( MS derived: Captain … Knight in Arms’) / Captain … ‘Knight in Arms’ The intermediaries did not recognise the whole line as a quotation from Milton. 304.37 sternunt … phocæ ( MS ) / sternent … phocæ In addition to the error in Latin grammar, Latin quotations are normally in italics when run-on in the text, but in roman when indented. 304.38 be thus rendered ( MS ) / be rendered 305.8 he’s ( MS hes) / he is 305.19 trim ( MS ) / turn 305.20 well”—— ( MS ) / well into ridicule”—— 305.38 and his evidence could at best be received cum nota while you are omni suspicione ( MS ) / and you are suspicione A whole MS line was omitted. 306.2 happen. Come ( MS ) / happen—Come 306.4 court-martial.” ( MS ) / court-martial, sir.” 306.22 Edinburgh, upon ( MS ) / Edinburgh, recommends, upon 306.23 distinction, recommends this ( MS ) / distinction, this 307.1 God ( MS ) / Odd 307.2 they stay ( MS ) / they’re 307.6 Ahem! (Hector ( MS ) / Ahem!—Hector 307.7 hint.) And ( MS ) hint.)—And 307.8 are ( MS ) / is 307.9 Scævolæ ( MS ) / Scævolœ 307.11 mickle ( MS ) / muckle 307.13 prithee ( MS ) / pr’ythee 307.26 debt?—Quite otherwise—the ( MS ) / debt? Quite otherwise; the 307.30 follows?—Why ( MS ) / follows? Why 307.31 is ( MS ) / be 307.34 And is ( MS ) / And he is 307.38 have thanked ( MS have thankd) / thank

EMENDATION LIST 307.42 308.15 308.16 308.19

308.19 308.25 308.27

308.29 308.31 308.32 308.36 309.4 309.4 309.16 309.35 309.37 309.38 309.42 310.1 310.1 310.27 310.35 310.37 310.43 311.28 311.30 311.33 311.34 311.41 312.6 312.7 312.8 312.15 312.21 312.24 312.27 312.28 312.32 313.9 313.11 313.22 313.24 313.28

313.29 313.38

435

duress ( MS ) / duress skeel o’ them—there’s ( MS ) / skeel in them.—There’s was anes ta’en ( MS ) /was ta’en this, wi’her (Ed2*)/this, her This textual change was made in the course of printing Ed1, and appears in some Ed1 copies. it’s ( MS ) / It’s her ( MS ) / the heart ( MS ) / grace ‘Heart’ has been deleted in the MS and ‘grace’ inserted, but the hand does not look like Scott’s. Probably the change was suggested by the repetition of‘heart’ at 308.32, but the closer repetition with ‘grace’ in the next line was overlooked. rathe ( MS ) / rath fishings come ( MS ) / fishing comes atweel ( MS ) / Atweel have na ( MS ) / hae nae and ( MS ) / And hellicat ( MS ) / hellicate fa’an ( MS ) / fa’en us a’ a pirn ( MS ) / us a pirn book let be ( MS ) / book,—let a’ be mickle ( MS ) / muckle than ( MS ) / then than ( MS ) / then mickle ( MS ) / muckle I’se ( MS Ise) / I’ll Hieland and Lawland (Editorial) / hieland and lawland memory’s sair failed ( MS ) / memory’s failed it is ( MS ) / it’s shame and sin ( MS ) / sin and shame Roland ( MS ) / Rowland chimlay-nook ( MS chimlay nook) / chimney-neuk fa’an ( MS faan) / fa’en spur ( MS ) / spear Hieland ( MS ) / Highland ye ( MS ) / you respect ( MS ) / repute Highlands (Ed5) / highlands in ( MS ) / on They are ( MS ) / They’re are gane ( MS ) / are a’gane round ( MS ) / around of strangers ( MS ) / of the strangers The ‘the’ was added above the line in the MS, but not by Scott. o’ ( MS ) / of waws ( MS ) / waves her drivelling dotage ( MS ) / her dotage that ( MS ) / the vultum (Editorial) / vultus Although ‘vultus’ is grammatically acceptable, it does not make sense (‘the faces of the friend’ instead of the ‘face’); in any case it is not what Juvenal wrote. quo ( MS and Juvenal) / quos did, not but as a country gentleman I would be glad of an explanation.”

436

314.9 314.11 314.12 314.13 314.14 314.16 314.18 314.21 314.22 314.22 314.33 314.42 315.19 315.20 315.24 315.30 315.32 315.34 315.35 315.36 315.37 315.41 316.7 316.8 316.9 316.12 316.20 316.38 318.2 318.4 318.6 318.6 318.11 318.12 318.23 318.29 318.31 319.1 319.6 319.11 319.20 319.21 319.38 320.3 320.6

EMENDATION LIST [new paragraph] “You shall have, in the words of a great moralist,” said Oldbuck, “and remark how well it applies to the melancholy scene before you—although quite inferior to that grand [new line]——omni [new line] Membrorum damno major dementia— [new line] But stay ( MS did not but as a country gentieman I would be glad of an explana­ tion.” “You shall have in the words of a great moralist said Oldbuck and remark how well it applies to the melancholy scene before you— although quite inferior to that grand [new line]——omni [new line] Membrorum damno major Dementia—[new line] But stay) / did?” [new paragraph] “Why as to that——but stay anes ( MS ) / ance came ( MS ) / cam witness, and ( MS witness and) / witness; and came na ( MS ) / cam na ae wicked woman’s ( MS ) / ae woman’s Glenallan I ( MS ) / Glenallan, I had heavy ( MS ) / had a heavy blood. But ( MS ) / blood—But we ( MS ) / We ken. I ( MS ) / ken—I the flax from her distaff ( MS ) / her flax from the distaff keeped ( MS keepd) / keepit came ( MS ) / cam anes ( MS ) / ance effects ( MS ) / effect this ( MS ) / the what ( MS ) / What pale—bairn ( MS ) / pale.—Bairn trow—Teresa ( MS ) / trow.—Teresa bring ( MS ) / Bring we ( MS ) / We She ( MS ) / she mony ane ( MS ) / mony a ane see them ( MS ) / seet hem hers ( MS ) / her’s to confession ( MS ) / to a confession Alison ( MS ) / Ailison gotten ( MS ) / got villain Dousterswivel ( MS ) / villainy of Dousterswivel good : Beneficia ( MS ) / good: “Beneficia From ( MS ) / from write ( MS ) / take should somewhat outstrip ( MS ) / should outstrip reason ( MS ) / reasons ecstacy (Ed2*) / extacy was ( MS ) / were in a style (Ed2*) / on a scale Ancient ( MS ) / ancient interrogation ( MS ) / investigation was yet more seriously ( MS ) / was seriously arrived by every ( MS ) / arrived every direction ( MS ) / directions to ( MS ) / into on ( MS ) / in Velasco ( MS ) / Pelasco

EMENDATION LIST

437

320.6 And ( MS ) / and 320.17 in ( MS ) / into 321.13 Wardour, suppressing her feelings of anxiety, gave ( MS Wardour sup­ pressing her feelings of anxiety gave) / Wardour gave 321.14 purse—he ( MS ) / purse; he 321.15 them—after ( MS ) / them. After 322.5 her ( MS ) / his 322.8 Sir? ( MS ) / Sir! 322.21 that puts on the ( MS derived: that puts the) / this places the 322.24 heard ( MS ) / read 322.39 Writer to the Signet ( MS ) / writer to the signet 323.2 yours ( MS ) / your’s 323.10 read: [newpara] “I ( MS ) / read: “I 323.18 sixpennies ( MS ) / sixpence 323.21 accompt ( MS ) / account 323.25 term. I ( MS ) / term—I 323.26 concerned that ( MS ) / concerned to add, that 323.26 are to ( MS ) / are, to 323.39 “P.S. I ( MS ) / “I 324.15 will ( MS ) / shall 324.23 where is ( MS ) / where’s 324.24 Scotland?—He ( MS ) / Scotland? He 324.34 affections ( MS ) / affection 325.16 upon ( MS ) / on 325.24 birch ( MS ) / larch 326.9 Doustersnivel ( MS ) / Dousterswivel 326.15 Dousterdivel ( MS ) / Dousterswivel 326.19 I am ( MS ) / I’m 326.20 hinging ( MS ) / hanging 326.25 ken’d ( MS ) / ken 326.26 belive—whare ( MS ) / belive— [newpage] —whare 326.28 very—very near ( MS ) / very near 326.31 on ( MS ) / in 326.34 with a’ human ( MS ) / with human 326.43 God ( MS ) / odd 327.3 On ( MS ) / And 327.10 it you ( MS ) / it that you 327.10 what ( MS ) / how 327.13 Certain ( MS ) / Certainly 327.15 day o’ distress ( MS ) / day o’ your distress 327.18 than ( MS ) / then 328.2 “it will not be too late could ( MS ) / “could 328.5 day’s darg has ( MS ) / day’s doing that has 328.5 since the Redhand’s ( MS ) / since Redhand’s 328.6 e’er auld ( MS ) / e’er an auld 328.8 do, you silly old ( MS ) / you, old 328.13 disease ( MS ) / diseases 328.20 useful”——( MS derived) / useful”— The one-em dash in Ed1 was occasioned by the line-end. 328.22 na ( MS ) / no 328.22 gie leave ( MS ) / gie ye leave 328.30 round ( MS ) / circle 329.17 horse ( MS ) / horses 329.20 I have shewn ( MS ) / I shewed 329.21 the enigmatical his baton ( MS ) / his enigmatical … the baton

438 330.7 330.8 330.9

330.10

330.25 330.35 330.37 331.5 331.10 331.12 331.18 331.35 331.37 331.38 331.40 332.2 332.5 332.36 333.3 333.16 333.26 333.35 333.35 333.36

334.15 335.10 335.26 335.34 335.39 336.5 336.18 336.24 336.36 337.5 337.6 337.8 337.9 337.13 337.36 337.39 338.1

EMENDATION LIST interrupt the officer who comes ( MS ) / interrupt officers who come seeing those who aid a ( MS ) / seeing that he who aids a rebel, and such is every man who suffers a charge of horning to elapse without compliance, are ( MS rebel & such is every man who suffers a charge of Horning to elapse without compliance is) / rebel, is A line and a half of MS was omitted; this may have been because ‘elapse’ is very difficult to decipher. are themselves, quodammodo, accessaries ( MS derived: is himself quodammodo an accessary) / is himself, quodammodo, an accessary In the MS Scott begins with the plural ‘those who aid’ but switches to the singular ‘is himself…an accessary’, presumably because the grammat­ ically singular ‘every man’ influenced what follows. The base-text cured the problem by changing ‘those who aid’ to the singular ‘he who aids’, but this creates a new difficulty, for the subject of the Latin which Oldbuck is paraphrasing, participes, is plural. It is therefore more satis­ factory to change ‘is himself…an accessary’ to ‘are themselves … accessaries’. severe and skilful ( MS ) / skilful and severe have ridden ( MS ) / are riding friends’ (Ed2*) / friends Mine? ( MS ) / Mine! pereundi ( MS ) / pereunti “To be sure—to be sure,” ( MS ) / “To be sure,” Dous”–—( MS ) / Dousterswivel.” hanged.” ( MS ) / hanged?” mitigate feelings ( MS ) / mitigate the feelings tow ( MS ) / rope yours ( MS ) / your’s of his eye ( MS ) / in his eye demands are ( MS ) / demand is says that he ( MS ) / says he Highland (8vo 1819) / highland Highland (8vo 1819) / highland Ony ( MS ) / Any one ( MS ) / we Suppose ( MS ) / suppose Monkbarns, we’ll ( MS Monkbarns we’ll) / Monkbarns will The apostrophe above ‘we’ll’ was misread as a dot. my age ( MS ) / my old age warefully ( MS ) / warily Every ( MS ) / “Every leave ( MS ) / leaves shall ( MS ) / will To ( MS ) / to you trouble ( MS ) / you this trouble devoted (Ed2*) / applied Edinr …. Augt. ( MS ) / Edinburgh … August clean of ( MS ) / clean out of thy ( MS ) / your sist ( MS ) / Sist wad ( MS ) / would doest ( MS ) / dost self ( MS ) / himself interview which I ( MS ) / interview I into a jail ( MS ) / into jail

EMENDATION LIST

439

he’s ( MS ) / he has Your ( MS ) / your upright in that profession where ( MS ) / upright where hae (Ed2*) / has who’s ( MS derived: whose) / who is kind house and a gude ( MS ) / kind and gude house drink and ( MS ) / drink in peace, and man’s sat ( MS mans sate) / man sits And ( MS ) / and worthy ( MS ) / worth upon ( MS ) / Upon should ( MS ) / shall is ( MS ) / are says ( MS ) / say says ( MS ) / say says ( MS derived: say) / say Accepting the MS reading in the previous two emendations implies that this too should be ‘says’. 341.29 ony ( MS ) / Ony 341.36 he can ( MS ) / he’ll 342.12 respect, I am… grace, sir, than ( MS respect I am… grace Sir than) / respect, sir, I am… grace than 342.24 the land ( MS ) / Scotland 342.26 be error ( MS ) / be an error 342.30 sir? ( MS ) / sir! 342.40 marching on with ( MS ) / marching with 343.7 on ( MS ) / in 343.10qualities would ( MS ) / qualities that would 343.30 scarce ( MS ) / scarcely 343.33 particularly ( MS ) / peculiarly 343.37 news ( MS ) / events 343.39 ladies ( MS ) / womankind Although ‘ladies’ involves a close repetition, ‘womankind’ is a wrong substitution as it is peculiarly Oldbuck’s term for the female members of his family; but the repetition is in any case rhetorically acceptable. 344.5 by ( MS ) / beside 344.10 came ( MS ) / cam 344.12 is ( MS ) / has just 344.16 Number (Editorial) / No. 344.21 in ( MS ) / of 344.22 The ( MS ) / the 344.24 —“And (8vo 1819) / —And 344.28 than ( MS ) / then 344.29 deevil ( MS ) / devil 344.30 lickit ( MS ) / licket 344.31 deevil (Ed2*) / devil 344.31 in ( MS ) / into 344.31 cantraip ( MS ) / cantrip 344.32 behuved ( MS ) / behoved 344.41 mickle ( MS ) / muckle 345.1 dawed ( MS dawd) / dawned 345.2 afterward ( MS ) / afterwards 345.23 at ( MS ) / in 345.25 Doustercivils ( MS ) / Doustercivil 345.25 got claws ( MS ) / got his claws

338.9 338.10 338.33 338.39 339.18 339.23 339.29 339.39 340.10 340.10 340.11 340.38 341.14 341.24 341.26 341.27

440

345.34 345.38 345.42 345.42 346.1 346.3 346.5 346.9 346.12 346.17 346.19 346.25 346.26 346.31 346.32 346.32 346.32 346.33 346.41 347.3 347.10 347.15 347.18 347.25 347.27 347.32 347.34 347.37

348.39 348.41

349.1 349.31 350.9 351.20 351.29 351.36 351.36 351.42 352.8 352.17 352.36 352.40 353.2 353.5 353.7 353.13 353.20 353.20 353.21 353.22 354.11

EMENDATION LIST “Lord! lord!” ( MS ) / “Lord!” keeped ( MS keepd) / kept jealoused ( MS ) / jaloused opening our ( MS ) / opening of our neglecting ( MS ) / neglecting ye ( MS ) / you a’ thae ( MS ) / all these letter come ( MS ) / letter should come than ( MS ) / then strick ( MS ) / strict defence. I ( MS ) / defence—I again ( MS ) / against mickle ( MS ) / muckle had much ( MS ) / had so much mickle ( MS ) / muckle na ( MS ) / nae kintra ( MS ) / country dandering ( MS ) / daundering farther ( MS ) / further the terrors ( MS ) / those terrors have a ( MS ) / have had a be shipped so soon as his dislocated bones will permit and sent (MS be shipd so soon as his dislocated bones will permit and sent) / be sent and coves ( MS ) / and the coves engines! ( MS ) / engines? o’ materials ( MS ) / o’ the materials them ( MS ) / it invaasion ( MS ) / invasion mention to me”——( MS ) / mention that to me.”—— The sentence is intended to be incomplete. in bed ( MS ) / in his bed MacIntyre, [newparagraph] “The ( MS derived: MacIntyre “The) / M‘Intyre–—[new paragraph] “The us, Monkbarns!” ( MS ) / us!” shall ( MS ) / will in ( MS ) / on his ( MS ) / the broke upon ( MS ) / broke in upon him. But ( MS ) / him; but especially of ( MS ) / especially that of companion ( MS ) / company he ( MS ) / his Caxon—hold ( MS ) / Caxon.—Hold there ( MS ) / There moments (Ed2*) / minutes forces ( MS ) / force across ( MS ) / acros upon ( MS ) / on Strategemata (Editorial) / Stratagemata The MS probably reads ‘Stretagemata’. Indeed? ( MS ) / Indeed! will ( MS ) / shall have firm ( MS ) / have a firm Sir?—I ( MS ) / Sir! I pœna ( MS ) / pæna

EMENDATION LIST

354.24 354.26 354.28 354.35 355.5 355.6

355.10 355.33 355.43 356.22

441

I at length resolved ( MS ) / I resolved answer and you were ( MS ) / answer; you was further ( MS ) / farther than of ( MS ) / than that of the ( MS ) / this “Fare D’Argent Tennant and Company of Fairport had just imported some bullion.” ( MS “Fare D’Argent Tennant and Compy. of Fairport had just imported some bullion”—) / “It was a quantity of plate which had belonged to my uncle, and was left in the custody of a person at Fairport. Sometime before his death he sent me orders that it should be melted down. He perhaps did not wish me to see the Glenallan arms upon it.” In the course of rereading the final portion of the MS, Scott deleted “Fare … bullion” and substituted “It… it”. The original explanation of where the bullion came from is weak, but the new one anticipates information yet to be revealed. The replacement passage was an error and the EEWN has restored the original text. See the ‘Essay on the Text’, 390. aliases (Editorial) / alias's circlet ( MS ) / circle for his amusement ( MS ) / for amusement answer ( MS ) / answers

END-OF-LINE HYPHENS

All end-of-line hyphens in the present text are soft unless included in the list below. The hyphens listed are hard and should be retained when quoting. 5.18 6.15 6.29 7.32 8.16 9.40 10.37 12.37 18.13 25.33 26.15 30.7 31.30 36.20 36.28 37.22 42.23 46.23 46.38 47.27 51.11 54.16 59.8 59.11 62.16 63.42 66.31 71.22 73.40 75.40 76.27 81.31 90.6 90.40 108.13 109.24 112.7 114.22 119.17 120.43 121.1 122.16 122.24

little-ease fellow-citizens coach-office half-year’s well-feigned fellow-traveller Round-about good-humour post-chaise Chipping-Norton long-stalked four-in-hand two-and-twenty giddy-paced new-powdered demi-pique tilley-valley quarter-session writing-clerk black-nebs mad-like spring-tide Crummie’s-horn aik-tree pick-axe fellow-sufferers shathmont’s-length town-clerk pigeon-house trunk-hose old-fashioned breakfast-parlour self-complacence half-subdued to-night dinner-bell carvy-seed good-naturedly mutton-chop through-stanes council-house weel-favoured horse-flesh

123.1 126.28 134.28 135.3 144.43 145.8 151.13 156.10 158.42 159.38 160.20 164.29 174.32 178.29 179.17 180.20 191.16 194.22 197.14 199.23 207.11 215.36 216.33 217.11 217.37 218.38 219.17 222.30 225.4 225.33 226.38 234.23 238.4 246.3 252.17 255.8 259.18 263.37 264.35 268.21 278.36 279.4 284.30

442

seamstress-ship post-chaise side-glance Auto-da-fe cinder-shifter herald-at-arms eves-dropper peace-maker next-door surgeon’s-mate Horse-shoes blood-guiltiness before-hand setting-dog sportsman-like grey-haired May-dew vantage-ground one-quarter ill-will rain-drops hard-hearted pocket-book car-cakes wicker-chair old-fashioned broad-brimmed front-rank anti-chamber Glenallan-house spring-bolt mining-works bye-word walking-stick fish-women mother-in-law Glenallan-house dressing-room fire-flaught plain-spoken moor-fowl Glenallan-house valley-de-sham

END-OF-LINE HYPHENS

286.13 289.7 292.28 300.1 301.18 309.40 310.25 313.1 316.34

valet-de-chambre post-chaise blue-gown treasure-trove bail-bond half-merk memorandum-book Glenallan-house Late-wake

320.39 323.23 324.21 329.27 331.25 338.16 338.33 347.8 351.32

ill-humour title-deeds half-pence well-meaning spur-galled gentleman-partner pit-falls land-louper post-chaise

443

HISTORICAL NOTE

Date of the action. The action of The Antiquary starts on 15 July 1794 and concludes a little before 12 August of that year. In the first chapter the departure of the coach to Queensferry is set for ‘at twelve o’clock on Tuesday, the fifteenth July, 17—’ (5.31); thus the novel opens with a precise date and time. The year too can be deter­ mined with confidence, for 1794 was the only year in the decade on which 15 July was a Tuesday. The only other combination of day and date to be mentioned, Tuesday 17 July, would place the action either in 1792 or 1798, but these dates are respectively too early and too late for the historical events mentioned in the story. Scott did not state that the year was 1794 because the indefiniteness permits a little latitude about dates, but in essence the year of The Antiquary is 1794. References to military activity make this clear. On 31 January 1793 France decreed Belgium united to France, and on the next day declared war on Britain and Holland. Britain sent an army to Flanders, but was forced to withdraw from Flanders into the eastern part of the modern Belgium in January 1794. There are in the novel references to Dumourier, the French general in the early part of the campaign (278.29), and Lovel served in Flanders ‘in the cavalry action at–—, last year’ (123.36). The gossips of Fairport suggest that Lovel was ‘an emigrant noble, summoned to head an insurrection which had broken out in La Vendee’ (115.6): a general rising against the Republic in La Vendée, an area of France just south of the mouth of the Loire, began in March 1793, was suppressed, yet a second began in 1794. In 1794 Britain began a war in the West Indies, to which MacIntyre pro­ poses to go when exasperated with his uncle (305.9). When Oldbuck and Baillie Littlejohn discuss the fate of‘young Taffril’s brig’, the latter comments that Taffril was ‘much distinguished on the first of June’ (302.2), a reference to the victory of Admiral Howe over the French on 1 June 1794.1 Time-scheme. The action takes place in a little less than four weeks in July and August. Lovel and Oldbuck reach Fairport on 16 July, and Lovel visits Oldbuck on the ‘fifth day after his arrival’ (18.36); this would be the following Monday. Oldbuck invites Lovel and the Wardours for dinner on ‘Tuesday the 17 current’ (36.13); the previous argument about the year implies that this is a mistake, but had it been 22 July it would fit the temporal scheme. On the day following the dinner Oldbuck and Lovel visit Knockwinnock, and in the course of the walk back Lovel receives news of the final illness of his guardian, Geraldin Neville. At the beginning of Volume 2, Oldbuck is said to enquire regularly about Lovel ‘for a fortnight’ (119.10). In the early nineteenth century 444

HISTORICAL NOTE

445

less emphasis was put on temporal precision than nowadays, and this phrase merely indicates a period of time stretching into two weeks. It may be assumed, therefore, that Sir Arthur’s invitation to go on a picnic to the priory of St Ruth ‘on the following day’ (received as Oldbuck visits Lovel in his lodgings) is delivered towards the end of July. The duel is in the evening of the day after the picnic, and that night Lovel and Edie Ochiltree see Sir Arthur and Dousterswivel dig up the horn with the coins. ‘About a week’ (178.9) later Sir Arthur visits Oldbuck and finds that ‘another term’s interest’ is due (182.27); thus the action has moved into August, for Lammas, 1 August, is a Scottish quarter day when interest on a debt might be compounded. The search for more treasure at the priory takes place at once, and that night, at midnight, Ochiltree and Dousterswivel return to the ruins. Next day, Ochiltree goes to Glenallan House, and Steenie Meiklebackit is drowned. The funeral takes place quickly as the body was ‘sae broken about the rocks’ (237.20). The Earl of Glenallan arrives at the Meiklebackits immediately after the funeral, and stays that night at Monkbarns; the following morning he offers Hector the chance of shooting over his land and the latter looks forward with glee to ‘the potting of whole game-bags of grouse’ (291.9); thus the date is still before 12 August, when the grouse-shooting season opens, a point confirmed by Hector when he says that ‘I must be prepared for Lord Glenallan’s moors on the twelfth’ (302.24). The next morning (i.e. two days after the funeral) Oldbuck and Hector again visit Elspeth Meiklebackit, and go on to Knockwin­ nock, where Oldbuck receives a letter dated 6th August (336.35), thus implying that it is currently the 7th. The false alarm of invasion is probably on the night of 8/9 or 9/10 August. Political Context. The Antiquary is precisely placed in time, and it registers both the panic and the underlying confidence of the country and the times. The constant references in the novel to the three wigs of the parish, and to the tax on hair powder introduced in 1786, are comic reminders of the financial and administrative reforms effected by the Prime Minister, William Pitt, after the end of the American War. He introduced proper governmental accounting, improved the efficiency of the tax-gathering process, spread the tax base by lowering taxes on a small number of heavily taxed goods and extending taxes to many others, thus, in effect, taxing expenditure. His achievement in fiscal and administrative reform, together with his ability to stay in office, created the confidence in which commerce flourished. This confidence is re­ flected in Baillie Littlejohn’s ringing declaration : ‘We have made our­ selves wealthy under a free and paternal government, and now is the time to shew we know its value’ (350.29–31). There were several attempts to reform Parliamentary representation prior to the 1790s; Pitt himself introduced a bill in 1785 which was defeated by 248 to 174 votes. But once French ideas about reform began to circulate widely, particularly after they were popularised by Thomas Paine in The Rights ofMan (in two parts, 1791 and 1792), and once they were taken up by extra-Parliamentary clubs and societies such as the London Corresponding Society, London Constitutional Society, and

446

HISTORICAL NOTE

the umbrella organisation, the Friends of the People, and once the dreadful implications of the changes in France became apparent, the government began to repress the movement for reform in a systematic fashion. New legislation was introduced to counteract external subversion. The purpose of the Traitorous Correspondences Act (1793) is selfevident. The Aliens Act ( 1793) was introduced to control the flood of refugees into Britain and was used to identify agents of the Revolutionary government sent to support revolution in Britain, to expel them from Britain or to restrict their travel within it. The Act is used to threaten Dousterswivel and thus to blackmail him into providing information to the British Government (303.18; 347.14–15), and the Traitorous Correspondences Act (1793) is invoked to justify his arrest (331.31). There was also fear of sedition and insurrection. Riots occasioned by food shortages (as in 1792) tended to elide in the governmental imagina­ tion with political riots, and constitutional discussion was confused with revolutionary activity. Henry Meikle argues that when ‘associations of the Friends of the People were founded in Scodand [in 1792–93], their constitutional agitation was studiously confounded with rioting, sedi­ tion, and revolution, and the cause of reform was compromised before it had well begun’.2 Scott’s own perception of the reform movement was infected in this way. In April 1794 he was involved in a fracas in the Edinburgh theatre when he and some friends took on a group of repub­ lican Irish students3 and in response to window-breaking in June 1794, Scott said ‘near a Thousand gentlemen (myself among the number) offered their services to the Magistrates to act as Constables for the preservation of the peace’.4 Thus it is not surprising that references to the Friends of the People in the novel are always slighting nor that Baillie Littlejohn says that he has been in correspondence with the Under Secretary of State ‘on putting down the political societies’ (303.28). Formal restrictions on the rights of assembly became law only in December 1795, and specified political societies were prohibited by law in 1799. But the political trials in Scodand of 1793–94 of Muir, Palmer, Skirving, Margarot and Gerrald were designed to intimidate extra-parliamentary political activity; in May 1794 Pitt had the leaders of the London Constitutional Society and the London Corresponding Society arrested, their papers seized, and a Committee of Secrecy appointed by Parliament to enquire into their activities, in this way bringing about a dramatic decline in the number of such societies.5 In addition, from the moment France decided to export its Revolu­ tion there was fear in Britain of invasion, a fear that became acute after defeat and withdrawal from Flanders. In March 1794 the offices of Lord Lieutenant and Sheriff Principal were resurrected for the specific purpose of making ‘arrangements for the defence of the country against invasion’:6 in the novel the Sheriff interviews Lovel to ascertain his business in Fairport, and Sir Arthur appears at the end in ‘his lieuten­ ancy uniform’ (349.40). In April an Act for augmenting the militia was passed and in June Edinburgh’s first Volunteer Regiment was consti­ tuted : in the novel Oldbuck tells Sir Arthur that in Edinburgh a ‘military

HISTORICAL NOTE

447

frenzy’ has ‘possessed man, woman, and child’, on which Isabella com­ ments : ‘And high time I think,… when we are threatened with invasion from abroad, and insurrection at home’ (45.43–46.1). The Duke of Gordon raised a fencible regiment in 1793 and a regular regiment, the Gordon Highlanders (incorporated 24 June) in 1794: at the end of the novel the Earl of Glenallan appears at the head of ‘the Glenallan yeo­ manry’, and of ‘a regiment of five hundred men, completely equipped with the Highland dress’ (351.14, 18–19). Scott, then, places the action of The Antiquary precisely, at a time when the country feared invasion and feared insurrection, but he is also just to the commercial strength and confidence of the country. It is in this context that the scholarly antiquarianism of Oldbuck and the pop­ ular antiquarianism of Ochiltree, is to be seen and understood. Locale. Where the action of The Antiquary takes place is indefinite. Geographical references place the novel somewhere in North-east Scotland, but are not more precise than that. When Oldbuck and Lovel cross the Firth of Forth at Queensferry is not stated—is it on the next tide, or do they spend a night at the Hawes Inn? Without that informa­ tion, arriving in Fairport at ‘about two o’clock on the following day’ does not let us identify that town. Mention is made of various actual places: of the Bell-Rock, some 12 miles south-east of Arbroath (89.8); of the Dunbuy of Slains, on the coast 20 miles north of Aberdeen (60.20); of Buchan-ness, the most easterly point of Scotland, near Peterhead (248.18); of Clachnaben, a hill some 20 miles west of Aberdeen (239.27). Various other names such as the ‘Rattray reef of rocks’ (302.6) seem to suggest specific spots (Rattray Head). If taken literally, these places imply an action spread along 70 miles of coast. Geographical directions within the novel indicate a similar diffusion of locality. Knockwinnock is south both of Monkbarns (which is just inland) and the Meiklebackit’s cottage (which is on the coast), and all are south of Fairport: they must therefore be on the east-facing coast of North-east Scotland. Yet, notoriously, the sun sets over the sea before the storm (54.29), and rises over the sea as Lovel escapes following the duel (176.21): this apparent mistake is an error only if the action is placed on the east-facing coast for were it on the northern coast the sun in July would both rise and set over the sea. The sun setting over the sea is not the only problem: Monkbarns is separated from Fairport by rising ground ‘which also screened it from the north-west wind’ (19.1; see also 56.20–21); on the east-facing coast the north-west wind is not a particular problem, but on a north-facing coast it undoubtedly is. Caxon, worried about the fate of his daughter’s sweetheart, Taffril, fears easterly gales (286.4). That winds from both the north-west and the east are a problem implies that the action is on a north-facing coast. As argued below, Dousterswivel was modelled on a German who duped Sir John Sinclair of Ulbster who lived in Thurso Castle. Thus both the northern and the eastern coasts of Scotland seem to have been in Scott’s imagination. The possible models for various places in the novel show a similar geographic spread: Fairport is a ‘thriving sea-port’ (13.23), and in the

448

HISTORICAL NOTE

last generation ‘the neighbouring gentry had been almost uniformly Jacobites’ (13.29–30). If a specific place was in Scott’s mind it must have been Montrose, at once a ‘thriving sea-port’ (Samuel Johnson talked of ‘the commercial opulence of the place’7) and a centre of Jacobitism. Saint Ruth’s Priory has been identified with Arbroath Abbey —and yet a ‘priory’ was a kind of sub-station of a main abbey, and the description of the extant ruins is more reminiscent of Scott’s Melrose than Arbroath. Monkbarns maybe based on the house of Benholm, near Inverbervie (25 miles south of Aberdeen), owned by Scott’s friend George Robertson Scott, whom he visited in 1796: At Benholm I was most cordially received by Geo: Robertson Scott who is a develish good fellow, aye and a moderate thinking rational man too, tho’ the spleen of party has dubbd him a Democrat… Benholm consists of an elegant modem house built close to an ancient & venerable Tower the habitation of old proprietors, which is preservd in compleat repair as it looks down a steep woody Glen to the sea commands a delightfull prospect—you will guess I was often to be found upon the Battlements straining my eyes towards the Distant Grampians—8 Scott strained his eyes towards the distant Grampians because he was hoping to be able to visit Williamina Stuart Belsches who lived at Fetter­ cairn, some miles inland; but for present purposes what is significant is the repetition in The Antiquary of phrases already used in this letter. Monkbarns is not Benholm, but the two are associated in his imagina­ tion. Fairport is an imaginary place, in a composite location. Principal characters. There are no historical characters in The Anti­ quary, but Scott identified models for both Oldbuck and Edie Ochiltree. George Constable (1719–1803) was a lawyer who practised in Edin­ burgh, and who bought the house and lands of Wallace-Craigie, in Dundee, in 1789. In 1826, writing in his ‘Memoirs’, Scott says that he had many of those peculiarities of temper which long afterwards I tried to develope in the character ofJonathan Oldbuck. It is very odd that though I am unconscious of anything in which I strictly copied the manner of my old friend, the resemblance was nevertheless de­ tected by George Chalmers, Esq., solicitor, London, an old friend both of my father and Mr Constable.9 Scott’s surprise at the identification was no doubt genuine, for much the most obvious model for Oldbuck is Scott himself; Lockhart observes: But the truth is, that although Scott’s Introduction of 1830 repres­ ents him as pleased with fancying that, in the principal personage, he had embalmed a worthy friend of his boyish days, his own antiquarian propensities… had by degrees so developed them­ selves, that he could hardly, even when the Antiquary was pub­ lished, have scrupled about recognising a quaint caricature of the founder of the Abbotsford Museum, in the inimitable portraiture of the Laird of Monkbarns.10

HISTORICAL NOTE

449

Scott identifies the original of Edie Ochiltree in the 1829 Advertise­ ment to The Antiquary, where he writes: ‘the individual he had in his eye was Andrew Gemmells, an old mendicant of the character described, who was many years since well known, and must still be remembered, in the vales of Gala, Tweed, Ettrick, Yarrow, and the adjoining country’.11 Gemmells was a native of New Cumnock, in Ayrshire; he died in 1793, and is buried in Roxburgh. According to Robert Chambers, the model for Dousterswivel was a German, Rodolph Eric Raspe (1737–94), editor ofBaron Munchausen: Narrative ofHis Marvellous Travels (1785). Born in Hanover, he had a career in Hesse as Professor of Archaeology and National Librarian, but absconded to England after stealing and pawning some of the rare coins he was supposed to look after. He lectured on geology and mineralogy; he came to Scotland in 1789 to prospect for minerals, and was taken up by Sir John Sinclair, who employed him for some time on his estate in Caithness. ‘Masses of a bright heavy mineral were brought to Thurso Castle, as foretastes of what was coming. But, in time the bubble burst, and it was fully concluded by Sir John Sinclair, that the ores which appeared were all brought from Cornwall and planted in the places where they were found.’12 Scott detested Sir John Sinclair, and probably got some pleasure from representing him as Sir Arthur Wardour, duped by a German adventurer. Sources. There are many sources for incidents in The Antiquary. The first volume is dominated by arguments about the history of Scotland, and the authorities cited by the disputants are given in the notes. There are three strands to the discussions: the Roman attempt to colonise Scotland, and the archaeological evidence about this gathered by anti­ quaries like Alexander Gordon and surveyors like William Roy; the fabulous history of Scotland associated particularly with Hector Boethius and his successors; and the cultural evidence, and resulting controversy, arising from the work ofJames Macpherson. Although it is in the first volume that these concerns feature most directly, they are not confined to it; indeed, it is easy to see in Oldbuck’s famous image of the French Revolution the obverse of the characters’ historical obsessions: Or it might be likened to a storm or hurricane, which, passing over a region, does great damage in its passage, yet sweeps away stag­ nant and unwholesome vapours, and repays, in future health and fertility, its immediate desolation and ravage. (277.41–278.2)

In the second volume, the most important motif is the search for lost treasure. Dousterswivel makes four searches of the ruins of St Ruth’s: the initial one with the divining rod, the midnight one with Sir Arthur, the one under the direction of Oldbuck, and the final search with Ochil­ tree. The most significant source is the story in the Life of William Lilly, the astrologer (1602–1681), who is informed that a ‘great quantity of treasure’ was buried in the Cloister of Westminster Abbey:

we played the hazel-rod round about the cloyster; upon the west­ side of the cloysters the rods turned one over another, an argument that the treasure was there: The labourers digged at least six foot

450

HISTORICAL NOTE

deep, and then we met with a coffin; but in regard it was not heavy, we did not open, which we afterwards much repented: From the cioysters we went into the Abbey church, where, upon a sudden, …so fierce, so high, so blustering and loud a wind did rise, that we verily believed the west-end of the church would have fallen upon us; our rods would not move at all; the candles and torches, all but one, were extinguished, or burned very dimly:… I gave directions and command to dismiss the dæmons; which, when done, all was quiet again, and each man returned unto his lodging late, about twelve o’clock at night.13

Other sources include a letter of 21 May 1790 to Scott from Charles Kerr about a search in Peel Castle on the Isle of Man,14 and the contract of 1594 between Sir Robert Logan of Restalrig and John Napier of Merchiston: ‘a treasure was conceald in Logan’s house of Fastcastle— and Napier engages to discover the same by lawful rules of art’.15 The third volume is dominated by the search for a lost child, and does not have ‘sources’ in the way that the other two volumes do. But the lost or stolen child is a regularly recurring folk-motif which Scott success­ fully naturalises in the context of the late eighteenth century. NOTES

1 A straight-forward acount of the war may be found in J. Steven Watson, The Reign of George III 1760–1815 (Oxford, 1960), Ch. 14, 356–377. 2 Henry W. Meikle, Scotland and the French Revolution (Glasgow, 1912), 85. This is still the best account ofthe cause of reform in Scotland in the 1790s. 3 Life, 1.216–18 and Letters, 1.30. For standard abbreviations in references see 451–52. 4 Letters, 1.31. 5 See E. P. Thompson, The Making ofthe English Working Class (London, 1963), Ch. 5, 102–185. This is the most comprehensive and stimulating account of the cause of reform in Great Britain. 6 Meikle, 148. 7 Samuel Johnson, A Journey to the Western Islands ofScotland, ed. R. W. Chapman (London, 1924), 11. 8 Letters, 1.46. 9 in Scott on Himself, ed. David Hewitt (Edinburgh, 1981), 17. See also W. S. Crockett, The Scott Originals (Edinburgh, 1912), 119–40. 10 Life, 4.12. 11 Magnum, 5.xiii. The full description is in Magnum, 5.v-xix. 12 Robert Chambers, The Book ofDays: A Miscellany ofPopular Antiquities, 2 vols (London and Edinburgh, 1883), 2.86. 13 William Lilly and Elias Ashmole, Lives ofthose Eminent Antiquaries Elias Ashmole, Esquire, and Mr. William Lilly, written by themselves (London, 1774), 47–48. These sources are analysed by Coleman O. Parsons, Witch­ craft and Demonology in Scott’s Fiction (Edinburgh and London, 1964), 92–95. 14 Wilfred Partington, Sir Walter’s Post-Bag (London, 1932), 321. 15 Letters, 8.458 and note.

EXPLANATORY NOTES

In these notes a comprehensive attempt is made to identify Scott’s sources, and all quotations, references, historical events, and historical personages, to explain proverbs, and to translate difficult or obscure language. (Phrases are explained in the notes while single words are treated in the glossary.) The notes are brief; they offer information rather than critical comment or exposition. When a quotation has not been recognised this is stated: any new information from readers will be welcomed. References are to standard editions, or to the editions Scott himself used. Books in the Abbotsford Library are identified by reference to the appropriate page of the Catalogue of the Library at Abbotsford. When quotations reproduce their sources accurately, the reference is given without comment. Verbal differences in the source are indicated by a prefatory ‘see’, while a general rather than a verbal indebtedness is indicated by ‘compare’. Biblical References are to the Authorised Version. Plays by Shakespeare are cited without authorial ascription, and references are to William Shakespeare: The Complete Works, edited by Peter Alexander (London and Glasgow, 1951, frequently reprinted). The following publications are distinguished by abbreviations, or are given without the names of their authors: CLA J. G. Cochrane, Catalogue ofthe Library at Abbotsford (Edinburgh, 1838). Child Francis James Child, The English and Scottish Popular Ballads, 5 vols (Boston and New York, 1882–98). CSD The Concise Scots Dictionary, ed. Mairi Robinson (Aberdeen, 1985). Gordon Alexander Gordon, Itinerarium Septentrionale: or, aJourney Thro’ most ofthe Counties ofScotland, and those in the North ofEngland (London, 1726): CLA, 11. Kelly James Kelly, A Complete Collection ofScotish Proverbs (London, 1721). Letters The Letters ofSir Walter Scott, ed. H. J. C. Grierson and others, 12 vols (London, 1932–37). Lockhart J. G. Lockhart, Memoirs ofthe Life ofSir Walter Scott, Bart., 7 vols (Edinburgh, 1837–38). Magnum Walter Scott, Waverley Novels, 48 vols (Edinburgh, 1829–33). Minstrelsy Walter Scott, Minstrelsy ofthe Scottish Border, ed. T. F. Henderson, 4 vols (Edinburgh, 1902). OED The Oxford English Dictionary, 12 vols (Oxford, 1933). ODEP The Oxford Dictionary ofEnglish Proverbs, 3rd edn, rev. F. P. Wilson (Oxford, 1970). Poetical Works The Poetical Works ofSir Walter Scott, Bart., ed. J. G. Lockhart, 12 vols (Edinburgh, 1833–34). Prose Works The Prose Works ofSir Walter Scott, Bart., 28 vols (Edinburgh, 1834–36). Ramsay Allan Ramsay, A Collection ofScots Proverbs (1737), in The Works of Allan Ramsay, 6 vols, vol. 5, ed. Alexander M. Kinghom and Alexander Law (Edinburgh and London: Scottish Text Society, 1972), 59–133. Ray John Ray, A Compleat Collection ofEnglish Proverbs, 3rd edn (London, 1737): CLA, 169.

451

452

EXPLANATORY NOTES

Scot Reginald Scot, The Discoverie of Witchcraft, ed. Brinsley Nicolson (Lon­ don, 1886). This is a reprint of the 3rd ed. (1665) owned by Scott: CLA, 123. Information derived from the notes of the late Dr J. C. Corson is indicated by ‘(Corson)’. In legal matters the notes of the late Lord Normand have proved useful, as has C. M. Jackson-Houlston’s paper ‘“Scoundrel Minstrels”: Some Allusions to Song in Two Scott Novels’, in Scott in Carnival, ed. J. H. Alexander and David Hewitt (Aberdeen, 1993), 97–109. The following editions of The Antiquary have proved most helpful: The Dryburgh Edition, 25 vols (London, 1892–4), vol. 3; ed. F. A. Cavenagh (Oxford, 1914).

title page Scott’s first novels were Waverley (1814) and Guy Mannering (1815). The epigraph is probably by Scott himself. 3.4–6 Waverley…century Waverley is set in 1745–46, Guy Manneringin the 1780s, and The Antiquary in 1794. 3.7–15 principal personages … language see Wordsworth, Preface to the Second Edition ofLyrical Ballads (1800): ‘Low and rustic life was generally chosen because in that situation the essential passions of the heart find a better soil in which they can attain their maturity, are under less restraint, and speak a plainer and more emphatic language … The language too of these men has been adopted … because, from their rank in society and the sameness and narrow circle of their intercourse, being less under the action of social vanity they convey their feelings and notions in simple and unelaborated expressions.’ 3.16–17 antique … language compare Wordsworth, ‘Resolution and Independence’ (1802), lines 96–98: ‘a stately speech!/ Such as grave Livers do in Scotland use,/ Religious men, who give to God and man their dues.’ 3.22–23 two requisites of a good Novel Scott defines the novel as ‘a fictitious narrative, differing from the Romance, because the events are accom­ modated to the ordinary train of human events, and the modem state of society’ (‘An Essay on Romance’ (1824), Prose Works, 6.129). He discusses the nature and significance of plot, or ‘artificial and combined narration’, in ‘Introductory Epistle’ to The Fortunes ofNigel (1822), i.xiii–xxvii. 3.25–26 late instances of the force of superstitious credulity see ‘Historical Note’, 449. 3.31–32 one who is not likely again to solicit their favour yet Scott’s next novels, The Black Dwarfand The Tale of Old Mortality, were already form­ ing, but when they appeared in December 1816 were nominally ‘collected and reported’ by Jedidiah Cleishbotham. 5 motto see Henry Carey (1687?–1743), Chrononhotonthologous (firstperformed 1734), 2.4; CLA, 43. The words are spoken by Bombardinian, just after he has killed the King of the Antipodes. 5.13–14 public carriages … between Edinburgh and the Queensferry there were many such services; the service in question was probably provided by Bell’s, from a shop and stand opposite the Tron Church in the High Street, for which 3s. (15p) was charged in 1800. 5.19 little-ease literally a narrow place of confinement, but the phrase was also used of a dungeon in the Tower of London, and of the pillory and stocks. Compare Kenilworth, 10.19, 279.3. 5.22 High-street the main street of the Old Town of Edinburgh. 5.30 Queensferry Diligence, or Hawes Fly see note to 5.13–14. It is not known whether the name is historical, but it would be known as the ‘Hawes’ fly because the coach terminated at the Hawes Inn in Queensferry. 5.31 Tuesday, the fifteenth July, 17— the only year in the nineties in which 15 July was a Tuesday was 1794. See the ‘Historical Note’, 444. 6.1 lied…like a bulletin a bulletin was a short report sent from the seat of war by a commander for publication at home. According to Carlyle, ‘ “False as a

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bulletin” became a proverb in Napoleon’s time’ (On Heroes, Hero-Worship and the Heroic in History (1841), Lecture 6: ‘The Hero as King’). 6.2–3 Saint Giles’s…Tron two churches on the south side of the High­ street of Edinburgh. 6.7 Automedon charioteer of Achilles in Homer’s The Iliad, later used as a name for any charioteer. 6.9 lugubrious trappings for funerals coaches were dressed in bows and ribbons of crape (a thin, transparent gauze-like material ofsilk or its imitation). The word ‘lugubrious’ might seem to imply black crape, but in Guy Mannering white crape is used ‘in honour of the well-preserved maiden fame of Mrs Margaret Bertram’ (2.293.8–9: Ch. 37). 6.13 petty misery of human life see James Beresford, The Miseries of Human Life (London, 1806): 3rd edn (1808), CLA, 118. 6.36–37 dress was uniform i.e. his clothes were of a similar character to his facial appearance. 6.38 slouched hat soft hat with down-turned brim. 6.40–41 Kirk of Scotland i.e. Church of Scotland, the national church, established by Parliament. 7.1 De’il’s in it expletive the devil’s in it; the phrase is similar in force to the modern ‘damn it’. 7.7,11 folio…duodecimo book consisting of sheets of paper folded in two, or twelve; although the size of sheets of paper varies, folio implies a book with very large pages, and duodecimo a book with rather small pages. 7.8 Mr B—— probably John Bell (1756–1806) an Edinburgh bookseller whose shop was in Writers’ Court off the north side of the High-street. 7.21–22 Macleuchar leuch is a variant form of laich, meaning ‘low’; i.e. she is called Mrs ‘Maclower’. 7.27 deaf as the post proverbial (see ODEP, 172). The post referred to here is at the top of Mrs Macleuchar’s stair. 7.32–33 half-year’s fee and bountith servants were commonly paid half-yearly; the fee is the pay due to the servant and the bountith a gift usually stipulated in the contract of employment. 7.39–40 words of action actionable words; i.e. words on which an action for slander could be based; see Bobadill in Jonson’s Every Man in His Humour (first performed 1598, published 1601), 1.5.110. 8.43–9.2 seducing the lieges by false reports … the statute of leasing making Scots law me laws of 1584, 1585, and 1703 against uttering untrue and slanderous statements such as are likely to prejudice relations between the king and his subjects. ‘Leasing-making’ was originally punishable by death; the act of 1704 left punishment by a fine, corporal punishment or imprisonment to the judge’s discretion. 9.4 in rerum natura Latin literally in the nature of things, here does it exist? 9.6 three shillings of sterling 15p. 9.10–11 a lie with a circumstance i.e. a falsehood supported with a piece of factual evidence to make the falsehood seem more probable. 9.19 South Ferry South Queensferry 10.2–3 Sandy Gordon’s Itinerarium Septentrionale Alexander Gor­ don (1696?–1754?), Itinerarium Septentrionale: or, a Journey Thro’ most ofthe Counties ofScotland, and those in the North ofEngland (London, 1726): CLA, 11. 10.11 votive altars altars consecrated or erected in fulfilment of a vow. 10.11 rules of castrametation art or science of laying out a camp (OED). 10.19 spring probably made of leather. 10.23 Martingale the name is derived from an item of harness. 10.29–30 have you punished the basis for punishment here would be the crime of‘malicious mischief’, which included injury to an animal not one’s own.

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10.30 justice of peace person appointed by the Crown to ‘keep the peace’ in a specified county, i.e. to act as a judge in lesser cases, and to enquire into all manner of crimes. Established in Scotland in 1587, the office was given the same powers as in England after the Union in 1707. 10.37–38 Pict’s camp or Round-about circular encampment; it would now be considered a British settlement. 10.39 very curious and perfect indeed not identified. 11.13–14 Croaker…Good-natured Man see Oliver Goldsmith, The Good-Natur’d Man (first performed 1768), Act 5: ‘There’s the advantage of fretting away our misfortunes beforehand, we never feel them when they come’ (in Collected Works of Oliver Goldsmith, ed. Arthur Friedman, 5 vols (Oxford, 1966), 5.74, lines 18–20). 11.20–21 Fly, quoth I compare James Beresford, The Miseries ofHuman Life (London, 1806), 128:‘Fly—(theFly!)—impudent dogs!—I wonder ithad not been the Eagle; our flight, you must know, was at the rate of about three miles an hour, stoppages not included’. 11.21 fly through a glue-pot, as the Irishman says proverbial: compare ‘He capers like a fly in a tar-box’(Ray, 53; ODEP, 101).The Irishman has not been identified. 11.22 time and tide tarry for no man proverbial: Ray, 162; ODEP, 822. 11.26 castra stativa…castra æstiva permanent camp and summer camp; see William Roy, The Military Antiquities ofthe Romans in Britain (London, 1793), 42. 12 motto see Ben Jonson, TheNew Inn (firstperformed 1629), 1.2.18–21, 23, 27–29. 12.8 bush ivy-bush, used as a sign for an inn or a wine merchant, probably because ivy was sacred to Bacchus, god of wine. 12.15 Have a care o’ us protect us; this is really an appeal to God. 12.15 Monkbarns it was customary to call a landed proprietor, or farmer, by the name of his estate or farm. 12.17–18 the summer session i.e. the summer session of the Court of Session, the supreme civil court of Scotland. The landlord makes two errors: he thinks Monkbarns is an advocate, and does not know that the session ended on 11 July. 12.22–23 hawks that pick their pinions i.e. lawyers who pluck the outermost, flight feathers of foolish clients. 12.29 ganging plea action waiting decision or settlement by a court. 12.31 Parliament-house where the highest Scottish civil and criminal courts sit, and from 1639–1707 where the Scottish Parliament met. It forms the side of the square to the south of St Giles Cathedral. 12.32–33 in afore the Fifteen the 15 judges ofthe Court of Session. The Court was organised into Outer and Inner Houses; in the Outer House each judge (except the Lord President) presided separately as a judge of first in­ stance; although much routine litigation did not progress beyond the Outer House, cases could be remitted to the Inner House for final decision, or to seek rulings on particular legal issues after which they would be sent back to the Outer House. In the Inner House all 15 judges sat together. This procedure was reformed in 1808. 12.33 de’il ony thing not a thing. 12.34 the outer-house see note to 12.32–33. 13.5 remits from the inner to the outer house see note to 12.32–33. 13.7 printed Session papers the papers relating to cases before the Court of Session were lodged by the solicitors of the parties involved with the Clerk of the Court, and were then printed. 13.8 quamprimum Latin as soon as possible.

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13.10 sanded parlour in an inn, a small private dining or supper room; the floor would be sprinkled with sand to make it easier to sweep clean. 13.10–11 prints of the Four Seasons probably etchings of 1643–44 produced by Wenceslaus Hollar (1607–77). He was born in Prague, but worked principally in England from 1636. 13.25 Fairport see‘Historical Note’, 447–48. 13.30 Jacobites supporters ofthe exiled Stuart kings. The name is derived from the Latin word forJames, Jacobus. James VII of Scotland and II of England was a Roman Catholic who fled the country in the Revolution of 1688–89; until the final rising of 1745–46 supporters tried frequently to restore him and his succession to the throne. The country areas of Angus, Kincardine, Aberdeen­ shire and Banffshire were strongly Jacobite, but towns like Aberdeen were governed by Whig councillors. 13.32 Protestant succession the Protestant, Hanoverian monarchy. The two Parliaments, of England and Scotland, had determined prior to their Union in 1707 that the monarchy should be Protestant, and specified George, Elector of Hanover, as the person who should succeed Queen Anne, as he did on her death in 1714. 13.34–35 Saxon, Norman, or Celtic genealogies Saxons invaded the British isles in the 5th, 6th and 7th centuries, and Normans in the nth. Celts were considered to be the indigenous inhabitants, who after the invasions con­ tinued to live in the western and northern parts of the British Isles including Ireland. 6 13.3 Reformation the period of church reform in the 16th century, when a new theology based on reading scripture, and a new view of the nature of the church and its mode of government, led to the establishment of Protestant churches in northern Europe. Religious wars and religious persecution became endemic for the next two centuries. The Scottish Reformation was in 1560. 13.43–14.1 gifted, with other church-lands after the Scottish Re­ formation in 1560 many supporters of the Protestant cause were rewarded with gifts of land and property confiscated from the old church. 14.3 loyal subjects on all occasions of insurrection i.e. they were supporters of the Protestant succession through the period of the Jacobite risings, 1689–1746. 14.5 1745 the year of the last Jacobite rising. 14.7 King George George II, King 1727–60. 14.7–9 expences … never been repaid those who suffered losses as a result of the Jacobite rising of 1745–46, or who had taken measures to oppose it, were not indemnified by the British Government. 14.9–10 solicitation … place in the customs most public offices were filled by political patronage; it was usual to make approaches to the minister through some intermediary, and an appointment was often a reward for political loyalty. 14.14 single blessedness A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 1.1.78. 14.16 Forty-twa the forty-second infantry regiment, The Black Watch. Six independent companies of‘loyal Highlanders’ were incorporated in 1739 as the first Highland regiment in the British army. The ‘Forty-twa’ is in italics in the text because a love-match with a soldier from the regiment is a folk-song motif. 14.17 Highland pedigree Highland gentlemen were notorious for having a great knowledge of their ancestors but no money. 14.20 East Indies i.e. India. The name is used because ofthe association of India with the East India Company, a trading company which owned and ruled large parts of India. Its military and civil officers regularly made large fortunes. 14.20 Hyder Ally 1722?–1782, Sultan of Mysore in southern India. He waged two wars against the British, in 1767–69 and 1778–81.

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14.33 feudal investitures Scots law the means by which a title to land or real property was conferred in Scotland by the granting of a feu charter, and the registration of the title to the property in the Register of Sasines. 14.41 rei suæ prodigus Latin wasteful of his own property. 15.2 black-letter copy ofthe acts ofparliament a book published in the 16th century containing acts of the Scottish Parliament from approximately 1406–1587 and printed in black-letter, i.e. the old style of type (similar to Gothic) used by printers in the 15th and 16th centuries before Roman type became standard. 15.4–5 twenty shillings i.e. £1. 15.11 Kittiefitting-moss the name implies an area of boggy ground in which it is difficult to keep one’s feet. 15.15–16 rent … rose with the improvement of the country agricul­ tural rents began to rise markedly from 1763, and doubled between 1783 and 1793. As land was enclosed, cleared of stones, whin, heather etc., drained and limed it became more productive, and so it was possible to obtain higher rents. See T. C. Smout, A History ofthe Scottish People 1560–1830 (London, 1969), 310. 15.24 ready-moneyman one who pays immediately in cash without re­ quiring credit. 15.31 virtuosi those who have a special interest in antiquities, but an older use implies those who have a general interest in the arts and sciences. 15.42 jibb ofa horse ‘to stop and refuse to go on’ (OED). The word is in italics to indicate its recent introduction; the OED quotes Jane Austen in 1811 and then this usage. 16.9 Cat, the Rat, and Lovel our dog proverbial ‘The Cat, the Rat, and Lovell our Dog,/ Rule all England under an Hog’ (ODEP, 109). The rhyme refers to three of Richard Ill’s counsellors, Sir William Catesbie, Sir Richard Ratcliffe, and Lord Lovell. The hog is Richard III himself, one of whose her­ aldic devices was a boar. 16.26 punch hot drink made from wine, with water, spirits, lemons and spices. There are many and varied recipes. It would be considerably cheaper than port or claret. 16.30 double quart bottle, or magnum bottle containing 4 pints of claret. 16.33 the de’il a drap not a drop of. 16.33 the day today. 16.34 that ye may lay your account wi’ that you may absolutely reckon on. James Ballantyne (Scott’s friend, and his partner in the business which printed his novels) seems to have objected to this incident on the grounds that an inn keeper would not behave in this way. Scott wrote: ‘I am quite in keeping with the period.… Wattie Richie at Peebles played the very trick of the claret in my presence. If I wrote every-day-manners who would read them.’ (Scott to James Ballantyne, 10 January 1816; Letters, 4.166.) 16.39 Tamlowrie … Grizzlecleugh … Bossballoh lowrie is the literary name for the fox; Grizzlecleugh means ‘grey cliff’; and Bossballoh implies an ‘empty mountain pass’. 16.41 sitting to make an afternoon o’t getting settled in to pass the whole afternoon (drinking). 17.1–2 lang syne long ago. 17.3 the de’il ane not one. 17.6 knew the measure of a guest’s foot proverbial knew a guest’s weak­ nesses or idiosyncracies (see Ray, 200; ODEP, 456; OED, foot 26c). 17.6–7 this side Solway on this side of the Solway Firth, i.e. in Scotland. 17.11 how absolute the knave is Hamlet, 5.1.133. Absolute means ‘self­ assured’, or ‘free from uncertainty’.

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17.12 Falemian … vile Sabinum see Horace (65–8 bc), Odes, 1.20.1. Falemian is a better wine which Horace mentions at the end ofthe same poem, contrasting it with the ‘cheap [not vile] Sabine wine’ which is all he has to offer. 17.14 decanted the wine only wine with a heavy sediment like claret and port are decanted. 17.25–26 little theatre at Fairport at this time theatres were opening in the North-east: the New theatre in Arbroath opened with King Lear on 21 May 1793, and the Theatre Royal in Aberdeen in 1795. 17.27–28 if this should be thee, Lovel see Twelfth Night, 2.5.94. 18.1–3 slipt a shilling … guerdon see Love’s Labours Lost, 3.1.159: ‘There’s thy guerdon; go. [ Giving him a shilling’. 18.3 eighteen-pence a stage Oldbuck and Lovel travel in a public carriage to Queensferry; after they cross the Forth they hire a private carriage for which rates were negotiable. Horses were changed at the end of each stage (about 12 miles), at an inn (a ‘post’). The text implies that the going rate was about 2s. 6d. (12½p) a stage, but that Oldbuck offers only ‘eighteen-pence’. They would travel by the turnpike road from Inverkeithing to Perth (Turnpike Act for Fife, Kinross and Perth, 1753), and then on by Coupar Angus and Forfar to their destination. 18.4– 5 two o’clock on the following day Scott does not say whether Oldbuck and Lovel cross the Firth that night or whether they cross the next day, and without that information it is not possible to determine where they have got to by two o’clock the following day. See ‘Historical Note’, 447–48. 18.17 by sea because the road system was undeveloped, and because horses provided the only means of traction, heavy goods were usually sent by sea. 18 motto see Robert Burns,‘On the Late Captain Grose’s Peregrinations thro’ Scotland’ (1789), lines 31–36. 19.1 north-west wind see‘Historical Note’, 447. 19.6–7 grain … ground-rent it was usually stipulated that tenants or vassals should pay rent in kind or so many days’ service on the landlord’s or superior’s land; in the 18th century rents came to be paid in money. 19.16 Amphion’s, or Orpheus’s, country dances Amphion, son of Zeus and Antiope, was given a lyre by Hermes and his music charmed both living creatures and inanimate objects such as stones; the city of Thebes was walled by stones which followed his music. Orpheus likewise attracted wild beasts, trees and even stones with his music. However, no stories have been traced in which whole houses joined the dance. The same image is used in Saint Ronan Well, 3. 19.24 with spectacles on nose, and pouch on side As You Like It, 2.7.159. 19.25 London Chronicle London Chronicle or Universal Evening Post, a paper started by Robert Dodsley in 1757. It was at first published every Tues­ day, Thursday and Saturday but after 20 years it became a weekly. 19.32 French leave custom prevalent in France in the 18th century of going away from a reception etc. without taking leave of the host or hostess; hence to go away without notice or permission. 19.33 Mac-Cribb a fictitious character. The name is derived from crib, meaning ‘pilfer’ or ‘purloin’. 19.33–34 Syrian medals Roman coins issued in Syria. 19.39 copper Otho rare coin thought in the 18th century to have been struck at Antioch and Alexandria, but now considered a forgery. In the 18th century possession was the mark of a real connoisseur; see Alexander Pope, ‘To Mr. Addison, occasioned by his Dialogues on Medals’, lines 43–44: ‘And Curio, restless by the fair-one’s side,/ Sighs for an Otho, and neglects his bride’; James Bramston, The Man of Taste (1733), ed. F. P. Lock, Augustan

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Reprint Society 171 (1975), 12–13: ‘’Tis equal to her Ladyship or me,/ A copper Otho, or a Scotch Baubee’. 19.40 sanctum sanctorum Latin holy of holies. Originally the Vulgate name for the inner part ofthe temple in Jerusalem, it came to be used in the 18th century of a private retreat, where someone could be free from intrusion. 19.40–41 idle hussies of womankind see note to 20.1. 19.43 Ars Topiaria this has not been traced or identified. 20.1 Anthony a Wood 1632–95, historian and antiquary, best known for his Athenæ Oxonienses (1674), a history of all the bishops and writers who were educated at Oxford 1500–1690. In his Life (first published 1772; CLA, 233) he objects to a Warden of Merton who moved his family into College because most of them were ‘woman-kind (which before were look’d upon, if resident in the College, a scandal & an Abomination thereunto)’ (3 May 1661). 20.4 cœnobite member of a religious order living in a community, as opposed to an anchorite who lives in solitude. Oldbuck is loosely saying that he lives as a monk, celibate and separated from the world. 20.5 John o’ the Girnell i.e. John of the Granary. 20.23–24 Polonius’s cloud to a whale, or an owzel see Hamlet, 3.2.366–72. The owzel, or ousel, a name for the blackbird, is Pope’s emendation of Shakespeare’s ‘weasel’. 20.31 Antigonus Antigonus of Carystus (fl. 240 bc), bronze worker and writer. What Mac-Cribb stole may well have beenAntigoni Carystii Historiarum Mirabilium Collectanea, published by Elzevir (see note to 24.31) in 1619, and known in English as his Collection of Wonderful Tales. 2 20.3 Trotcosey the name is derived from the Scots word for a ‘hood’; i.e. there is a punning reference to a monk’s dress. 20.33 rolls of parliament i.e. the records of parliament. 21.6–7 Dr Orkborne character in Fanny Burney’s Camilla (1796); the scene where his study is put to rights is in Vol. 2, Bk. 3, Ch. 6 (‘An Author’s Idea of Order’). 21.7–8 Go sew your sampler, you monkey compare the words of the Earl of Pembroke to the Abbess of Wilton on the dissolution of the monastery: ‘Go spin, you jade, go spin’. 21.10–11 Hudibras … Sidrophel Sir Hudibras is a grotesque Presby­ terian who consults Sidrophel who is pretending to be an astrologer in Samuel Butler’s satiric poem, Hudibras (in three parts: 1663, 1664, 1680; CLA, 182, 242). The quotation is composite, from 2.3.1091–92, 1095–96, and 3.1.437–38. 21.14 Napier’s bones John Napier (1550–1617), the inventor of logar­ ithms, also worked on a primitive calculator, which was called ‘Napier’s bones’ because it employed rods of ivory. 21.15 constellation stones precious stones bearing the influence of par­ ticular constellations: ‘these stones… have not onelie the verie operation of the planets, but sometimes the verie images and impressions of the starres naturallie ingraffed in them’ (Scot, 242). 21.22–23 very ancient, peaceful, quiet dust compare Much Ado About Nothing, 3.3.36, and Coriolanus, 2.3.126–27. 21.42–22.1 Sir Gawaine’s wedding … Lothely Lady the tapestry illus­ trates the ballad ‘The Marriage of Sir Gawaine’ (Child, 31), in Thomas Percy’s Reliques ofAncient English Poetry (4th edn, 3 vols (1794), 3.350: CLA, 172). The story is of a knight who receives information from an ugly woman about what women most desire in return for a promise to find her a husband. Sir Gawaine volunteers to marry her, only to discover that she was under a spell and is actually beautiful. The story is also in ‘The Wife of Bath’s Tale’ in Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales (c. 1387), III (D) 857–1263, and in the ‘Tale of Florent’ in

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Gower’s Confessio Amantis (c. 1390), 1.1407–1861. 22.12 Marius among the ruins of Carthage Gaius Marius (157–86 bc), Roman general and consul. Forced to leave Italy by Sulla, Marius escaped to North Africa. When the Roman governor ordered him to leave, according to the story told by Plutarch (born before ad 50, died after 120) in his Life of Marius (40.4), he told the messenger: ‘Tell the praetor you have seen Gaius Marius sitting, a fugitive, amid the ruins of Carthage’. The scene is the subject of an etching by Salvator Rosa (1615–73) which was popular in the 18th century. 22.14 genius loci Latin guardian spirit of the place: Virgil, ᴁneid, 5.95. 22.14 tutelar dæmon protective spirit. 22.15–16 mare magnum Latin great, i.e. open, sea. 22.26–27 Heavystern a fictitious character, whose name means‘big bottom’. 22.29 Bannockburn site of a battle in 1314 near Stirling in which King Robert Bruce defeated the English forces of Edward II. 22.32 Utrecht university city in the Netherlands. 23.1 Colve-carles … Kolb-kerls … Clavigeri respectively Middle English, German, and Latin for ‘club-bearers’. 23.2 chronicle of Antwerp probably the Chronicle for the years 1500–1574, published in Leyden in 1743. 23.2–3 that of St Martin probably the chronicle of St Martin of Tours, published in 1738. 23.5 thumb-screws instrument of torture used on Covenanters. 23.6 Covenanters those who wished to uphold the National Covenant of 1638 and the Solemn League and Covenant of 1643. The principal objective of the National Covenant was to eradicate episcopacy and to establish presbyterian church government in Scotland; the Solemn League and Covenant was an agreement between Scotland and Parliament in England to extend Presbyteri­ anism to England in return for military assistance. In the reigns of Charles II (1660–85) and his brother James VII and II (1685–88) the Covenanters were persecuted and many were subjected to torture. See the ‘Historical Note’ to The Tale of Old Mortality, 430–34. 23.6 collar sentences of death could be transmuted into‘perpetual servit­ ude’. The ‘owner’ of the criminal had to have made a collar of‘brass, iron, or copper, which by his sentence or doom … is to be on his neck’: see The Scots Magazine, 48 (June 1786), 277. 23.9 modem Scottish punishment banishment ‘furth of Scotland’, a mode of punishment abolished in 1831, except when specified by particular acts. In practice many emigrated to England, considered legally to be a foreign country. 23.15–18 For he would … saltery see Chaucer, The Canterbury Tales, ‘General Prologue’, I (A) 293–96. 23.20–21 true Anglo-Saxon enunciation … realm see Lismahago in Smollett’s novel, Humphry Clinker (1771): ‘He said, what we generally called the Scottish dialect was, in fact, true, genuine old English … ; that the modern English, from affectation and false refinement, had weakened, and even corrupted their language, by throwing out the guttural sounds, altering the pronunciation and the quantity, and disusing many words and terms of great significance’ (J. Melford to Sir Watkin Phillips, 13 July). 23.23–24 enormous prices of modem times the prices at the auction on 18 May 1812 of the library ofthe 3rd Duke of Roxburghe (one ofthe greatest of book collectors) were unprecedented (the sale raised £23,341), and it is probably to this that Scott refers. 23.28 Cid Hamet Benengeli imaginary Arabian author from whom Cer­

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vantes (Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra) said he obtained the story of Don Quixote: see Don Quixote (Part 1, 1605; Part 2, 1615), Part 1, Ch. 9. 23.29 fields and farms for folios and quartos of chivalry see Cer­ vantes, Don Quixote, Part 1, Ch. 1. 23.32 mistaken an inn for a castle, … windmill see Cervantes, Don Quixote, Part 1, Chs 2 and 8. 23.42–24.6 Caxton’s Game at Chess … the first book ever printed in England William Caxton (c. 1422–91) printed The Game and Play ofthe Chesse in Bruges in 1475. However, in Scott’s day it was thought to have been the first book to be printed in England (see Joseph Ames, TypographicalAntiquities, enlarged by Thomas Frognall Dibdin, 4 vols (1810–19), 1.33; edn of 1785 CLA, 265), and not until William Blades published The Life and Typography of William Caxton (2 vols, 1861, 1863), was it shown to have been printed in Bruges. The Game and Play ofthe Chesse was translated by Caxton from a French version of the Latin original by Jacobus de Cassolis. 23.42–43 Davy Wilson not identified. 24.4 black-letter ballad narrative song printed as a broadside in the old style of type (similar to Gothic) used by printers in the 15 th and 16th centuries before Roman type became standard. 24.4–5 editio princeps Latin first edition. The Latin implies that a first edition is also the most important edition. 24.5 school Corderius Latin grammar book, called after Mathurin Cordier (1478–1564), a French schoolmaster whose Colloquia Scholastica (1564) was an influential textbook. 24.7 twopence a little less than 1p. 24.8 Osborne Thomas Osborne (d. 1767), London bookseller and pub­ lisher. His greatest project was the purchase in 1742 of the magnificent library of the Earl of Oxford for £13,000, and the publication of the sale catalogue, CatalogusBibliothecaeHarleianae, 5 vols (1743–45). 24.10 Dr Askew (1722–72). Although educated as a physician, Askew is known principally as a classical scholar and book-collector. The sale ofhis books in 1775 raised £3993. 24.12 purchased by royalty itself at this point in the Magnum Scott’s note reads: ‘This bibliomaniacal anecdote is literally true; and David Wilson, the author need not tell his brethren of the Roxburghe and Bannantyne Clubs, was a real personage’ (Magnum, 5.37). However, in the words of William Blades, ‘not a single statement is founded on fact’ (The Life and Typography of William Caxton, 2 vols (1861,1863), 2.12). David Wilson has not been identi­ fied ; King George Ill’s copy of The Game and Play ofthe Chesse, now in the British Library, was bought at the James West sale in March 1773, for £32.0.6d. 24.22 Lucian (1st century ad), writer in Greek of satiric diatribes, one of which is entitled ‘To an Uneducated Book-Collector’: CLA, 203. 24.28 Complete Syren The Syren, containing a collection offour hundred and thirty-two ofthe most celebrated English songs (London, 1739). 24.29 Complaynt of Scotland first published in c. 1550 in Paris. A work in Scots prose by Robert Wedderburn (d. 1557), the Complayntis a dream allegory in which Dame Scotia calls upon her sons to resist any compromise with Eng­ land. Only 4 copies are known to survive; it was first edited by Scott’s friend, John Leyden, in 1801 (CLA, 14). 24.31 Elzevirs books published by the family ofElzivir, or Elzevier, Dutch printers of the 17th century. 24.33 Cowgate … Wynd streets in Edinburgh’s Old Town. 24.38 chop in thrust in. 25.6 the white moments of life see John Dryden, The Conquest of Gran­ ada, Part 1 (1670), 4.1.33: ‘I point you the white moment of your fate’.

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25.24 Dying Speech, Bloody Murder, or Wonderful Wonder of Won­ ders not traced; the title sounds like an amalgamation of 3 types ofbroadside: the confessional, the criminal, and the supernatural, and may therefore be an invention. 25.33 Strange and Wonderful News from Chipping Norton there is a copy in the British Library. In this the date is given as ‘28th ofJuly’ without a year, and there are a number of other discrepancies, one ofwhich gives rise to an emendation. The BL date for the broadside pamphlet is 1679. 25.43 West Smithfield just north of Holburn Viaduct in London. 26.16 Teniers’ pieces pictures by the Flemish painter, David Teniers the Younger (1610–90), who was particularly well-known for genre scenes of peasant life and for interiors. 26.20 Benvenuto Cellini (1500–71) Florentine goldsmith, sculptor and writer. His autobiography is one ofthe most vigorous works ofthe Renaissance. 26.21 our ancestors drank sack Oldbuck refers generally to Falstaff, who is fat like Oldbuck, in Henry IV and The Merry Wives of Windsor. 26 motto see ‘The Gaberlunzie Man’, lines 1–4: a popular song in 10 eight-line stanzas attributed to James V (1512–42), in Allan Ramsay, The Tea­ table Miscellany, first published in 1724. Scott owned the 13th ed. (Edinburgh, 1762): CLA, 171. 27.14 Mother Eve prognosticated a similar fall the first woman’s plucking of the apple in Genesis 3.6 brought about the fall of man from Eden. 27.15 Lochard and Cringlecut fictional places; the name Cringlecut sug­ gests ‘crinklecut’, i.e. cut in a crooked or curvy way. 27.15–16 fine of six bolls of barley annually exactly what is meant is not clear, but probably the fine imposed by the church was, around the time of the Reformation when the practice of feuing church lands developed, consolid­ ated into the feu duty paid by the vassal (the owner ofthe lands of Lochard and Cringlecut) to the superior. 27.17–18 seclusion of the Abbot and his penitent confession is abso­ lutely private to the person confessing and to the confessor. 27.19 hospitium … hospitamentum Latin house or hostel for the re­ ception and entertainment of pilgrims and travellers. 27.20 writings and evidents documentary proofs in general or, more specifically, title deeds. 27.22 Statistical Account The Statistical Account ofScotland, ed. Sir John Sinclair, 21 vols (1791–99), a parish-by-parish survey of the condition of Scot­ land, written by the parish ministers (CLA, 84). 27.42 agger … vallum … fossa Latin earth rampart … rampart with palisades … ditch: see Gordon, 39. Roman military camps were square or oblong, were surrounded by earthworks and ditches, and had a gate in the middle of each side. 28.2 Ardoch … Burnswark Ardoch, in Perthshire, 10 kms north of Stir­ ling, and Burnswark, 5 kms SE of Lockerbie in Dumfriesshire. Both were very large, Roman military camps, whose walls and ditches are still very prominent. Gordon says that the former, which he calls a fort, is ‘the most entire and best preserved of any Roman antiquity of that kind in Britain’ (41), and that the latter, which he calls a stative, i.e. permanent, camp, is ‘the most entire and best preserved one that ever I saw’ (16). 28.17 Kaim of Kinprunes an invented name; Kaim is Scots for the ‘crest of a hill’; ‘Kinprunes’ comes from kin, meaning ‘related to’, andpruina, the Latin word for ‘frost’. There is a Roman fortlet known as Kaims Castle about 5 km north of Ardoch. 28.21–26 our Scottish antiquaries … Athole see Gordon, 37. Accord­ ing to Tacitus, the final conflict between Agricola and the Caledonians was the

462

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battle ofMons Graupius ( ad 84), where Agricola ( ad 40–93), Roman general and governor of Britain 78–84, defeated the Caledonians under Galgacus. The site ofthe battle has never been located and in the 18th century was the subject of much controversy; Gordon placed it in Strathearn (39), while William Roy (see note to 28.41) preferred Battle Dykes between Kirriemuir and Brechin in Angus. It is now thought to have been near Inverness. 28.23–26 Ardoch … Innerpeffrey … Raedykes in the Mearns … Blair in Athole 10 kms north of Stirling; near Crieff in Perthshire; 6 kms NW of Stonehaven (the Mearns is the old name for the area); Blair Atholl, in northern Perthshire. See Gordon, 37. 28.35–36 Grampian mountains the range of mountains in the middle of Scotland, south of Inverness and west ofAberdeen. The name is thought to be derived from ‘Graupius’. 28.37 in conspectu classis Latin in sight of the fleet. The story of Mons Graupius (see note to 28.21–26) is told by Tacitus in his life of Agricola, De Vita luliiAgricolae ( ad 98), but this phrase is not found there. As the fleet and army were acting in concert, some commentator may well have concluded that Mons Graupius was ‘in conspectu classis’. 28.40 Sir Robert Sibbald Scottish physician and antiquary (1641–1722), author of many books on Scottish antiquities, including Historical Inquiries, Concerning the Roman Monuments andAntiquities in the North-Part ofBritain called Scotland (1707), and Commentarius in Julii Agricolæ Expeditions (1711), which is probably what Oldbuck has in mind. 28.40–41 Sanders Gordon see note to 10. 1; Sanders is a familiar version of ‘Alexander’. 28.41 General Roy William Roy (1726–90), cartographer and surveyor, and author of The Military Antiquities ofthe Romans in Britain, published post­ humously by the Society of Antiquaries in 1793. 28.41 Dr Stukeley William Stukeley (1687–1765), one of the founders of the Society of Antiquaries in 1718, author of Itinerarium Curiosum. Or, an Account ofthe Antiquitys and remarkable Curiositys in Nature or Art, Observ’d in Travels thro’ Great Britain (1724). 29.5–6 Whose patriotism … Marathon Samuel Johnson, A Journey to the Western Islands ofScotland (1775), ed. Mary Lascelles (New Haven and London, 1971), 148. An Athenian army under Miltiades defeated the Persians at Marathon in 490 bc; it was seen as a decisive victory in the cause ofnational liberty. 29.9 plaister of Paris i.e. Oldbuck is preparing a plaster-cast of the sculpture. 29.10 sacrificing vessel cups or bowls used for pouring libations (liquid offerings) to the gods. Several ofthe stones in the plates in Gordon’s Itinerarium have cups upon them. 29.11 Agricola Dicavit Libens Lubens Latin Agricola willingly and happily dedicated [this]. Scott parodies the disputed inscription on an altar found at Cramond, Edinburgh: see Gordon, 116. The altar came to the Advoc­ ates’ Library in the late 18th century, and is now in the Royal Museum of Scotland. See Iain Gordon Brown, ‘This Old Magazine of Antiquities’, in For the Encouragement ofLearning: Scotland’s National Library 1689–1989, ed. Pat­ rick Cadell and Anne Matheson (Edinburgh, 1989), 166–67. 29.12 Dutch antiquaries it is not known to whom the text refers, but likely candidates are: Johann Georg Gravius (1632–1703), editor of Hesiod, Sue­ tonius, Cicero, Propertius, Catullus, and Caesar, and author of Thesaurus Anti­ quitatem Romanarum (‘Treasury of Roman Antiquities’), 12 vols (1694) Janus Gruterus, author of Inscriptiones Antiquae, 4 vols (1707), a catalogue of Roman inscriptions from numerous artefacts.

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29.14 Caius Caligula Pharum Fecit Latin Gaius Caligula built the light­ house. This interpretation was probably prompted by the statement of Sue­ tonius (Caligula, 46) that Caligula built a pharos on the German ocean. Gaius Caesar (ad 12–41), nicknamed Caligula, was emperor 37–41. 29.29 ille … pruinis Latin he who pitched his camp among the Caledo­ nian frosts. The phrase comes from line 26 of the panegyric on the fourth consulship of Honorius, ‘De quarto consulatu Honorii Augusti’, by Claudian (d. c. ad 404). 29.35 Theodosius … 367 Count Theodosius was sent by the Emperor Valentinian in 367 to recover Britain which had been overrun by Saxons, Picts and Scots. 29.37 Decuman … Prætorian gate these two gates were opposite each other in a Roman camp. The Prætorian gate was nearest the Prætorium, or camp headquarters. See Gordon, 39. 29.37–38 ravage of the horrid plough … learned friend the learned friend has not been identified. 29.39–40 porta sinistra … porta dextra Latin left and right gates of a camp. See Gordon, 39. 29.42 Prætorium Latin headquarters in a Roman camp. 30.4 yon opposite hill see Tacitus, Agricola ( ad 98), 35. 30.7 Bond-street four-in-hand men i.e. fashionable men driving car­ riages drawn by four horses. Bond Street (now called Old and New Bond Street) is a luxury shopping street running from Piccadilly to Oxford Street in London. 30.9–13 See … Rome no more see Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher, Bonduca (performed 1613–1614; published 1647), 3.5.94–98. 30.17–18 Prætorian here, Praetorian there ‘William Clerk [ Scott’s close friend] well remembers his father telling a story which was introduced in due time in The Antiquary. While he was visiting his grandfather, Sir John Clerk, at Dumcrieff, in Dumfriesshire, … the old Baronet carried some English Virtuosos to see a supposed Roman camp; and on his exclaiming at a particular spot, “this I take to have been the Prætorium,” a herdsman, who stood by, answered, “Prætorium here, Prætorium there, I made it wi’ a flaughter spade” [spade for cutting turf].’ (Life, 1.149). 30.23 slouched hat see note to 6.38. 30.31 King’s Bedes-men ‘These Bedesmen are an order of paupers to whom the Kings of Scotland were in the custom of distributing a certain alms, in conformity with the ordinances of the Catholic Church, and who were expected in return to pray for the royal welfare and that of the state. This order is still kept up. Their number is equal to the number of years which his Majesty has lived; and one Blue-Gown additional is put on the roll for every returning royal birth­ day. On the same auspicious era, each Bedesman receives a new cloak, or gown of coarse cloth, the colour light blue, with a pewter badge, which confers on them the general privilege of asking alms through all Scotland, all laws against sorning, masterful beggary, and every other species of mendicity, being sus­ pended in favour of this privileged class’ (Magnum, 5.ix). 31.6 Aiken Drum ‘hero’ of a nursery rhyme: ‘There was a man lived in the moon,/… And his name was Aiken Drum;/ And he played upon a ladle,… / And his name was Aiken Drum’ (see The Oxford Nursery Rhyme Book, ed. Iona and Peter Opie (Oxford, 1955), 162). The rhyme goes on to mention cream­ cheese, roast beef, penny loaves, crust of pies, and haggis bags. 31.11–12 Lang Ladle … kale-suppers o’ Fife proverbial ye need a lang spoon to sup wi’ a Fifer: reported by Mrs M. Ewen, Kirkcaldy. Compare ‘He should have a long shafted spoon that sups kail with the Devil’: Ray, 289; ODEP, 480. 31.14 Keip on this syde according to the Town and Country Magazine, 3

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(1771), the Society of Antiquaries was asked to decipher the inscription on a stone found in Northumberland which read ‘KEE PONT/ HI SSIDE’. Much learning was exposed to ridicule before the inscription was seen to read: ‘KEEP ON THIS SIDE’. However, the story is what would now be called an ‘urban folk-tale’, and Scott may have heard any of several competing versions. 31.24 De’il a bit not a bit. 31.34 old Tully Marcus Tullius Cicero (106–43 bc), Roman lawyer, orator and politician. ‘Pro Archia Poeta’ was a speech delivered in 62 bc in defence of the claim of Archias to Roman citizenship. 31.3 6 Quis nostrum … ut ProArchiaPoeta, 17; the translation is as given: which of us was so rude and barbarous as to. 31.38 Roscius Quintus Roscius Gallus (d. 62 bc), the most famous comic actor of ancient Rome; he was a friend of Cicero’s. 31.41 Prince of Orators Cicero. 32.14 awa to literally away for, i.e. setting off for. 32.15–16 come in by call at. 32.16 again e’en towards evening. 32.28–29 bring down your heart humble yourself. 32.31 hangman’s lash punishment of flogging which was administered by the public executioner. 3 2.36 Luckie Gemmels a fictional character. ‘Luckie’ is a familiar form of address to an elderly woman. 32.36–37 Never think you don’t believe. 32.39 dear o’ a pund Scots dear at a pound Scots. A Scots pound was worth one twelfth of an English pound. 32.41 Lord had a care o’us exclamation Lord, look after us. 33.22 poor’s rates and a work-house in country parishes of Scodand the poor relied on the support oftheir families and on the minister and kirk session; the heritors (the landowners and more substantial tenants) co-operated with the church authorities in providing poor relief. There were no institutions for hous­ ing the poor and requiring them to work. In the major burghs (as in England) provisions for the poor were funded by a general levy on all the inhabitants of means and substance, and in the largest burghs there were workhouses. The system ofpoor-relief in country areas was less expensive and easier to adminis­ ter than the system pertaining in large towns and in England. 33.23 old-remembered guest of a beggar see Oliver Goldsmith, The Deserted Village (1770), line 151. 33.24–25 as intimate as one of the beasts familiar to man which signify love i.e. lice; see The Merry Wives of Windsor, 1.1.17. 33.27 gone the vole tried every trick; the phrase is a metaphor derived from cards. 33.29–30 Joe Miller 1684–1738, comedian. In 1739 John Mottley (1692–1750), pseudonym Elijah Jenkins, published Joe Miller’s Jests, a com­ pilation of jokes, some of them attributed to the ‘facetious gentleman, whose name they bear’. 33.38 churchwardens and their dogwhips the minor officials of an English parish. 34 motto The Merchant of Venice, 2.2.44. 34.18 defiance of taxes and times a tax was placed on hair powder in 1786; wigs were going out of fashion over the last 30 years of the 18th century, but it was the French Revolution that finally popularised the display of one’s natural hair. 34.26 Caxon the name is derived from a kind of wig. 35.13 volunteer cohort companies of volunteers to protect the country from invasion from without and uprising from within were quickly established

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after the beginning of the war in 1793; the Royal Edinburgh Volunteers were incorporatedin 1794 (see Letters, 1.33,35,37) and, byJuly 1796,41 districts of Scotland had either volunteer regiments or companies. 35.15 two parties i.e. Tories and Whigs. 35.17 Loyal True Blues as the uniform of the Royal Edinburgh Volunteers (see note to 35.13) was blue it seems probable that Scott has such a corps in mind: Lord Cockburn says that they were originally ‘a merely political associ­ ation’ (Memorials ofHis Time (Edinburgh, 1856), 71). They are ‘loyal’ because they support the monarchy and the current constitution. 35.17 democrat member of the revolutionary party in France in 1790. 35.18 soi disant self-styled. Compare Letters, 1.35. 35.18 Friends of the People Society of the Friends of the People, founded April 1792. Originally a Whig Parliamentary club for examining parlia­ mentary representation, its name was widely used by local clubs who wanted constitutional reform and universal male suffrage. A General Convention of the Friends of the People in Scotland met in December 1792, and twice more in 1793. 35.21 the name was fashionable in novel-writing see for example Clara Reeve, The Old English Baron (1777). It was also used in plays and farces such as James Townley, High Life below Stairs (1759). 35.34 French spy owing to dread of the Revolution there was panic about the danger from French spies. Compare Henry W. Meikle, Scotland and the French Revolution (Glasgow, 1912), 193n., where he comments on the examina­ tion of the poet Thomas Campbell by the Sheriff of Edinburgh in 1801. 35.34 Sheriff judge appointed to administer justice in a Scottish county; in addition to conducting trials, he had an investigative function. 35.41 Substitute sheriffs and sheriffs depute (like Scott himself) were advocates, often with other legal positions in Edinburgh, and they appointed Substitutes to investigate common crimes and to deal with routine court busi­ ness. 36.9 Knockwinnock a fictitious place. The Knock element might suggest a hillock; winnock means ‘window’. 36.13 Tuesday the 17 see ‘Historical Note’ 444. 36.13 current i.e. the current month. 6.13 3 stilo novo Latin in the new style. Britain (by an act of 1751) introduced the Gregorian calendar in 1752. 36.13 symposion Greek literally drinks followed by a meal, but the name became associated with a literary genre in which serious issues are discussed apparently in a social context; the most famous of such works is Plato’s Sympo­ sium. 36.14 four o’clock among the professional classes the working day started earlier than it does now, and finished early in the afternoon. Dinner, the main meal of the day, was timed for mid or late afternoon. 36.17–18 awful rule and right supremacy The Taming ofthe Shrew, 5.2.109. Oldbuck quotes Petruchio in affirmation of his view of man as woman’s superior. 36.20–21 giddy-paced times Twelfth Night, 2.4.6. 36.26 signatum atque sigillatum Latin signed and sealed, as though it were a legal document. 36.31 De’ila not a. 7 .5–6 He hobbled … could 3

see Charles Churchill, The Ghost, 3.1207–08 (Corson). 37.13 Jacobite see note to 13.30. 37.15 squeezed the orange a Jacobite gesture, implying contempt for William of Orange who replaced James VII and II as king in 1689.

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dangerous health there were many ways in which Jacobites could legally drink to the health of their king; for instance, the words of the loyal toast (‘the king’) could be dutifully said, but the glass would be held over a water glass, thus signifying ‘the king over the water’. 37.17 penalstatute i.e. the Act on leasing making (see note to 8.43–9.2), 1584, c.8, as amended in the Act of 1703, c.4. 37.18 thecause i.e. the Jacobite cause. 37.19 Highland army the Jacobite army was reputed to consist largely of Highlanders in 1745, but very many volunteers came from north-east Scotland. 37.22 Charles Stuart Prince Charles Edward Stuart (1720–88), grandson ofJames VII and II, and leader of the Jacobite army in 1745–46. 37.24 stand fire stand still under fire. 7.30 3 ancient burgh the oldest towns in north-east Scotland are Aberdeen and Montrose, which were created Royal Burghs between 1124 and 1153. 37.30 whig-burghers those engaged in commerce in towns were largely whigs. 37.33–34 secretary of state’s warrant a secretary of state could issue a warrant committing anyone suspected of treason to prison to await trial. 37.37 healths five fathoms deep Romeo andJuliet, 1.4.85. 37.39 non-juring chaplain Episcopalian clergyman who refused to take the oaths of Allegiance (to the crown) and of Abjuration (of the Pretender). After 1715 the penalty for non-compliance was 6-months imprisonment and the closure of the meeting house; laws were tightened after the 1745 rising. Many Episcopalians in north-east Scotland were overtJacobites and suffered accord­ ingly. The ‘non-juring chaplain’ is an Episcopalian minister who has refused to take the oaths, has lost office, and is kept as the chaplain to an Episcopalian family. 38.3–4 disputed election … oaths of abjuration and allegiance a disputed election was one in which there was more than one candidate; because of the limited electorate and the frequent dominance of a single interest, there was often only one candidate who was elected to parliament unopposed. Electors of members of parliament were one of the classes of people who had to take the oaths ofAbjuration (renouncing Prince Charles Edward, the Jacobite heir), and Allegiance (acknowledging George III). 38.9–10 house of Stuart... extinct Prince Charles Edward Stuart died in 1788; in fact the direct line of descent from James VII and II stopped only with the death in 1807 of Henry, Cardinal York, the brother of Prince Charles, but he had tacitly renounced his claim to the British throne. 38.16–17 deputy-lieutenant and trustee upon turnpike acts the dep­ uty-lieutenant fulfilled various official duties for the Lord Lieutenant of a county, an office renewed in 1794 to oversee the raising ofvolunteer regiments to defend Britain against invasion. Each turnpike act (i.e. an act of Parliament establishing a turnpike road) appointed trustees to be financially responsible for building and maintaining the road, and levying tolls.

37.16–17

38.30–31

bead-roll … kings of Scotland ... Boethius ... Buchanan

Hector Boece, or in its Latin form, Boethius (1465?–1536), first Principal of the University of Aberdeen, wrote a history of Scotland in Latin, Scotorum Histories (1526). To show the ancient standing of the Scottish monarchy he includes in his history a list of Scottish kings, many of whom are imaginary. George Buchanan (1506–82), the great Scottish Renaissance scholar, follows Boece in listing 85 kings down to Malcolm Canmore in the nth century in his own Rerum Scoticarum Historia (1582). 38.33 portraits ... Holyrood Charles II (reigned 1649–85) ordered that portraits of Boece’s kings be painted and hung on the walls of Holyrood Palace, the royal residence in Edinburgh.

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the belief that the eldest son of a king was chosen by God to inherit the throne from his father. Scott discusses the Tory view of the legendary kings, and the ‘inalienable right of the monarch’, in Prose Works, 20.307. 38.36 posterity of Fergus Fergus I was said to have arrived in 330 bc, taken possession of the country and called it Scotland. 38.38 Banquo ... Hecate see Macbeth, 4.1.112–124. 38.39 good fame of Queen Mary in the 18th century Jacobites tried to free Mary Queen of Scots (1542–87; reigned 1560–67) from charges of complicity in the murder of her husband, Darnley, and of adultery with Both­ well, as part of a larger effort to vindicate the exiled House of Stuart: see for example Walter Goodall, An Examination ofthe Letters, Said to be written by Mary Queen ofScots, to James Earl ofBothwell: Shewing by intrinsick and extrinsick Evidence that they are Forgeries, 2 vols (1754). Other historians, notably David Hume and William Robertson, came to a less favourable view of her conduct. 39.1 ruling elder of the Kirk member of a kirk session, which looks after the spiritual and moral welfare of a parish in Presbyterian churches. 39.1–2 revolution principles and Protestant succession i.e. the prin­ ciples of the revolution of 1688–89, in which the power of the monarchy was limited by acts ofparliament in both England and Scotland. By the English Act of Settlement (1701) and the Scottish Act of Security (1704), the monarch had to be Protestant. 39.2 very reverse of all this Sir Arthur was an Episcopalian, and a Jac­ obite. 39.3–4 sovereign who now holds the throne George III, King 1760–1820. 39.8–9 sought the base fellowship of paltry burghers see Joanna Baillie, Orra: a Tragedy in FiveActs, inA Series ofPlays: in which it is attempted to delineate the strongerpassions oftheMind, 3 vols (London, 1812), 3.6: CLA ,212 (Corson). 39.20 But with the morning calm reflection came compare Nicholas Rowe, The Fair Penitent (1703), 1.1.162: ‘ At length the morn and cold indiffer­ ence came’ (Corson). 39.38 King William i.e. William of Orange, the King invited by the parliaments of both kingdoms to succeed James VII and II. 40.4 per contra on the other hand; but there is also a book-keeping im­ plication, on the other side of the account. 40.16–20 long straight avenue ... limes in a letter to Lord Montagu in 1819 Scott remarks that the ‘immense lime avenue at Taymouth [ Castle, Ken­ more, Perthshire ]... was one of the most magnificent I ever saw’ (Letters, 5.302). 41.8–9 Bellenden’s rare translation of Hector Boece Hector Boece’s Latin history of Scotland was translated into Scots by John Bellenden in 1536. 41.10 black-letter folio i.e. a work in which the pages are formed by folding sheets in two, and which was printed in ‘gothic’ type. 41.15 family has stood family has lasted or flourished. 41.16 sum an account of interest work out the interest on sums due. 42 motto see William Cartwright (1611–43), The Ordinary (published 1651),3.1. 42.2 Woden chief god in Saxon mythology. 42.10 17th ofJuly see ‘Historical Note’, 444. 42.18 Clogdogdo’s ... malae bestiæ see Ben Jonson, Epicoene, or The Silent Woman (performed 1609–10; published 1616), 4.2.65–67: ‘A wife is a scurvy clogdogdo; an unlucky thing,... mala bestia’. The words are spoken by Tom Otter; clogdogdo is a nonce word, i.e. a word made up for use in a single 38.35 divine hereditary right

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context; and mala bestia means ‘a bad creature’; malae bestiæ is the plural. nonsense! See 2 Henry IV, 2.5.78 and Twelfth Night, 2.3.75. The etymology of‘tilley-valley’ is obscure. Titivillitium is Latin for ‘a very small trifle’; talley-ho is a hunting cry uttered on sighting the fox. 42.26 Griselda ... patience see the story of Patient Griselda: Chaucer, ‘The Clerk’s Tale’, in The Canterbury Tales (c. 1387), IV (E) 57-1230. 42.31 Ladies’ Memorandum-book for the year 1770 The Ladies Own Memorandum Book: or Daily Pocket Journalfor the year 1771 (London and Newcastle, 1770). The author was apparently ‘a lady’. The work was a pagea-day diary, interspersed with useful household information, hints on beauty, etc. 42.34 chevaux de frize wooden barrier designed to stop cavalry charges. 42.35 Vesta Roman hearth-goddess. It is not known which statues Scott had in mind. 42.39 Sebastian and Viola brother and sister in Twelfth Night; ‘An apple cleft in two is not more twin’ (5.1.215). 43.3 Mahound and Termagent Mahommed, who was often represented by Christians in the Middle Ages and Renaissance as a false god and Termagent as an imaginary deity worshipped by Moslems. Compare Spenser, The Faerie Queene, 6.7.47. 43.18–20 When folks ... capon William Cartwright (1611–43), The Ordinary (published 1651), 4.5. The quotation implies that Griselda belongs to a period which took pleasure in a grace before meat that lasted half-an-hour, and in food suitable for a day of fast; Friday’s capon is fish, which was always served on the weekly fast-day, Friday. 43.29 scarlet-fever reference not to the disease but to the desire to wear the red uniform of the British army. 43.34 wellseen well educated in his profession. 43.36 Davie Lindsay (1486–1555), Scottish poet and playwright. His Ane Pleasant Satyre ofthe Thrie Estaitis (1540) is the first and probably the greatest extant Scottish play. 43.36 Dibdin Charles Dibdin (1745–1814), actor, dramatist and song­ writer. 43.36–37 he blushes again, which is a sign of grace see Jonathan Swift, Polite Conversation, in Works, ed. Walter Scott, 19 vols (1814), 11.349. 43.43 balm-wine drink used for medicinal purposes. 44.1 Aroint thee, witch! see Macbeth, 1.3.6. 44.13 Rintherout the name implies a ‘vagrant, roving person’; the CSD says that the word is now principally north-eastern. 44.17 Flanders western part of Belgium. War began in the Austrian Neth­ erlands, which corresponds approximately to modern Belgium, Luxembourg, and Germany to the west of the Rhine, in 1792. France declared war on Britain and Holland on 1 February 1793, and British troops fought in Flanders in 1793 and 1794. See ‘Historical Note’, 444. 44.24 all ancient legislators there is no body of law in ancient civilisations which subordinates women to men, but all ancient races treated their women less well than men. 44.24 Lycurgus fl. c. 850 bc, traditional originator of the Spartan social, constitutional and military systems. In ancient Sparta women were responsible for raising children, making clothes, and protecting the home. 44.25 Mahommed (570?–632) became ruler of Medina in 622, and thereafter the lawgiver and principal prophet of Islam. In several places the Qur’an implies the inferiority of women. 44.27 Dulcineas imaginary mistresses. Don Quixote’s imaginary mistress is called Dulcinea. 42.22 Tilley-valley

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44.33–36 Mahommed ... human voice see Ibn Ishaq, The Life of Muhammad, trans. A. Guillaume (Oxford, 1978), 235–36. Ibn Ishaq, the first biographer of Muhammad, died about 150 years after the prophet. 44.35 Guebres ancient fire-worshippers from Persia. 45.14–15 Solan goose gannet. 45.22 Dibble the gardener’s name is derived from the instrument for making holes in the ground to take seeds, seedlings or bulbs. 45.30–31 King Alphonso ... old friends proverbial: see Ray, 16; ODEP, 589. Alphonso of Castile is probably Alphonso X of Leon and Castile (1221–84), but it is not clear why Scott ascribes the saying to him. 45.36–37 the shadow of a shade similar phrases occur occasionally in 17th and 18th century poetry; Scott uses the exact words about the Episcopal Church in Guy Mannering, 2.288.22–23 (Vol. 2, Ch. 16). 45.39 how wags the world see As You like It, 2.7.23. 45.39 Auld Reekie nickname for Edinburgh, particularly the Old Town, over which a pall of smoke used to hang. 45.40–41 dipping in the sea... hellebore old treatments for madness. 46.1 invasion from abroad, and insurrection at home see‘Historical Note’, 445–47. 46.3 turkeys... red rag it is not known why Oldbuck says that turkeys are subdued by a red rag, but there is probably some play on ‘turkey red’, a brilliant, permanently red dye introduced in the late 18th century (the first OED citation is dated 1789). 46.4 standing armies and German oppression Hanoverian rule (or, to Sir Arthur, German oppression) was maintained by standing armies; Robert Walpole, Prime Minister 1721–42, believed that a standing army of 18,000 was necessary, 6000 to hold London, 6000 to be garrisoned in Jacobite areas, and 6000 to be moved around to repel possible invasion. 46.7 cum toto corpore regni Latin with the whole body of the realm: see Virgil, Aeneid, 11.313. 46.10 in our own bowels slightly archaic phrase meaning‘in the inside of the body [politic]’. 46.15 Kilmarnock cowl woollen, conical skull-cap worn as nightgear or by indoor workers such as weavers (CSD). The hat suggests lower-class, presbyterian sympathies. 46.23–25 quarter-session ... general assembly ... convocation court of appeal held quarterly by justices of the peace...supreme court of the Church of Scotland consisting of an equal number of ministers and elders ... and, either, a meeting called by an English archbishop of the bishops and clergy within his province, or, the legislative body of the University of Oxford, consist­ ing of all with an Oxford MA. 46.25 Boadicea or Boudicca, British warrior, queen of the Iceni in East Anglia, who led a revolt against the Romans in ad 61, sacking Colchester, Verulam (St Albans) and London. On her defeat she committed suicide. 46.25 Amazon one of the mythical warrior women of Greek story and legend. 46.25 Zenobia Queen of Palmyra in Syria. She invaded Egypt and Asia Minor, but was ultimately defeated, captured by the Emperor Aurelian in 272, and displayed in triumph in Rome. 46.28–29 the history of Sister Margaret see Adam Ferguson, The His­ tory ofthe Proceedings in the case ofMargaret, commonly called Peg, only lawful Sister to John Bull, Esq. (1761), a political allegory against the opponents of the Scot­ tish militia bill (CLA, 21). Oldbuck paraphrases pages 67–68. 47.5–8 He came ... not to heal not identified; probably by Scott. 47.14 detest a drum like a quaker Quakers are pacifists.

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47.15

town’s common

i.e. the land belonging to the burgh, maintained for

the common good. Ni quito Rey, ni pongo Rey...as Sancho says I mar not the king, I make not the king: see Cervantes, Don Quixote, Part 2, Ch. 60. 47.33 scot and lot English law taxes. Oldbuck merely means he pays the taxes levied on him. 48.11–12 Piks ... Picts first mentioned in Latin literature in 296, and again in 306 by Eumenius in the phrase ‘Caledonum aliorumque Pictorum’ (of the Caledonians and other Picts), they were the inhabitants of the area north of the Forth. Pinkerton (see next note) said they were a tribe from the mouth of the Danube who used the various names ‘Peukè, Penkini, Pichtar, Peuchtar, or Pehten’ and who settled in eastern Scotland where the Romans called them Picts. 48.23 Pinkerton John Pinkerton (1758–1826), historian and antiquary. In An Inquiry into the History ofScotlandPreceding the reign ofMalcolm III(1789), he elaborates the theory that the Goths were the master race, and the Celts inferior. Scott describes the debate initiated by Pinkerton as ‘a controversy in which the most violent opinions have been maintained on the slightest authorities’ (Prose Works, 20.319). 48.24 Chalmers George Chalmers (1742–1825), antiquary and historian. The first two volumes of his most significant work, Caledonia, were published in 1807 and 1810, but Scott’s correspondence with him began in February 1796. 48.26 Sibbald see note to 28.40. In his views of the Picts, Pinkerton followed Sibbald. 48.27 Innes Thomas Innes (1662–1744), antiquary and historian. His A Critical Essay on theAncient Inhabitants ofthe Northern Parts ofBritain ...(1729) denies the existence of the legendary kings of Scotland (see notes to 38.30–31). Scott says that he provided ‘the first step to a calm investigation’ of early Scottish history (Prose Works, 20.307). 48.28 Ritson Joseph Ritson (1752–1803), antiquary and editor. He was strongly opposed to Pinkerton. His views are developed in his posthumous work, Annals ofthe Caledonians, Picts, and Scots; and ofStrathclyde, Cumberland, Gallo­ way, and Murray, 2 vols (1828). 48.32 Penval Bede (673–735) in his Historia Ecclesiastica Gentis Anglorum mentions that the Antonine Wall (the Roman wall between the Clyde and the Forth) ended at ‘Peanfahel’. A great deal of intellectual ingenuity was exercised on the meaning and etymology of this sole Pictish word; Scott summarises the arguments current in his own day in his review of Ritson (see note above) in Prose Works, 20.341–44. The meaning of the Latin phrase caput valli is as given: ‘the head of the wall’. 49.5 Britons of Strath Cluyd the people of the post-Roman kingdom of Strathclyde in SW Scotland and NW England which survived until the 11th century. 49.10–11 two knights see Sir Harry Beaumont (pseudonym for James Spence), Moralities (London, 1753). The story is that a certain trophy shield was gold on one side and silver on the other, and two knights, approaching from different sides, fought over what the shield was made of. 49.16 two steeples; one at Brechin, one at Abernethy two round towers (similar to those still seen in Ireland) in Brechin in Angus and Abernethy in Perthshire. 49.18 Castrum Puellarum Latin castle of the girls or maidens. The name was first applied to Edinburgh Castle in the time of David I in the 11th century. It has not been satisfactorily explained. 49.20–21 quasi lucus a non lucendo Latin as though a grove [were derived] from not shining. The phrase comes from the commentary of Servius

47.31

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471

(4th century ad) on theAeneid, 1.22, where he says that the Fates (Parcae) derive their name from an association of opposites quod nulliparcant (because they spare no-one), sicut lucus a non lucendo (just as a grove [is named from the fact that] there is no light [in it]). The tag is often ascribed to Quintilian (Ist century ad), but although he mocks the supposed etymology (Institutio Oratio, 1.6.34), he does not use these words. 49.22 list of the Pictish kings the names, with the exception of Eachan MacFungus, appear in the list of 53 Pictish kings in Henry Maule, The History of the Picts (1706), 72–74. However, even the exception is suggested by Maule for the 46th is Fungus and the 48th Egoachnen. 49.25 Mac, id est, filius Mac, that is, son [of] 49.42 Chronicles of Loch-Leven and Saint Andrews these are prob­ ably the Liber Cartarum prioratus Sancti Andree in Scotia (published by the Ban­ nantyne Club in 1841), and the registrum of St Andrews, lost since about 1660, both of which contain material from the 12 th to 14th centuries relating to the Augustinian Priory attached to the Cathedral of St Andrews, and to the culdees, i.e. the hermits, of Loch Leven, as well as lists of Scottish and Pictish kings. Sir Robert Sibbald (see note to 28.40) had a list of the contents of the missing book, which he communicated to Thomas Innes (see note to 48.27), and which was published by Pinkerton in his An Inquiry into the History ofScotland Preceding the reign ofMalcolm III (see note to 48.23). See Marjorie O. Anderson, Kings and Kingship in Early Scotland (Edinburgh and London, 1973), 54–58. 50.1 Robert Freebaim printer and bookseller in Edinburgh (died 1737). He was appointed the Queen’s printer in 1711, but in 1715 joined the Jacobite cause in Perth. 50.4 twelvemo copy of the Scots Acts Sir Thomas Murray of Glendook, Laws andActs ofParliament made by KingJames the First, and His Royal Successors, Kings andQueen ofScotland, 2 vols (Edinburgh, 1682–83). ‘Twelvemo’ has the same meaning as ‘duodecimo’: made from sheets ofpaper folded and cut to give 12 leaves. 50.24 Chronicle of Nuremberg Hartmann Schedel, Das Buch der Chroni­ ken und Geschichten (1493). This is the translation by George Alt of the Latin version, Liber Chronicarum, published in Nürnberg in July 1493. Scott owned a reissue of 1693 (CLA, 238). 50.34 Ragman-roll set of rolls in the Public Record Office in London in which are recorded the names of the Scottish nobles who paid homage to Edward I of England in 1296. 51.7 Round Table King Arthur’s knights sat at a round table; the sense here is that Sir Arthur feels that the very original of the orders of knighthood has been insulted. 51.17 Qui ambulat in tenebris, nescit quo vadat Latin who walks in darkness does not know where he is going; see John 12.35. 51.28 Bruce and Wallace Scottish patriots. William Wallace (c. 1270– 1305) the opposition against the attempt of Edward I to annex Scotland. He was captured in 1305 and sent to London where he was tried for treason and beheaded. Although Robert Bruce (1274–1329) paid homage to Edward I in 1296, he joined Wallace’s uprising. He was crowned king in 1306 and by 1307 he had cleared the English from Scotland (with the exception of Stirling Castle which did not fall until 1314). 51.36 a wilful man must have his way proverbial: see ODEP, 890, but the first example to be cited is from Rob Roy, 3.13.1–2. 52.5 has the black dog on his back is in ill-humour. The ‘black dog’ was once a spectral dog, or some evil spirit. 52.19 Seged, Emperor of Ethiopia see Samuel Johnson, The Rambler, no. 205, 3 March 1752.

472

52.33 52.42

EXPLANATORY NOTES

Humlock-know i.e. hemlock hill. turnpike road sanctioned by Act of Parliament and built by trustees

representing neighbouring landed interests. The roads were made of small stones covered with gravel which provided a smooth surface for coaches. The trustees were entitled to charge tolls, and the name is derived from the wooden or iron barrier that prevented free access to the road. Turnpike roads came late to Angus, Kincardine and Aberdeenshire, the first act for each county being passed in 1789, 1795 and 1796 respectively. 53 motto see George Crabbe, The Borough (1810), Letter 9, lines 210–15. 54.8 one penny sterling there were 2.4d. in 1p. 54.29 resting its huge disk upon the edge of the level ocean see ‘Historical Note’, 447. 54.34 massive congregation of vapours compare Hamlet, 2.2.302. 56.8 Halket-head an imaginary headland. The name means ‘Hawk-head’. 56.20 north-west wind see ‘Historical Note’, 447. 56.29 FallofFyers or Foyers, waterfall on the south side of Loch Ness, 165 ft high. 56.30 three feet a-breast compare the introduction to the ballad ‘Annan Water’ in Minstrelsy, 3.347: ‘The west wind blew a tempest, and, according to the common expression, brought in the water threefoot a-breast’. 56.31 Bally-burgh Ness Point an imaginary place. 56.36 northern extremity of the bay see ‘Historical Note’, 447. 57.2 Ratton’s Skerry not known to be a real spot, although the name suggests Rattray Head, near Peterhead. The word ratton means ‘rat’; a skerry is an isolated rock or islet in the sea, often covered at high tide. See ‘Historical Note’, 447. 57.16 for a’that’s come and gane in spite of everything. 58.2 as high as the mast of a first-rate man-of-war die largest kind of naval vessel, measured by the number of guns it carried. The Victory, a first-rate man-of-war, has a mainmast that rises 205 ft above the dockside in Portsmouth; she had 104 guns. 58.26 exposed ... to be slain by wild beasts pitting wild animals against people condemned as criminals became a major public spectacle in the Roman republic in the 1st century bc, and seems to have reached its climax in the first century after Christ. 59.8 Crummie’s-hom ‘Crummie’ is a familiar name for a cow. 60.18 Fowlsheugh i.e. ‘Birdcliff’: an imaginary place. There is now a bird sanctuary named ‘Fowlscleugh’ south of Stonehaven. 60.20 Dunbuy of Slaines rock near Cruden Bay in Aberdeenshire. In his lighthouse diary for July 1814 Scott writes: ‘One part of this scaur is called Dun Buy, being coloured yellow by the dung of the sea-fowls’ (Life, 3.139). 60.27 clear tempting o’Providence clear case ofputting God to die test. It is one of the commandments of God that ‘ye shall not tempt the Lord your God’ (Deuteronomy 6.16; see also Matthew 4.7, Luke 4.12). 60.32 De’il be in my feet exclamation the devil be in my feet. 60.37–38 let death spare the green com and take the ripe seethe prayer of Richard Cameron (who gave his name both to the Cameronian sect) before the skirmish of Ayrs-moss (1680) in which he was killed: ‘Lord, take the ripest, and spare the greenest’ (Robert Woodrow, History ofthe Sufferings ofthe Church ofScotland, 2 vols (1721–22), 2.141). 61.5 Tammie Norie puffin. 61.9 sea-mews’ clang see Milton, Paradise Lost, 11.835. 61 motto see King Lear, 4.1.74–77. 62.1 Haud a care take care. 62.7 Steenie Wilkes this character does not appear again; this may be

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Scott’s first attempt at naming Steenie Meiklebackit, but there is nothing in the passage to justify this. Wilks means ‘whelks’. 62.8 I’se warrant I’ll bet, I’ll be bound. 62.16 bouse up the kegs o’gin and brandy lang syne after the Union of 1707 English customs and excise were extended to cover the whole of Great Britain. The taxes were resented in Scotland, because they were new, and because they interfered with Scotland’s trade with Europe. Smuggling became endemic. The problem was cured by William Pitt in the 1780s by reducing the duties on specific items like imported spirits, and extending greatly the range of goods on which taxes were assessed. 62.42 beetling precipice see Hamlet, 1.4.71. 63.15 round guess fair idea. 63.16 Patmos island in the Ægean to which St John was banished. 64.1–2 great-coat... coat and waistcoat i.e. overcoat, jacket (the long jacket worn by 18th century gentlemen) and waistcoat. 64.4 haud a care o’ us exclamation have care of us. 64.6 down bye down there. 64.9 a naughty night to swim in King Lear, 3.4.110. 64.18–19 abjuration oath, and the Ragman-roll... Queen Mary see notes to 38.3–4, 50.34, 38.39. 64.26 respice finem, respice funem see The Comedy ofErrors, 4.4.39: ‘ “respice finem”, respect your end; or rather ... “Beware the rope’s-end” ’. 64.29 base proverb he that is born to be hanged shall never be drowned (Ramsay 84; Ray, 81; ODEP, 75). 64.29–30 a fico for the phrase The Merry Wives of Windsor, 1.3.28. Fico is Italian for a ‘fig’. 64.30 sus. per funem ... sus. per coll. Latin hang by a rope ... hang by the neck. Sus. is an abbreviation for suspendatur, ‘let him be hanged’, and coll, for collem, ‘the neck’. ‘Sus. per coll.’ is a judge’s order for an execution. 64.40 old Mocker, I must needs be friends with thee Love’s Labour’s Lost, 5.2.545. 65.5 rara avis Latin rare bird; prodigy. The whole line is derived from Juvenal, 6.165 : Tara avis in terris nigroque simillima cygno’, which means, ‘a rare bird in the land, most like a black swan’. 65.6 phoenix fabulous bird, only one ofwhich is supposed to exist at a time. 65.8 greybeard o’ brandy one or two-handled pitcher of brandy. 65.9 if his hair were like John Harlowe’s the meaning of this compar­ ison is not known. 66.6 strong possession see KingJohn, 1.1.39–40. 66.7–8 de’il a stride not a stride. 66.9 Sir William Wallace see note to 51.28. 66.22–23 dumosa pendere procul de rupe Latin to hang far over from the bushy cliff; see Virgil, Eclogues, 1.76. 66.26–27 suave est mari magno Latin it is pleasant when out on the open sea; see Lucretius (probably 94–55 bc), De Rerum Natura, 2.1, where the whole passage reads: ‘When out on the open sea the winds are lashing the waves, it is pleasant to watch from the shore another’s heavy toil’. 66.31–32 shathmont’s-length the distance from the knuckle of the little finger to end ofthe outstretched thumb, i.e about 6 inches (15 cms). Compare the English ‘shaftment’. Oldbuck’s etymology is wrong. 66.32–33 space allotted for the passage of a salmon act of William the Lion (reigned 1165–1214), determining that at all times there must be a free flow ofwater through dams etc. equal to the space required by a three-year-old pig to turn round in: assise Wilhemis regis, x, Acts ofthe Parliament ofScotland, 1.374.

474

EXPLANATORY NOTES

67.4 meo arbitrio in my opinion. 67 motto probably by Scott. 67.29 amang a’ the steery in all the commotion. 67.30 set away setoff. 68.12 perpend my words Henry V, 4.4.8. 68.21 making a wark making a fuss. 68.31 Monkbarns had devolved on an heir female

Monkbarns would be inherited by Oldbuck’s sister were he to die. 69.1–4 O, first they eated... O see‘Getup andBartheDoor’,in Ancient and Modern Scottish Songs, ed David Herd, 2 vols (Edinburgh, 1776), 2.159 (Child, 275). 69.4 de’il clink down wi’ that the devil take that 69.9 branched morning-gown see Twelfth Night, 2.5.44. Branched means ‘embroidered’. 69.33 Lord kens the time Lord knows how long. 69.35 gude safe us God save us. 70.13 anno domini Latin literally in the year of the Lord; Oldbuck means that his ale is a good, native product, not an import from foreign parts. 70.13–14 Wassia Quassia ‘quassia’ is a bitter infusion made from the bark or root of the South American shrub of the same name; ‘wassia’ is Old­ buck’s invention, probably on the analogy of‘wishy-washy’. 70.21 pain and dolour standard medieval and ballad collocation. 70.27–28 They are going... somewhat out of fashion compare Burns’s self-consciously antiquarian treatment of Halloween customs in ‘Hal­ loween’ (1786). 70.30 risk of being made a ghost yourself see Hamlet, 1.4.85. 70.31 Redcowl a ‘cowl’ is a close fitting cap. 70.33 trick of fence skill with a sword in self-defence. 70.37–38 rather walk with sir priest... valour see Twelfth Night, 3.4.259–60. 71.9 Tull the name is derived from the north-east pronunciation of‘till’, the impervious clay or subsoil. 71.10 law-plea between us and the feuars the cause of the litigation is not explained, but the case came before the Court of Session, and Oldbuck nearly lost because ofthe lack of some feu charter (the deed by which a superior grants possession of land to a feuar). 71.14 the Session the Court of Session, Scotland’s highest civil court. 71.18 the Fifteen the 15 judges of the Court of Session sitting together in the Inner House (see note to 12.32– 33); ‘in presence’ is the vernacular form of the Latin ‘in praesentia dominorum’, in the presence of the lords (i.e. the Lords of Session). 71.29 Aubrey John Aubrey (1626–97), antiquary and biographer. His Miscellanies (1696) is a compilation of stories and folklore. Oldbuck quotes from page 80 of the 2nd edition (1721)—a volume owned by Scott (CLA, 149). 71.31 exempli gratia Latin for instance. 72.2 ne’er be licket may the devil be beaten if. 72.8 common gude o’ the burgh burgh property and funds, often trans­ ferred by the crown to the burgh when the burgh received its royal charter, administered by councillors and magistrates for the benefit of the burgh and its people. 72.11 dead palsy stroke producing complete immobility or insensibility. 72.11 that vera day four years four years later to the very day. 72.18–19 side and wide long and large. 72.19 as mony plie o’t as any Hamburg skipper’s Griselda, living on the east coast of Scotland which had a large trade with Germanic and Scandinavian

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ports, would be well aware of the dress ofthe captain of a vessel from Hamburg. 72.23 country writer country lawyer. 72.27 Braes of Glenlivat in the southern area of Moray, and noted for its whisky. Gaelic was spoken in Glenlivet into the twentieth century. 72.40 keepit a Highland heart probably was brave, intrepid. 73.2–3 east-country tabernacle of a cabinet small, ornamented cabinet of eastern origin. 73.6 Tenues secessit in auras ... mansit odor Ovid, Fasti, 5.375–76: she vanished into thin air; the smell remained. The phrase is quoted by Aubrey with reference to the apparition mentioned above: see Miscellanies, 2nd edn (1721), 97 (CLA, 149). 73.11–13 Charter of Erection ... into a Lordship of Regality Scots law ‘a Lordship of Regality’ was an estate created by direct grant from the Crown. Such a grant carried with it all the civil and criminal jurisdictions for that estate, and excluded the jurisdiction of the royal courts. The charter is the royal document creating the lordship and granting the buildings and lands of the abbey to the Earl of Glengibber. After the Scottish Reformation in 1560 those with the power to do so frequently appropriated church property, and sub­ sequently sought charters from the crown to regularise their position. 73.14 Earl of Glengibber, a favourite ofJames the Sixth a fictitious tide. James VI (reigned 1567–1625) had a history of male ‘favourites’. He is also reputed to have had a tongue that was too large for his mouth, and this feature is reflected in the name, for to gibber means to speak inarticulately. 73.16 twelve-thirteen in England until 1752 the new year began on 25 March, while in Scotland from 1600 (and in most of the rest of Europe from the late 16th century) the new year began on 1 January. So in England the practice developed of giving both year numbers for the period 1 January to 24 March. 73.22 Saint Augustin 354–430, Bishop of Hippo in North Africa. But the story comes from Aubrey’s Miscellanies, 2nd edn (1721), 55–56 (CLA, 149). 73.24–25 Lord Bacon Francis Bacon, Lord Verulam and Viscount St Albans (1561–1626): ‘the school of Paracelsus and the disciples of pretended Natural Magic ... have exalted the power of the imagination to be much one with the power of miracle-working faith’ (The Proficience and Advancement of Learning (1605), Second Book, in The Works ofFrancis Bacon, 9 vols, ed. James Speddingand others (London, 1857–62), 3.381). 73.32 Reginald Elstracke Renold Elstracke (c. 1590–1630), considered to be one of the earliest British engravers, but he was probably trained in Germany. His work portrays many ofthe most important figures of his time, as well as imaginary portraits of the progenitors of King James VI and I. 73.34 Augsburg Confession drawn up by Luther and Melancthon (see notes to 86.38 and 85.11), and presented to the Emperor Charles V (see note to 85.13–14) at the Diet of Augsburg 1530. Although rejected by the Diet and the Emperor, it became the standard of faith of the Lutheran churches. It was first published in 1531, and over the next 50 years was issued in a number of versions; in 1580 the 1530 text was restored. 73.36 white witch one who uses magic for beneficent purposes. 73.41 quantum sufficit Latin as much as is needed. See Lucan ( ad 39–65), Bellum Civile, 6.52–53; Quintilian (1st century ad), Institutio Oratio, 4.2.46. 74.7 tales of Mesmer, Schropfer, Cagliostro Frederic Anthony Mes­ mer (1734–1815) discovered that an hypnotic state, involving insensibility to pain, may be induced. He fell into disrepute after a committee of French physicians reported on him unfavourably. J. G. Schröpfer (18th century) be­ came notorious in Saxony, then more widely in Europe, for exorcising spirits.

476

EXPLANATORY NOTES

Conte Alessandro di Cagliostro (1743–95) was the pseudonym of an Italian quack from Palermo who toured Europe promising everlasting youth to all who would pay him for his secret. 74.11 Scotch coilops savoury dish made of sliced veal, bacon, forced meat (a kind of highly seasoned mince used as stuffing) and other ingredients. 74.20–21 silver ... Harz mountains mining (probably for copper) be­ gan in the Harz mountains in the 16th century. 74 motto see W. R. Spencer, ‘The Visionary’, in Poems by the Hon. William Robert Spencer (London, 1811), 67: CLA, 201. 74.37 black japanned frame i.e. a frame with a very hard, shiny black varnish. 75.9–11 philosopher ... sobriety see Valerius Maximus (1st century ad), Facta et Dicta Memorabilia, 6.2.ext.1. In Valerius Maximus’s story it is a ‘woman of foreign blood’ who petitions Philip. 75.15–23 My eyes...behind see Wordsworth, ‘The Fountain’, in Lyrical Ballads, 2nd edn (1800), lines 29–36. 75.32 Mrs Grizzel Mrs (pronounced ‘mistress’) was a form of address to both married, and unmarried women of a certain age. 75.33–34 looms of Arras Arras, in northern France, was famous for the quality of its tapestries from the 14th to 17th centuries. 75 footnote ‘The Fountain’ was written in 1799, and thus could not have been heard by Oldbuck in 1794. But the fiction is based on an authentic incident. Scott heard John Stoddart reciting from memory ‘long specimens’ of the work of Wordsworth, Coleridge and Southey which had not yet been pub­ lished, among them ‘Christabel’, and this oral transmission influenced the composition of The Lay ofthe Last Minstrel (1805): see Poetical Works, 6.24. 76.9–15 Lo! here ... bright green see The Floure and the Leafe, lines 29–35. Formerly ascribed to Chaucer, the poem is now thought to have been composed by a woman in the 3rd quarter of the 15 th century: see The Floure and theLeafe, ed. D. A. Pearsall (London and Edinburgh, 1962), 14–20. 76.17–22 And many ... and nuts ate see Chaucer,‘The Book of the Duchesse’ (between 1367 and 1372), lines 427–32. 76.31 Augsburg Confession see note to 73.34. 76.39–42 Ah! cruel maid ... unkind see R. B. Sheridan, ‘Ah! cruel maid’, in John Aikin, Essays on Song-Writing; with a collection ofsuch English Songs as are most Eminentfor Poetical Merit, ed. R. H. Evans (London, 1810), 279: CLA, 175 (Corson). 77.5 hair-breadth scape see Othello, 1.3.136. 77.31–32 like dew-drops from the lion’s mane see Troilus and Cressida, 3.3.224. The play has ‘dew-drop’; the plural form is used by Charlotte Smith, The BanishedMan, 3 vols (London, 1794), 3.218 (Ch. 10) and by Crabbe in The Borough (1810), letter 11, line 70 (Corson). 78.3–4 baseless and confused visions compare The Tempest, 4.1.151. 78.6 syren one of the sirens, fabulous creatures that had the power of drawing men to their destruction by their song. They were represented as birds with the heads of women. 78.7 triton in Greek mythology a merman, son of the sea-god Poseidon, represented as fish-shaped from the middle down. 78.18 Ephialtes the name of the demon of nightmare in Greek mythology. 78.18 phantasmata illusions, dreams; compare Julius Caesar, 2.1.65. 79.15 burgo-masters of Rembrandt Scott is more likely to have seen etchings than portaits by Rembrandt (1606–69). There are several etchings of men with fur caps and 2 self-portraits: F. Longlois engraved the portrait of a man wearing a fur cap (possibly the artist’s father) in the first half of the 17th century.

EXPLANATORY NOTES

477

80.18–33 Why sit’st thou ... for ever probably by Scott. 80.36 such as his soul delighted in biblical phrase; compare Psalm

94.19; Isaiah 42.1, 55.2. 81.24–25 Scotch pint about three English pints (1.696 litres). 81 motto see Abraham Cowley, ‘Davideis’, 2.785–89, first published in

Poems (1656). 81.33 more majorum Latin after the custom of [his] ancestors. This is a common Latin phrase. 81.34 Mum kind of strong beer originally brewed in Brunswick. 82.3–4 breakfast more suited to modem taste Samuel Johnson wrote that breakfast was a meal in which the Scots excel: ‘The tea and coffee are accompanied not only with butter, but with honey, conserves, and marmalades’ (A Journey to the Western Islands ofScotland, ed. Mary Lascelles (1971), 56). 82.8 condescend on enter into particulars about. 82.28–29 be the consequence what likes whatever the consequences. 82.37 Gideon ... Midian Gideon was chosen by God to save Israel from the Midianites whom he defeated and pursued: see Judges 7.20–23. 82.37 Blattergowl name derived from the Scots words blatter, meaing ‘to talk volubly’, and gowl, meaning ‘to howl’. 82.42 matted-room presumably a room whose floor is covered in mats woven in straw or rushes. The implication is that it is a neglected room, not fit for visitors. 83.4 vervain and dill plants reputed to have magical and medicinal prop­ erties. 83.7 hypericon drug prepared from the shrub hypericum (StJohn’s wort). 83.19 Jamblichus or lamblichus, Syrian mystic (d. c. ad 325), author of De Mysteriis, a defence of magic. 83.23–24 With vervain ... will quoted by John Aubrey, Miscellanies, 2nd edn (1721), 147 (CLA, 149). But the quotation seems to be proverbial: compare Michael Drayton, ‘Nimphidia’, in The Battaile ofAgincart &c. (1627), 127. 83.29 but me no buts Susannah Centlivre, TheBusieBody (1709), 2.1. 83.38–41 it does allay... malefactor see Antony and Cleopatra, 2.5.50–53. To allay/ The goodprecedent means to ‘spoil the good which has gone before’. 84.6–7 Peter Wilkins Adventures Robert Paltock, The Life and Adven­ tures ofPeter Wilkins, A Cornishman (1751). Wilkins is shipwrecked in the Ant­ arctic and reaches a land where the inhabitants fly; Glum and Gawrie are flying men and women. 84.15–17 When courtiers ... no cold not identified; probably by Scott. 84.22 remora something causing a delay, here associated with the legal term mora, meaning ‘delay’. 84.22 mid impediment Scots law an event intervening between two events depriving the first of these events of the legal consequence it would have had if the mid impediment had not occurred. The term is derived from the medium impedimentum of Roman Law. The phrase is usually used in connection with titles to land; Oldbuck is therefore punning when he says there is some ‘mid impediment’ which he has ‘no title to enquire into’. 84.25–26 walk in the garden ... thinking being Andrew Plummer, Scott’s predecessor as Sheriff-Depute of Selkirkshire, ‘used to say that a walk from the parlour to the garden once a day was sufficient exercise for any rational being’ (Letters, 1.229). 84.28 in petto Italian in the breast, i.e. in mind. 84.29–30 controversy upon Ossian’s poems in Fragments ofAncient Poetry Collected in the Highlands ofScotland (1760), Fingal (1761), and Temora

478

EXPLANATORY NOTES

(1763), James Macpherson (1738–96) claimed to be publishing translations of poems by the 3rd-century poet, Ossian, which were still circulating orally in the Highlands. The poems were at first accepted enthusiastically in Scotland, but their authenticity became the subject of great controversy. An enquiry by the Highland Society, chaired by Henry Mackenzie, reported in 1805 that stories about Fingal did indeed circulate orally in the Highlands, but that there was no single source for any ofMacpherson’s works; he had produced a free translation of various pieces, and he had strung them together with materials of his own creation (CLA, 19). 84.30–31 acute Orcadian Malcolm Laing (1762–1818), born in Orkney, author of History ofScotland (1800), Volume 2 of which includes a dissertation against Macpherson and Ossian. He also produced an edition of Ossian and Macpherson: Poems of Ossian, &c., containing the Poetical Works ofJames Mac­ pherson, 2 vols (1805): CLA, 19. 84.33–34 old Scaliger Julius Caesar Scaliger (1484–1558), Italian scholar, well-known for his polemics and his vanity. He is ‘old’ Scaliger to distinguish him from his son Joseph Justus Scaliger (1540–1609), the greatest scholar of the Renaissance. 84.36 abstracted Antigonus i.e. the book that was stolen by Mac-Cribb. See 20.31 and note. 84.42 I’embaras des richesses French embarrassment of riches. Arlequin is a character in the play by d’Allainval, L’Embarras des Richesses (1725). He is a poor but light-hearted gardener, who is given a fortune by Plutus; he then becomes suspicious, bad-tempered and miserable, until he realises his own deterioration and returns the treasure. He marries the girl he loves and lives poor but happy. 85.6 Prythee, undo this button King Lear, 5.3.309. 85.10 Augsburg Confession see the next 4 notes, and the note to 73.34. 85.11 Melancthon Philipp Melancthon (1497–1560), Protestant re­ former and follower of Luther (see note to 86.38), was the person mainly responsible for the Augsburg Confession, presented to the Diet ofAugsburg in 1530. 85.12 Elector of Saxony Frederick III (1463–1525), Elector of Saxony. Frederick was sympathetic to Luther and his ideas: he founded the University ofWittenberg and invited Luther and Melancthon to teach there. He protected Luther when the latter was summoned to Rome in 1518, and after the Edict of Worms, which formally condemned Luther’s ideas and ordered the destruction ofhis works, provided him with a hiding place in Wartburg. Obviously he could not have defended the Confession of Augsburg as such. 85.13–14 powerful and victorious emperor Charles V (1500–58), Holy Roman Emperor (1519–56), and King of Spain, Naples and the Spanish Netherlands. In 1521 Charles convened the Diet ofWorms (see previous note). At the Diet of Augsburg (1530) he was presented with the Augsburg Confes­ sion drawn up by Luther and Melancthon, but the Diet confirmed the Edict of Worms. He was ultimately forced to concede the legality of Protestantism in the Peace of Augsburg (1555), and, unable to reconcile himself to the resulting situation, abdicated in 1556. The Augsburg Confession became the standard of faith of the Lutheran church. 85.16 Philip II 1527–1598, King of Spain, the Netherlands, Naples from 1556, Portugal from 1580, and husband of Mary Tudor who was queen of England 1553–58. In Spain he suppressed Lutheranism through the instru­ ment of the Inquisition, but in the Low Countries he attempted unsuccessfully to extirpate Calvinism by military means. In England the persecution of Protest­ ants began after his marriage to Mary Tudor in 1554. 85.22–23 diffusion of Christian and political knowledge Oldbuck

EXPLANATORY NOTES

479

makes a standard connection between printing, and the spread of Protestantism and political freedom. 85.26 firmness of mind ... recommended by Horace see Horace, Odes, 3.3.1. 85.28 presses... pica presses are the printing machines; fonts are the range of different types and type-sizes; forms are bodies of type secured together to print several pages on a sheet; great and smallpica are specific sizes and design of type. 85.32 Kunst macht Gunst German art wins favour. 86.7 sed semel insanivimus omnes Latin but we have all been mad once. See Johannes Baptista Spagnola (1448–1516), Eclogue, 1.118. 86.9 Fust Johann Fust (d.1466) advanced the money to Gutenberg to set up his press in Mainz c. 1450. Fust advanced more money in 1452 and entered into partnership with Gutenberg; but when Gutenberg was unable to repay the loans, Fust foreclosed (1455), and, with his son-in-law, Peter Shöffer, took control of and developed the business. A later confusion identified Fust with Faust. 86.11 his master’s daughter Peter Schöffer (see previous note) was in Fust’s employ in 1455, and married his daughter. 86.12 broke rings custom whereby lovers plighted themselves by breaking a ring, or other gold artifact, which would be rejoined on marriage. 86.21–22 Nurernburg Nürnberg, one of the centres of German humanism and printing in the 15th and 16th centuries. 86.26 sixteen armorial quarters i.e the shield is divided into four, and each quarter is divided into four. Such a coat-of-arms would indicate a long aristocratic pedigree. 86.38 Luther, Melancthon, Erasmus Martin Luther (1583–1546) initi­ ated the German Reformation in 1517 by nailing 95 objections to indulgences (indulgences offered people forgiveness of their sins if they bought one) to the church door at Wittenberg. For Melancthon see note to 85.11. Desiderius Erasmus (c. 1467–1536) was the foremost humanist of his era. His many editions and translations of the Bible revolutionised literary culture, and pro­ vided an intellectual basis for the Reformation. 87.7 arranging the types ... revise setting type was a highly skilled job, and required the compositors to read backwards and upside down. Imposing involved transferring the type to the printing press, securing it and arranging it so that it was possible to print hundreds or thousands of sheets. A triple revise is a fourth proof: the first proof is followed by a revise so a triple revise implies that there have been four proofs—a most unusual procedure, indicative of taking extreme care. 87.15 brown study state of abstraction or musing. 87.27 fronde super viridi on a bed of green leaves: Virgil, Eclogues, 1.80. 87.27–29 Sing hey-ho ... folly see As You Like It, 2.7.180–81. 87.32 no man’s hobby Oldbuck combines the older meaning of hobby, namely a ‘toy horse’, with the modern, namely a ‘favourite leisure pursuit’; the OED gives this use in The Antiquary as its first example of the latter meaning (hobby, 5). 87.34 world and worldlings base 2 Henry IV, 5.3.98. 8 87.3 Amen, amen, quo’ the Earl Marshal see ‘Queen Eleanor’s Confes­ sion’, stanzas 11,13,15, in Reliques ofAncient English Poetry, ed. Thomas Percy (Childe, 156). 87.43 sloping... to the south, and catching a distant view of the sea

see ‘Historical Note’, 447. 88.6–11 Heir... wyvis probably by Scott in imitation of medieval poetry. The lines would read in modern English: ‘Here lieth John of the Girnell

480

EXPLANATORY NOTES

[ ‘granary’ ],/ Earth has the nut and heaven the kernel./ In his time each woman’s hens sat on eggs,/ Each good man’s hearth was stoked with children,/ He dealt out a boll of barley [or bear] in five firlots,/ Four for holy church and one for poor men’s wives.’ There were 4 firlots in a boll. The line ‘Earth has the nut and heaven the kernel’ comes from the MS papers of Robert Mylne (d. 1747), in which Scott was working in 1815 and 1816: see Letters, 4.33–34,239–40, and 7.174–76 and note. 88.21 jog on to the yellow sands compare The Tempest, 1.2.375. 88.30 face which had devoured a thousand storms compare ‘Was this the face that Launcht a thousand ships’: Christopher Marlowe (1564–93), Dr Faustus, B-text, line 1768 (scene 18), in The Complete Works of Christopher Marlowe, ed. Fredson Bowers, 2nd edn, 2 vols (Cambridge, 1981), 2.220. 88.34–35 What are ye for the day What do you want today. 88.39 Four white shillings and saxpence 22½P. 89.2–3 It’s no fish ye’re buying–it’s men’s lives it has been suggested

that Scott borrowed the idea from Lady Nairne’s song ‘Caller Herrin’, but that was written about 1822. However, the song was probably traditional in origin, and the idea proverbial. 89.8 De’il gin not if. 89.8 the Bell-Rock rock in the North Sea, 12 miles SE ofArbroath. Scott visited the rock on his tour of Scottish lighthouses in 1814. 89.13 de’il a fit not a foot; i.e. I won’t move a foot towards Monkbarns. 89.14 has an unco close grip is very parsimonious. 89.24 the distillery’s no working distilling was temporarily prohibited by Act of Parliament in 1795 because ofgrain shortages due to bad harvests in 1794 and 1795. 89.32–33 the morn’s morning tomorrow morning. 90 motto see Richard Brome, Thejoviall Crew, or the Merry Beggars (per­ formed 1641), 2.1.2–6. Scott versifies prose, picking up specific words but altering the implications. 91.4 melo-drama in early 19th-century usage, a stage play with violent incidents and musical inerludes but which ends happily; hence a series of incidents resembling a melodrama. 91.7–8 at no rate on no account. 91.14 flagged parlour room with a floor of slabs of stone set apart for conversation, particularly with those from outside the house. 91.29 Cynic school school of philosophy founded in Athens in the 5th century bc, which later became known for its general contempt of worldly things. 92.26 to my hand to my liking. 92.34 licensed man privileged man, someone to whom liberty is allowed. 92.35 be ruled submit to guidance or authority. 92.36 na that sair failed yet not so worn out yet; compare Rhymes of Northern Bards, ed. John Bell (Newcastle, 1812), 258: ‘Thus says the auld man to the Aik tree,/ Sair fail’d, hinny, since I kenn’d thee’. (CLA, 175). 92.42 busks the laird’s flees prepares the laird’s flies for fly-fishing. 93.15 run himsel out a thought spent a bit. 93.25–26 between town and town between farm and farm. 93.42 Netherstanes the name means ‘Lowerstones’. 94.8 sneer awa drive away by sneers. 94.12 wanower came through. 95 motto see As You Like It, 3.5.91–92, 94–96. 95.29 good down pillow ... churlish see Henry V, 4.1.14–15. 96.6 swart spirit of the mine see Milton, Comus (performed 1634, published 1637), 436.

EXPLANATORY NOTES

481

96.7 Glen-Withershins withershins is an adverb implying moving ‘anti­ clockwise’ or ‘against the apparent direction of the sun’ ; to move this way was thought to invoke supernatural beings, with evil or unfortunate results. 97.40–41 terra firma Latin stable ground. 98.2 terra incognita Latin unknown land. 98.4 Dousterswivel a fictitious name. The first syllable should be pro­ nounced to rhyme with ‘house’, for on many occasions in MS Scott spells it ‘Dowsterswivel’. It comes from dowse, meaning ‘use a divining rod in search of water or minerals’, and swivel, meaning to ‘bend’ or to ‘twist’. 98.6 Dr H–—n James Hutton (1726–97), geologist. In A Theory ofthe Earth ( 1785 ) he argued that there were 2 kinds of rock, ‘volcanic-magmatic’ and sedimentary, and that through atmospheric weathering, and the action of heat and water, rocks were in a continuous process of evolution. 98.13 Kircher... ire Athanasius Kircher (1601–80), German Jesuit, philologist and physicist. The Latin quotation means: ‘They have art without art, a part without a part, of whom the medium is to lie, and their life to go begging’ ; it has not been located but is possibly from his Mundus Subterraneus

see Twelfth Night, 2.3.173. two parallel lines on a coat-of-arms drawn from the top left-hand quarter to the right-hand side ofthe base, indicating bastardy. 99.27 Milcolumbus Nothus Latin Malcolm the Bastard. 100.25 the chameleon is said to live upon the air see Hamlet, 3.2.91–92. 100.29 cito peritura Latin soon to perish. 100.40 teres atque rotundus of the poet Horace, Satires, 2.7.86 : [the wise man in himself wholly] polished and rounded. 100.42–43 state of mystical quietism and perfection form of reli­ gious mysticism consisting in passive devotional contemplation, with the extinc­ tion of the will and withdrawal from all things of the senses, associated with Miguel de Molinos (1640–1697). 101.7–8 heart... nether mill-stone see Job 41.24 : ‘His heart is as firm as a stone ; yea, as hard as a piece of the nether millstone’. 101.23 High German i.e. German, as opposed to Low German, which is a term used of Dutch and Flemish. 101.31 Illuminé person claiming special knowledge or enlightenment. But Scott may also have had in mind the German Illuminaten, a secret society founded by Adam Weishaupt in Ingolstadt in Bavaria in 1776. It had deistic and republican principles, and an organisation akin to freemasonry. Illuminés were said to be ‘by profession enemies to Monarchy’. 101.34 speak scholarly and wisely The Merry Wives of Windsor, 1.3.2. 101.38 magisterium philosopher’s stone, the master principle of nature for which the alchemists sought. 101.39 sympathies and antipathies occult qualities of attraction and repulsion said to explain various natural forces. 9 101.3 cabala name given in post-Biblical Hebrew to the oral tradition handed down from Moses to the rabbis, but which came to mean (as here) a secret system of magic or esoteric doctrine. 101.40 Rosycrucians members of a society supposed to have been founded in 1484 by one Christian Rosenkreuz but first mentioned in 1614, which claimed secret and magical knowledge about the transmutation of metals, pro­ longation of life, and power over the elements etc. 101.41 revived in our own it is not known what is referred to although generally the interest in the Gothic revived an interest in the mysterious. 102.2 Abon Hassan character from ‘The Story of the Sleeper Awakened’ 98.19–20 foul way out 99.22 bend of bastardy

482

EXPLANATORY NOTES

in TheArabian Nights Entertainments who is taken before the caliph while asleep and persuaded that he is the caliph when he wakes up: see Tales ofthe East, ed. Henry Weber, 3 vols (1812), 1.315–340 (CLA, 43). 102.2–3 scourge ... rods of scorpions see 1 Kings 12.11. 102.12–13 estate is strictly entailed an entail specified which descend­ ants could inherit heritable or real property, and prevented heirs from selling or giving away the whole or any part of it. 102.19 behold it is a dream see the concluding words of the first part of The Pilgrim’s Progress (1678), by John Bunyan. 102.31 Phœnicians a people of the eastern Mediterranean renowned as metal workers, traders and sailors, who flourished between the 10th and 4th centuries bc. Although they are reputed to have reached Cornwall there is no evidence that they did so. 103 motto see Romeo andJuliet, 5.1.1–5. 103.31–33 Si insanorum ... intelligo Marcus Tullius Cicero, De Divinatione (44 bc), 2.59: If faith in the visions of madmen must not be held, I do not understand why there should be trust in the visions of dreamers which are even more disordered. 103.34–37 Cicero also tells us ... future events paraphrase of earlier passage from De Divinatione, 2.59. 9 103.3 how this world is given to folly compare As You Like It 2.4.56. 103.41 Daniel see Daniel Ch. 2. 104.38 What make you from Wittenberg?... truant disposition see Hamlet, 1.2.164–69. 105.25–26 multifarious idolaters of the land of Egypt Egypt is rep­ resented in the Hebrew Bible as the place of luxury from which Israel must always escape. 105.27 the Golden Calf—the Mammon of unrighteousness i.e. materialism: see Exodus Ch. 32; Luke 16.9. 106.6 pressing to death, whipping, and hanging Measure for Measure, 5.1.520. 106.32 Antiquarian Repository

1775.

periodical founded by Francis Grose in

106.33–34 Hearne’s edition of Robert of Gloucester Robert of Glou­ cester’s Chronicle Transcrib’d, and now first publish’dfrom a MS. in the Harleyan Library (1724). The editor, Thomas Hearne (1678–1735), was a notable Jacobite; the Chronicle, supposedly written by Robert of Gloucester in the 13th century, recounts the history of England from the legendary King Brutus to Henry III. 106.36 Gentleman’s Magazine periodical founded in 1731 by Edward Cave (1691–1754) under the pseudonym Sylvanus Urban. It originally printed news digests but from about 1739 these were replaced by original contributions, reviews, essays and parliamentary reports. 106.37 ŒliaLelia Ælia Lælia Crispis is the unknown subject of a cele­ brated riddling inscription in Bologna: ‘Ælia Laelia Crispis/ Nec vir, nec mulier, nec androgyna/ Nec puella, nec juvenis, nec anus/ Nec meretrix, nec pudica;/ Sed omnia...’: neither man, nor woman, nor hermaphrodite/ neither girl, nor boy, nor old woman/ neither harlot nor virgin;/ but all of them. 7 106.3 (Edipus legendary king of Thebes who answered the riddle of the sphinx. The name is thus an appropriate nom-de-plume for anyone proposing to decipher the ‘Ælia Lelia’ inscription. 107.1 fugitive pieces pieces dealing with subjects of passing interest. 107.11 free ofdie corporation i.e. have all the freedoms ofpoets thought of as a guild or other privileged body. 107.16 No more of that an thou lovest me see 1 Henry IV, 2.4.274.

EXPLANATORY NOTES

483

107.31Palladio or Vitruvius Andrea Palladio (1508–80), the most in­ fluential architect of the Renaissance. He studied Roman architecture and in his buildings in Vicenza and Venice, and through his Quattro libri dell’ architettura (1570) he tried to recreate its splendour. Marcus Vitruvius Pollio (1st century bc) composed a treatise on architecture, De Architectura, which, rediscovered in 1414 and printed c. 1486, became one of the key works of Renaissance humanism. 107.36–37 after what flourish your nature will see Hamlet, 5.2.176. 108.3 Teucer the greatest archer among the Greeks attacking Troy; he used to shoot from behind the shield of his half-brother, Ajax (see The Iliad, 8.267). 108.11 divinus afflatus Latin divine inspiration: Cicero, De Natura Deorum (45 bc), 2.167. 108.21 invoke the Muse in ancient literature an epic always began with a request for the Muse’s help. 108.22 Abdiel see Milton, Paradise Lost, 5.896–907. 108.24 Galgacus or Calgacus, leader of die Caledonians or Picts against the Romans at Mons Graupius: see note to 28.21–26. 108.25 procession of the real Scottish monarchs compare Macbeth, 4.1. 112–124, and Scott’s poem The Vision ofDon Roderick (1811). 108.26 Boethius see note to 38.30–31. 108.28 Ossian, Macpherson, and Mac-Cribb see note to 84.29–30. 108.34 publish by subscription before publishing had developed ways to market books effectively it was often the custom to solicit promises to purchase a book prior to its manufacture, thus assuring publishers that their outlay would be covered. The list of subscribers would be printed in the volume. By the end of the 18th century the practice was outmoded. Compare Letters, 1.163. 109.17 ultra crepidam Latin literally beyond the sandal. Oldbuck uses a phrase from the Latin proverb, Ne supra crepidam iudicaret (literally, let him not make judgments above the sandal), to suggest that he has exceeded his powers. See Pliny the Elder, Naturalis Historia ( ad 77), 35.36.10; Kelly, 242; ODEP, 130, which quotes Kelly’s ‘Ne sutor ultra crepidam’ and remarks that ‘Erasmus is responsible for the bad ultra’. 109.18 hang expences—care killed a cat proverbial see Ray, 84; ODEP, 103. 109.22 analecta... collectanea literary extracts; passages or remarks gathered from various sources. Oldbuck uses literally what are now literary terms; originally the analecta was the slave who collected the crumbs which fell from the table, but by a process of folk etymology came to mean ‘things which have been picked up’, i.e. ‘extracts’. 109 motto probably by Scott. 110.1 Mailsetter literally person who conveys mail. 110.7 protested bills bills (roughly the equivalent of cheques now) which have been presented to a bank and on which payment has been refused. 110.10 Tuesday was a week Tuesday last week. 110.18 the secretary at Edinburgh i.e. the official in charge of posts in Scotland. 110.20 Shortcake literally biscuit made from butter, flour and sugar, mixed in proportions which make it ‘short’ or easily crumbled. 110.23 seal wi’ better wax letters were not usually sent in envelopes until the mid-19th century; until then the sheets of paper of the letter were folded and sealed with wax. 110.35 weird sisters ... pilot’s thumb Macbeth, 1.3.28–32. 110.36 Heukbane literally hipbone. 110.40 Taffril literally the upper part of the flat portion of a ship’s stern.

484

EXPLANATORY NOTES

110.41 John Tamson’s wallet a reference to a traditional song: John Tamson’s wallet frae end to end,/John Tamson’s wallet frae end to end,/ And what was in’t ye fain would ken,/ Whigmaleeries for women and men.’ See William Motherwell, Minstrelsy: Ancient and Modern (1827), Appendix, x. A wallet is a pedlar’s bag, but is also associated with a traditional singer’s repertoire; whigmaleeries are ‘whims’ or ‘fanciful notions’. 111.1 hand o’ writ handwriting. 111.9 the mom tomorrow. 111.15–16 sickness of heart.... hope delayed see Proverbs 13.12. 111.17 needle and a pole see Barton Booth (1681–1733),‘Song’; the second stanza reads: ‘True as the needle to the pole,/ Or as the dial to the sun;/ ... My life and love shall follow thee’. See Benjamin Victor, Memoirs ofthe Life ofBarton Booth (London, 1733), 43–45; and Thomas Campbell, Specimens ofthe British Poets, 7 vols (1819), 5.46 (CLA, 190). 111.24 pole at his door a striped red-and-white pole above the door formerly announced a barber’s shop. 111.34 wafers small discs made of flour and gum which when moistened could be used to seal papers and to receive the impression of a seal. This was a simpler way of sealing letters than lighting a taper and melting wax. 111.38 pride will hae a fa’ proverbial see Ray, 148; Kelly, 276; ODEP, 647.

111.43–112.1 the seal has the same things wi’ the Knockwinnock carriage i.e. they both bear the Wardour coat-of-arms. 112.5 sae close as how closely. 112.6 double letter letter of two sheets of paper, the postage on which

would have cost double. Postage was paid by the recipient. 112.7 frank signature of a member of parliament and certain others on a letter; there was no postage to be paid on letters so franked. 112.9–10 wad be broken ... sweetmeats i.e. Mrs Mailsetter habitually gives short measure. 112.12 make as mickle make as big a fuss. 112.17 Falkirk tryst in the 18th century a major cattle market at Falkirk where English buyers would purchase Scottish cattle to be driven south and fattened for the English market. 112.23 nick-sticks ‘A sort of tally generally used by bakers of the olden time in settling with their customers. Each family had its own nick-stick, and for each loaf as delivered a notch was made on the stick.’ (Magnum, 5.205). 112.25–26 sight for sore eyes proverbial: ODEP, 112.29 N. B. North Britain. 6 112.3 fourpenny cuts meaning uncertain; possibly cheap woodcuts, but it is not clear why Mrs Mailsetter would be making up the value to the post­ office if anything happened to them. 113.6–7 too, too solid wax ... dissolve itself see Hamlet, 1.2.129–130. 113.13 cry ben Baby call Baby [a servant] through to the sitting room. 113.32–33 will ye no be for sending won’t you think of sending. 113.36 ower bye over here. 113.39 we maun gie our ain fish-guts to our ain sea-maws proverbial we must give our own fish-guts to our own sea-gulls, i.e. we must look after our own. See Kelly, 118; Ramsay, 95; ODEP 418. 9 113.3 red half-guinea gold coin worth 10s. 6d. (52½p). 114.5 living and letting live proverbial: see Ray, 131; Ramsay, 98; ODEP, 473. 114.9 114.11 114.26

five-and-threepence 26p. dooms sweer to the road most unwilling to go. sybils... leaves prophetesses who in making predictions consulted

EXPLANATORY NOTES

485

collections of prophetic utterances which, according to Varro (116–27 BC), were written on palm-leaves. 114.31–32 bills ... protested see note to 110.7. 115.6 resurrection ... La Vendée the rising against the Revolution in France in La Vendée (near the mouth of the Loire) began in March 1793. 115.29 lifted up his voice and wept aloud see Genesis 27.38. The story follows Wordsworth’s ‘The Idiot Boy’. 115.30 pudder over his head see King Lear, 3.2.50. 115.39–40 Whae’s aught ye who do you belong to. 115.40 what na gate’s what sort of a way is. 116.36 the mom’s night tomorrow night. 116.40 dinna set your wit against a bairn see Jonathan Swift, A Com­ plete Collection ofPolite and Ingenious Conversation, in The Life and Works of Jonathan Swift, ed. Walter Scott, 19 vols (Edinburgh, 1814), 11.343, 427. 117.19–20 staying no longer question 2 Henry IV, 1.1.48. 119 motto 1 Henry IV, 2.2.16–9. 119.18 Friar’s chicken chicken broth with eggs beaten in. 119.23 clean gi’en up completely given up. 119.28 Tannonburgh a fictitious place. 120.15 hated greetings in the market-place see Mark 12.38. 120.19 sight o’ you’s gude for sair een proverbial: see ODEP, 732. 120.20 Sun London evening newspaper, supporter of Pitt and the Tories, founded in 1792. 120.20 great attempt i.e. invasion by France: see ‘Historical Note’, 446–47. 120.25 flower roots probably tulip bulbs. 120.26 Cologne gin i.e. smuggled gin; there is nothing significant in its coming from Cologne. 120.33 –34 bringing the water frae the Fairwell-spring although piped rather than well water had long been used in Scottish burghs (the first piped supply to Edinburgh was laid in 1609), there was a growing consciousness in the late 18th and early 19th centuries of the need to improve both the quantity and quality of water. 120.35–36 cut and carve carve. 120.38 auld stanes at Donagild’s chapel Scott here prefigures his own approach to building Abbotsford. The first portion of the present house was built in 1817–19, and for this he intended to ‘inveigle some of the carved stones ... from the tolbooth of Edinburgh’ (Letters, 4.286: 12 Nov. 1816). 120.43 Harlewalls harl is a mixture of sand and lime used to roughcast walls. 121.5 modern Gothic in a letter of 28 Dec. 1816 Scott wrote of the rebuilding of Abbotsford: ‘I have got a very good plan from Atkinson for my addition, but I do not like the outside, which is modem Gothic, a style I hold to be equally false and foolish’ (Letters, 6.323). 121.8 Ocrimini Latin O what an offence. 121.23 widows of the Scotch clergy in 1744, at the request of the Gen­ eral Assembly of the Church of Scotland, Parliament passed an Act making it compulsory for ministers of the church and professors of the four universities to contribute to a fund which would provide for their widows and orphans. The scheme had been prepared by three Edinburgh ministers, Robert Wallace, Alexander Webster and George Wishart, using data provided by parish minis­ ters. Although the Church of Scotland was justifiably proud ofwhat was the first superannuation scheme, contributions were low (the average stipend was about £150 per annum in 1808), and widows could be left with very small annuities to live on. 122.15–16 walk up come up stairs.

486

EXPLANATORY NOTES

122.17 make fashion make a show, pretend. 122.19–20 no that I might be just that neither

not that I could be quite

that. 122.23 galloping groom

man who looks after horses and who gallops

about or hunts. 122.26–27 Master o’ Morphie ‘presumably Robert Grahame of Mor­ phie in Kincardineshire, a gentleman of extravagant habits and member of a family noted for their love of good horses’ (The Antiquary, Dryburgh edition, [ed. Andrew Lang] (London and Edinburgh, 1893), 424). The ‘Master o’ Morphie’ would have been the eldest son. Morphie is 3 miles (5 km) north of Montrose. 123.23–24 brute ran two miles ... pack of hounds see Commodore Trunnion, in Tobias Smollett, The Adventures ofPeregrine Pickle (1751), Ch. 8. 123.32–33 equal to calling yourselves tailors allusion to the proverb ‘nine tailors make a man’ (ODEP, 567); i.e. to say one did not ride well would be to say one was less than a man. 123.33–34 crede experto Latin trust someone who knows from experi­ ence : see Silius Italicus ( AD 26–101 ), Punica, 7.395; compare Virgil, Aeneid, 11.283, and Ovid. Ars Amatoria, 3.511. 123.3 6 Sir——in the MS Scott wrote Sir W—–E——. He probably had in mind Sir William Erskine (1770–1813), who was captain, major and lieutenant colonel in the 15th light dragoons in 1793–94. 123.36–37 cavalry-action ... last year possibly the cavalry charge at Villiers-en-Couche in May 1793. 123.39 armipotent mighty in arms, a standard epithet for Mars, the God of War. See Love's Labours Lost, 5.2.636–37. 123.41 covinarii Tacitus, Agricola (AD 98), 35. 124.3 turnpike roads see note to 52.42. 124.18 vale of Bacha valley of tears: see Psalm 84.6. 124.18–19 hew out to ourselves other reservoirs see Jeremiah2.13:my people ‘have forsaken me the fountain of living waters, and hewed them out cisterns, broken cisterns, that can hold no water’. 124.25 Hæc data pæna diu viventibus see Juvenal, Satires, 10.243: this punishment is given to those who live for a long time. 124.29 cram these words ... sense see The Tempest, 2.1.100–01. 124.38 vacare musis Latin have time for the muses: see Martial, 11.1.6. 125.9 Hotspur the name given to Harry Percy because of his impetuosity: see 1 Henty IV. 125.11 Almanzor extravagant knight in Dryden’s The Conquest of Granada (1670). 125.11 Chamont irritable soldier who is always giving or taking offence in Thomas Otway, The Orphan (1680). 125.14–15 I will keep him at staff’s end proverbial at a distance: see ODEP, 769; Twelfth Night, 5.1.276. 125.18 set up your staff set up your tent, i.e. take up your abode. 125.38 substitute heirs of entail the instigator of an entail was called the ‘institute’ and subsequent heirs ‘substitutes’; see also note to 102.12–13. 126.19 St Ruth’s priory although frequently identified with the Abbey of St Thomas, Arbroath, founded by William the Lion in 1178, this is a fictional place. Ruth features in the Old Testament, but there is no saint of that name. 126.22 party of pleasure pleasurable social gathering. 126.23 turnpike-gate gate to prevent free access to a turnpike road (see note to 52.42) and to gather tolls. 126.33 Bucephalus horse ofAlexander the Great, Alexander III ofMace­ don (356–323 BC).

EXPLANATORY NOTES

487

126.34 eighteenpence a side i.e Oldbuck is advising Lovel to hire rather than purchase his horse. 126.40 Tirlingen a fictional name; to tirlmeans to ‘cause to spin or rotate’. 127 motto see George Crabbe, TheBorough (1810), Letter 4, lines 134–35, 140–43. 127.27 buzz wig large bushy wig. 127.28 cocked hat three-cornered hat with the brim permanently turned up. 127.30 ramilies wig with a long plait behind tied with a bow top and bottom. 127.31 bob-wig wig having bottom locks turned up into bobs or short curls. 128.3 smoking bays i.e. bay horses, who because it is July are here prob­ ably raising fine dust rather than steaming. 128.26 hedge inn inferior, third-rate inn. 129.7 uninclosed i.e. without hedges or dykes, implying that it is not in cultivation, and that it is probably used as common pasture. 129.38–40 I know ... side see Milton, Comus (performed 1634; pub­ lished 1637), 311–13. 129.43 hors de propos French untimely, inopportunely. 130.5–8 So sinks ... forehead see Milton, ‘Lycidas’ (1638), lines 168–171. 130.24 its parent lake see Tobias Smollett (1721–71), ‘Ode to Leven Water’, line 17; Robert Fergusson (1750–74), ‘The Author’s Life’, line 10; Ann Grant of Laggan (1755–1838), ‘The Highlanders’, Part 4, in Poems on Various Subjects (1803), p. 60 (Corson). 130.41 Montrose’s wars James Graham (1612–50), first Marquis of Montrose, was a strong supporter ofthe National Covenant, but changed sides and in 1644–45 fought a brilliant but savage military campaign for the King, Charles I, during which he sacked Aberdeen. 131.20 days of darkness Oldbuck, like many of his time, believes that the middle ages constituted an age of ignorance and superstition. 131.29 Leland John Leland (c. 1503–52), English antiquary. He claimed to have received a commission in 1533 to search the monastic and collegiate libraries for old authors. He left a mass of notes which were edited by Thomas Hearne (1678–1735) and published in 9 volumes as The Itinerary ofJohn Leland the Antiquary (1710–12). Scott possessed the 3rd edn (1770): CLA, 233. 131.30 Rachel weeping for her children Jeremiah 31.15; Matthew 2.18. 131.32 Heytesbury’s sophisms ... Porphyry’s universals ... Aris­ totle’s logic ... Dunse’s divinity all important contributions to medieval

scholasticism. William Heytesbury (14th century) was an Oxford logician, and author ofSophismata. Porphyry (3rd century) was a neoplatonist, and author of many philosophical works including a History ofPhilosophy. Aristotle (384–322 BC) was the author of On Logic, and had the greatest influence on medieval thought. Duns Scotus (c. 1266–1308) was a Scotsman who lectured in Oxford, Paris and Cologne; his work criticises Aquinas, and Aristotle as interpreted by Aquinas. Oldbuck argues that works of scholasticism could have been used as wrapping paper without loss, but not so the chronicles. 131.43 John Knox (c. 1513–72), the principal figure of the Scottish Re­ formation. Knox has been held responsible for the destruction ofpre-reforma­ tion churches and manuscripts, and this remains his popular reputation. Although much looting took place in the revolution of 1559–60, the Protestants were ‘responsible for only a small part of the destruction ofthe Scottish ecclesi­ astical buildings’, and ‘there are no recorded cases of wanton destruction of

488

EXPLANATORY NOTES

manuscripts’ by them (Jasper Ridley, John Knox (Oxford, 1968), 330–31). 132.2–3 woodcock caught in his own springe proverbial: see ODEP, 768; Hamlet, 1.3.115 and 5.2.298. 132.25 magia naturalis Latin natural magic, i.e. those phenomena which could be produced by knowledge ofthe properties of matter. The phrase is the title of the first part of Cornelius Agrippa’s De Occulta Philosophia (1531–33). 132.27 parsonage and vicarage originally teinds or tithes due to a parson (someone who holds a parish with full possession ofits rights and benefits) and to a vicar (someone who represents the parson or a religious house in a parish). In Scotland in the 18th century both were a tax upon certain lands payable in kind (wheat, barley, oats, and peas in the case of parsonage teinds, and grass, kale, carrots, calves, lambs, butter, cheese and fish in the case of vicarage teinds), and from 1633 both were used to maintain the parish minister. 132.30–31 paradise where no Eve was admitted compare Andrew Marvell (1621–78), ‘The Garden’. 133.13 –14 great overshadowing tree of iniquity ... seven hills of abomination i.e. the Roman Catholic Church which is centred on the 7 hills

of Rome. 133.29 hand of glory the best description is provided here. It is a supersti­ tion that developed from an 18th-century popular etymology for the French ‘mandragore’, the mandrake, from ‘mandegloire’. 134.7 Westphalia region of northern Germany. 134.13 knights of the Rosy Cross see note to 101.40. 134.19–21 Schrœpfer... Freygraff... Blunderhaus in German schroepfen means ‘to fleece’, Freygraffcombines the words for a baron and a count, and Blunderhaus is a mixture of English and German meaning ‘blunder house’. 134.22 Seeing is believing proverbial: see Ray, 155; Kelly, 298; ODEP, 710. 134.29–30 Queen Mab the fairy midwife who gives birth to dreams; the word queen means ‘woman’. 134.31 sympathies ... antipathies occult powers which attract like people or substances or qualities to each other, or repel the dissimilar. 134.32–33 diviningrod used to discover metals as well as hidden sources ofwater. In Scott’s day its properties were doubted, and those who used it were often thought to be imposters: ‘The Virgula divina, or Baculus divinatorius, is a forked branch in the form of a Y, cut off from a Hazel Stick, by means whereof people have pretended to discover Mines, Springs, &c. under ground’ (John Brand, Observations on PopularAntiquities, rev. Henry Ellis, 2 vols (1813), 2.623. 135.1 no very productive art in our country presumably Oldbuck means that there is no merit in finding water in a wet country like Scotland. 135.3 Inquisition in the Roman Catholic Church a tribunal set up in the 13th century for the suppression of heresy and the punishment of heretics. 135.3–4 Auto-da-fe literally judicial sentence or act of (the) faith; judicial sentence ofthe Inquisition, or execution ofthat sentence especially involving the burning of a heretic. 135.6 cast away their coals waste their coal. 136.14 cat and nine tails whip with nine knotted lashes, until 1881 used for punishment in the British army and navy. 136.28 London particular Madeira probably a name coined by a mer­ chant or shipper to describe his wine. Madeira is white wine produced in the island of Madeira off the NW coast of Africa. 136.30 fronde super viridi Latin on a bed of green leaves: Virgil, Eclogues. 1.80. 136 motto Milton, Paradise Lost, 2.943–47.

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489

136.34 Gryphon ... Arimaspian story from Herodotus (3.116) in which the Arimaspians, a legendary, one-eyed people from the far north, fight the griffins who guard a hoard of gold. 137.4 brethren ofyour association i.e. Rosicrucians: see note to 101.40. It is not known what the ‘late discoveries’ are. 137.10–11 Goethe or Wieland Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832), the great German Romantic writer, and Cristoph Martin Wie­ land (1733–1813), author of historical romances and other romances, and of the verse fairy-tale Oberon (1780). Both were deeply conscious of the emotional and irrational in human behaviour. 137.23–24 lest he should be suspected of reading his sermons one of the Protestant objections to the unreformed church was the gabbling of set prayers and services; thus many Protestant churches came to put great emphasis on spontaneous prayer and preaching. 137.33 The Fortunes of Martin Waldeck in the Magnum (6.249–50) Scott says: ‘The outline of this story is taken from the German, though the author is at present unable to say in which of the various collections of the popular legends in that language, the original is to be found’. The source has not been traced, but is probably one of the legend texts published between 1780 and 1800, before the Brothers Grimm. There was a family called Waldeck engaged in copper mining in Germany in the 16th century and so this story is mytholo­ gised history. 137.34 Harz forest mountain area in northern Germany. 137.35 Blockberg, or rather Brockenberg highest point in the Harz forest (1132 metres). 138.1 tutelar dæmon guardian spirit. The description of the demon as a ‘wild man’ draws on traditions ofmen growing up remote from society, and free of its restraints; see Timothy Husband, The Wild Man (New York, 1980). It wears ‘oak leaves’ because the oak was a sacred and potent tree. 138.3 pine tom up by the roots compare the description of Satan’s spear in Paradise Lost, 1.292–94: ‘His spear, to equal which the tallest pine/ Hewn on Norwegian hills, to be the mast/ Of some great ammiral, were but a wand’. 138.8 optical deception known as the Brocken spectre, an illusion created by particular atmospheric conditions where one’s own shadow is projected on to fog. 138.11 earth-born powers in hermetic and neo-Platonic tradition there were 4 elements, Earth, Air, Fire, and Water, with elemental creatures associ­ ated with each. Those associated with earth were supposed to guard the treas­ ures of the earth. 138.26 Luther see note to 86.38. 138.27 Charles V see note to 85.13–14. 138.33 Baalpeor, Ashtaroth heathen deities: see Numbers 25.3; Judges 2.13 etc. 138.33 Beelzebub identified with the devil and described in Matthew 12.24 and Mark 3.22 as ‘the prince of the devils’. 138.35 Tophet hell: see Isaiah 30.33. 139.14 Ecbert of Rabenwald ... black steed a fictitious character. The placename means ‘bad forest’ or ‘bad wood’. In folk memory many historical characters considered bad are said to have had a black horse given them by the devil. Compare the description of Claverhouse fighting the Covenanting army in The Tale of Old Mortality, 142. 139.20 Elector i.e. the Elector of Hanover. 139.38 Blaize the name is appropriate; e.g. the neighbouring Braun­ schweig (Brunswick) cathedral is the Blasius-dom. Blaize is also a Scottish form of‘blaze’, a fire.

490

EXPLANATORY NOTES

140.1 a much Greater i.e. God. 141.12 All good angels praise the Lord

see Psalm 148.2: ‘Praiseye him,

all ye angels’. 142.8 Muhllerhaussers i.e. the ‘Millhouses’. 142.13 work in the fire not identified. 143.7 wedding of Hermes with the Black Dragon the god of alchemy and

other mysteries, and Satan. 144.6

patent of nobility

document, usually granted by a sovereign, en­

nobling the recipient. 144.17 144.37

Deep calls unto Deep see Psalm 42.7. reigning Duke of Brunswick hereditary ruler of the German

state of Brunswick (Braunschweig) in northern Germany. 144.38 free and honourable descent i.e. of gentle and high-ranking birth. 145.5–6 defending himself like a lion proverbial; compare ODEP, 72. 146.13 lapsed fief lands granted by a superior which revert to the superior because of the failure of the recipient to claim or exercise the grant. 146 motto see Thomas Middleton and William Rowley, A Fair Quarrel (published 1617), 1.1.151–55. 146.32–33 Ibear... to start see [T. J. Mathias], The Pursuits ofLiterature: A Satirical Poem in Four Dialogues, 6th edn (1798), 4.73–74: ‘No German nonsense sways my English heart,/ Unus’d at ghosts and rattling bones to start’ (Corson). 147.7 Hector, son of Priam Trojan hero in Homer’s The Iliad, eldest son of Priam, King of Troy. The name became a synonym for a warrior. 147.8 From Fife, my liege see Macbeth, 1.2.49. 147.32 cavaliere serviente Italian man who devotes himself wholly to attendance on a lady as her professed slave, out of love or gratitude. 148.9 massive Saxon in the 11th and 12th centuries in northern Europe, architecture featuring round pillars, now known as Norman or Romanesque. 148.10 florid Gothic i.e. the decorated styles of the 14th and 15th cen­ turies in northern Europe. 148.10–11

composite architecture ofJames the First’s time

Old­

buck considers Jacobean architecture to be eclectic, drawing on styles of many periods. 148.26 schools of Oxford the Schools Quadrangle, rebuilt in 1613–18, now the Bodleian Library, is entered by a gatehouse with a tower above bearing the five orders of architecture. 148.28 five orders of architecture in classical architecture a column with a base, shaft, capital and entablature, decorated and proportioned in accordance with one of the accepted modes: Doric, Tuscan, Ionian, Corinthian, and Composite. 148.40 Solomon’s temple the temple in Jerusalem built by King Solomon; see 1 Kings Ch. 6, and 2 Chronicles Chs 2–4. 148.41 patience on the heat of his distemperature see Hamlet, 3.4.123–24. 149.5 savoir faire knowledge of the world. 149.7– 8 starting like a war-horse at the trumpet sound see Job 39.24–25. 149.10 late publication on Scottish architectural antiquities not identified, and probably fictitious, as Arbroath Abbey, on which the fictional Priory of St Ruth is said to be modelled, was founded in 1178 by William the Lion, who is buried there. 149.18–19 cum decimis ... separatis freely translated the Latin de­ scribes grants of lands, the feu duties for which were ‘inclusive of tithes ofboth vicarage and grain [i.e. parsonage: see note to 132.27] as they had not

EXPLANATORY NOTES

491

previously been [accounted for] separately’. Before the Reformation in 1560, church lands were not liable for teinds (tithes); those who appropriated or came into possession of these lands later argued that these lands were exempt from teinds, and that teinds should not be assessed on them. 149.21 Tiend Court from 1707 the Court of Session sat as the Teind Court on alternate Wednesdays during the law terms, and settled matters concerning ministers’ stipends, teinds, church buildings and manses, parish boundaries etc. 149.22 localling his last augmentation of stipend charging and appor­ tioning an increase in the minister’s stipend (i.e. salary) among the heritors who were the proprietors in a parish responsible for paying the minister, among other things. 149.35 gules with a sable fess heraldry red with two black horizontal lines across the middle. 149.36 battle of Vernoil Battle of Verneuil (1424), 60 miles (100 kms) west of Paris, in which England inflicted a devastating defeat on a French and Scottish army, thus securing its control of north-western France. 149.41–150.3 Decreet of certification ... mere evasion Scots Law ‘decreet of certification’ is a judicial decision of what is required of someone. The teinds of a parish were one fifth of the rentals of a parish (i.e. the amounts paid in rent to the owners of the land: owner-occupation was comparatively rare). When a minister wished to have an augmentation of stipend (i.e. increase in salary), he had to show that there was free teind, i.e. that teinds of the parish were not already wholly committed to the maintaining the minister. In this case the court has called upon the heritors (the proprietors of the parish) to agree the figures put forward by the minister, and has said that the heritors would be ‘held as confessed’, i.e. that these figures would be held to be correct, if no reply was received. After the due date had passed, and the minister’s argument had apparently been conceded (‘the proof seemed to be held as concluded’), the heritors’ lawyer asked for the case to be re-opened. Their purpose was to show that it was the practice to take the ewes to lamb on teind-free land (see below) and that a bigger portion of the rentals ofthe parish were therefore attributable to teind-free land. 150.3 tiend-free land before the Reformation, the practice arose of giving feus on church land; the implication here is that such a feuar claims that he is exempt from teinds because his land was formerly owned by the church and teinds were not payable on church lands. 150.42 what an if was there compare Julius Caesar, 3.2.190: ‘O, what a fall was there, my countrymen!’ 151.9 pedigree of fifteen unblemished descents traceable ancestry through fifteen generations. The ‘unblemished’ probably implies that the des­ cent has been direct from father to son. By repute Highlanders had long pedi­ grees to compensate for their lack of wealth. 151.43–152.1 I am schooled—good manners be my speed see 1 Henry IV, 3.1.190. 152.9 upon the tapis literally on the table-cloth, i.e. under discussion, from the French, ‘sur le tapis’. 152.19 number of the regiment a system of numbering regiments was introduced in 1751; numbers were replaced by names in the 1880s. 152.28 his family i.e. the staff of a high-ranking military officer. 153.5 Have we got Hiren here ? see 2 Henry IV, 2.4.151, and 165. In the play, the quarrelsome and bullying Pistol draws his sword saying ‘Have we not Hiren here’; he follows tradition in calling his sword after a beauty, here the heroine of a lost play by George Peele (1556–96), The Turkish Mahomet and Hiren the Fair Greek. Hiren, or Irene, was the mistress of Sultan Mahomet II,

492

EXPLANATORY NOTES

and later beheaded by him; she is the heroine of Samuel Johnson’s tragedy Irene (written 1736, performed 1749). 153.5 We’ll have no swaggering see 2 Henry IV, 2.4.69–74. 154.4 coral and bells toy made ofcoral with attached bells, intended to help infants in cutting their teeth. Compare Joseph Addison, The Spectator, no. 1 (1711), 2: ‘I would not make use of my Coral till they had taken away the Bells from it’. 154.6 æquam servare mentem Latin to keep a calm mind: see Horace, Odes, 2.3.1–2. 154.18 Meiklewame the name means ‘big belly’. 155.22 as though your neck were upon the wager as though your life were at stake. 155.25–26 glove... down throwing down a glove was the standard medi­ eval form of issuing a challenge to combat. 155.26 take order take measures or steps. 155 motto see Thomas Middleton and William Rowley, A Fair Quarrel (published 1617), 3.1.20, 22–26. 157.32 road stead place near the shore where ships may conveniently lie at anchor. 158.5 in the present like Cain i.e. in the present world like Cain, who was the first murderer, killing his brother Abel: see Genesis 4.3–15. 158.40 from before the mast literally sailor who is berthed in the fore­ castle in front of the mast; said of one who enters the navy as an ordinary seaman and rises to be an officer. 159.24 caulking a shothole nautical expression meaning to staunch a wound caused by shot. 160.14–15 old thorn ... moss-grown compare Wordsworth, ‘The Thom’ (1798), lines 12–14: ‘it is o’ergrown,/ With lichens to the very top,/ And hung with heavy tufts of moss’. 160.19 father Adam traditional address to an old man, Adam being the first and thus the oldest of men. 160.37 the troubled spirit ghost which because of some sin, or some violence done to it while alive, haunts a particular spot. 160.43 whatever puir folk may be left thereout no matter that poor folk may be left outside. 161.12–13 light o’ the tongue talkative, indiscreet. 161.14 fugie warrant for debt popular name for a warrant preventing a debtor from running away. A creditor who had reason for thinking that a debtor intended to evade payment by fleeing from Scotland (‘in meditatione fugae’: in contemplation of flight) could apply for a warrant imprisoning him until he could find security for his promise to appear at the hearing of the creditor’s action for recovery of the debt. 161.23 the42d see note to 14.16. 161.25 interrorem Latin so as to produce fear, i.e. in order to frighten. 161.27 Haud down laydown. 161.41 lovely works of God ... lang account compilation of biblical phrases rather than quotation or quotations. The phrase ‘lovely works of God’ recalls the Psalmist’s ‘wonderful works of God’ (Psalms 40.5, 78.4, 107.8, 111.4); for ‘lovely’ compare Philippians 4.8. The ‘law of God’ is a standard biblical phrase. For ‘houses and cities... clay and dust’ compare Job 4.19. For ‘by the quiet waters’ see Metrical Psalm 23.2. 162.3 lang account final account before God on the day of judgment. 162.19 bloody arbitrament see Twelfth Night, 3.4.249; King Lear, 4.7.96. 162.25 forget and forgive proverbial: see ODEP, 281. 162.42–43 your blood be on your heads you must accept responsibility if

EXPLANATORY NOTES

493

your own blood is shed. A biblical phrase: compare Joshua 2.19. 163.24 out bye yonder over there. 163.25 out and alack exclamation expressing sorrow or reproach. 164 motto see Thomas Dekker, The Wonder ofa Kingdom (1636), 1.4.71–76. 164.29–30 blood-guiltiness the word is used once in the Authorised Version, in a well-known passage from Psalm 51: ‘Deliver me from blood­ guiltiness, O God, thou God ofmy salvation: and my tongue shall sing aloud of thy righteousness.... For thou desirest not sacrifice; else I would give it: thou delightest not in burnt offering. The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit: a broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not depise’ (Psalm 51.14–17). 165.15 Gorton, near Roslin 12 kms south of Edinburgh on the River North Esk. 165.26 no to so as not to. 165.29–30 wad up would get up. 166.4 what for why. 166.10 see after look after. 166.16–17 as he wad ... as I wad he would ... I would 166.19 daft days time of fun. 166.19 vanity biblical word used repeatedly in the Authorised Version to indicate that all man’s actions, desires and objectives are worthless, useless, and pointless. 166.32 an anes if once. 166.42 the breath of man, whilk is in his nostrils see Genesis 2.7: ‘And the Lord God formed man ofthe dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul’. 167.1 seen the evil o’ his ways biblical phrase; e.g. compare Zechariah 1.4: ‘turn ye now from your evil ways, and from your evil doings’. 167.2 promise atween the twa boards o’ the Testament God’s promise in the New Testament of everlasting life. 167.8 howlit crying out of the ivy tod ... moonlight see Coleridge, ‘The Rime ofthe Ancient Mariner’(1798, rev. 18oo)lines 535–36:‘When the ivy-tod [ivy-bush] is heavy with snow,/ And the the owlet whoops to the wolf below’. Compare also Thomas Gray, ‘Elegy Written in a Country Church-yard’ (1751), lines 9–10: ‘from yonder ivy-mantled tow’r/ The mopeing owl does to the moon complain’. 167.11 shirra’s-officers and constables sheriff officers were appointed by the sheriffto serve court orders etc., while constables were appointed by the magistrates in burghs and justices of the peace in the counties. 167.13 king’s keys Scotslaw ‘the crow-bars and hammers used to force doors and locks, in execution of the king’s warrant’ (Magnum, 5.305). 167.14 lauded be grace may God be praised. 167.16 badge see note to 30.31. 167.18 bowls may a’ row right proverbial bowls may all run right; i.e. all may go right. 167.22 crown o’the causey highest point ofa paved street; those who keep to the ‘crown o’ the causey’ are indicating their superior status. 167.29 lang-breathed generation people capable of being in action for a long time without being out of breath. 167.31caller as a kail-blade cool and fresh (literally fresh as a cabbageleaf). 168.1 step awa’ take a short walk. 168.2 lees is made on them lies are told about them. 168.6 bymycertie most assuredly. 168.20 St Michael and the dragon see Revelation 12.7–9, and Milton,

494

EXPLANATORY NOTES

Paradise Lost, Book 6. Michael was an archangel and leader of the heavenly host which cast Satan (the dragon) out of heaven. 168.32 maistaye usually. 169.5 mirth, and frankincent myrrh and frankincense are two of the gifts of the Wise Men to Jesus: see Matthew 2.11. See also Song of Solomon 3.6. 169.8 I wonder if that was acceptable in the aftermath of the Reforma­ tion certain Protestant churches (including the Church of Scotland) came to believe that music and church ceremonies prevented a direct communion ofthe people with God. 169.9–10 is an abomination to me Isaiah 1.13. See verses 11, 13–14: ‘To what purpose is the multitude ofyour sacrifices unto me ? saith the Lord: I am full of the burnt offerings of rams, and the fat of fed beasts; and I delight not in the blood of bullocks, or of lambs, or of he goats.... Bring no more vain oblations; incense is an abomination unto me .... Your new moons and your appointed feasts my soul hateth: they are a trouble unto me; I am weary to bear them’. 169.16–17 door of the chancel... west end of the building this is not clearly formulated as the chancel is in the east end of a church although the door to the nave would be in the west end of the chancel. But if as in Melrose Abbey the church were partly a ruin, the door of the chancel could be in the west end of the remaining part of the building. 169.21 weary pilgrimage life: see Scottish Paraphrases (1781), 2.1. 169.30 evening star planet Venus. 170.11 secret of de great Pymander see Hermes Trismegistus, His DivinePymander, trans. Dr Everard (1657): (CLA, 108). A ‘pymander’, or ‘pomander’, is a book of prayers or occult secrets. 170.15 trow that chalk is cheese proverbial: see ODEP, 113. 170.21 reap before you do sow the seed proverbial. There are many forms of this proverb: compare Galatians 6.7 and ODEP, 757. 170.22–26 expence is the seed... great harvest Dousterswivel parodies the parables of the sower, the com and the tares, and grain of mustard seed: compare Matthew 13.3–9, 18–32. 170.30 plate of silver as the description which follows indicates, this is what is later (194.35) called a ‘graduated and calculated sigil’. It is an occult device supposed to have mysterious powers, that has been marked (graduated) with lines to assist astrological calculations. 170.30–43 moon measureth the whole zodiack ... house of ascend­ ency the astrological processes described parody those of Cornelius Agrippa

(1486–1535) in De Occulta Philosophia (1531–32), translated into English by ‘J. F.’ as Three Books of Occult Philosophy (1651): CLA, 148. 170.30 moon Dousterswivel invokes the moon as silver is under its power. 170.32 fifteenth mansion the segment of the ecliptic occupied by the moon on the fifteenth day of the lunar month. 170.33 Libra the balance, 7th sign of the Zodiac. 170.33–34 Schedbarschemoth Scharlathan a cabalistic-sounding name, printed in Gothic type in the style of Reginald Scot. Schedbarschemoth is probably Hebrew, meaning ‘this is the name of, or ‘that is to say’; Scharlathan is a form of the German for ‘charlatan’. 170.34 Intelligency of de Intelligence the 7 astrological planets (the Sun, Saturn, the Moon, Mars, Venus, Mercury and Jupiter) had each an associ­ ated spirit. 170.37–38 square of nine ... diameter nine magical squares contain­ ing series of numbers which when added up vertically, horizontally, or diagon­ ally gave the same sum, associated with the planets and possessing mystical significance.

EXPLANATORY NOTES

495

170.40 suffumigations aids in conjuring spirits : see ‘A Discourse con­ cerning Devils and Spirits’, Ch. 6, in Scot, 532–36. 170.43 thwarting power planet appearing in the house of the ascendant ( see next note ) which has an adverse influence. The enemies of the moon were Mars and Mercury. 170.43 house of ascendency the 30° arc of the sky which at any moment is rising above the eastern horizon ; any astrological planet within the ascendant had a particular influence on events. 171.5 sympathy the attraction between like and like so that planets and spirits, often in complex conjunctions, could be used to divine objects and outcomes consistent with their own inherent properties. 171.13 fierce watch-dog fumigations caused spirits to appear in a number of guises, but the ‘watch-dog’ is more appropriate to the hidden treasure than to the moon. 171.17–18 twelve precise is just our planetary hours the planetary hour associated with the moon: see Scot, 526. 171.20 pentagon within a circle ... sword magicians consecrated a real or imaginary circle to enclose and protect them from the spirits they were about to raise. The pentagon or pentacle (‘being made with five corners, according to the five Senses’) was used to raise ‘stubborn and rebellious spirits’ (Scot, 533–34). The sword, being a cross, was further protection. 171.22–31 needful worts ... horn see Scot, 476–77. Scot gives the words to say; what is seen as a result of the spell, including the negro (‘a little ugly Æthiop’) is paraphrased here. 171.30 Fischer Johann Christian Fischer ( 1733–1800), German oboist and composer. He became musician to Queen Charlotte, wife of George III, settled in England and married the daughter of the painter Gainsborough. 171.32 great Peolphan king of the ‘three Gentle and Noble Spirits of the power of the North’ : see Scot, 476. He is not called the ‘Mighty hunter of the North’, but his spirits are the ‘three mighty Hunters of the North’ (Scot, 477). 172.22 Alle guten geister loben den Herrn German all good spirits praise the Lord. This is a common gloss on Luther’s German translation of Psalm 148.2 : ‘Loben ihn, alle seine Engel’ (‘Praise him, all his angels’). 173.29–30 bent up ... adventure compare Macbeth, 1.7.700–80. 173.32 –33 No supernatural light burst forth compare The Lay of the Last Minstrel (1805), Canto 2, stanza 18 (Poetical Works, 6.84). 174.26 cauldiron sword. 174.29 an’ anger him if he had angered him. 174.34–35 they that hide ken best where to find proverbial : see Ray, 106; ODEP, 372. 175.9 Wallace see note to 51.28. 175.9–10 Blind Harry 15th-century Scottish poet, author of The Wallace, a heroic poem in 12 books on the life of Wallace, written c. 1477. 175.10 Davie Lindsay (c. 1490–1555), Scottish poet and dramatist, author ofAne Pleasant Satyre ofthe Thrie Estaitis (first performed 1540), a play which criticises the corruption of the pre-Reformation church. 175.17 the mair he was especially as he was. 175.32 the power o’ grace God and God’s support of man. 175.35 keep ... a use for’t proverbial : see ODEP, 417. 176.22–23 morning, said to be friendly to the muses see Erasmus, De Ratione Studii. In Greek mythology the nine muses were the goddesses of literature and the arts. 176.28 brushed away the dews see Thomas Gray, ‘Elegy Written in a Country Church-yard’ (1751), line 99. 177.6 ower mickle water drowns the miller proverbial : see ODEP, 832.

496

EXPLANATORY NOTES

However, the only example of this proverb given by ODEP is from Scott’s Peveril ofthe Peak (1822), 2.225.4–5 (Ch. 21). 177.9–10 as mony siller groats as the king... is years auld see note to 30.31, and compare the similar English practice ofthe monarch giving maundy money on Maundy Thursday to as many old people as the monarch is years old. 177.11 same master i.e. the king (George III). 177.11 rigging provided for Ochiltree puns : rigging is both roofing or housing, and the stays etc. on a vessel keeping the masts upright. 177.15–161 am nae dram-drinker to be a gaberlunzie I am not a drinker as beggars go. 177.30 blue-bonnet flat-topped round cap worn by the peasantry of Scot­ land ; the colour was originally indicative of their presbyterian and covenanting loyalties. 178 motto see Joseph Hall (1574–1656), Virgidemiarum, Sex Libri, 2 vols ( 1597, 1598), 4.3.34–39. The title of Hall’s six satires means ‘bundle of rods’ (CLA, 107). 178.31 dress my periwig i.e. comb and powder the wig, and retie the bow (if appropriate). 178.38 no nae waur ‘It is, I believe, a piece of free-masonry, or a point of conscience, among the Scottish lower orders, never to admit that a patient is doing better. The closest approach to recovery which they can be brought to allow, is, that the party enquired after is “nae waur” ’ (Magnum, 6.4). 179.15 Kittlefitting moss see note to 15.11. 179.19 feræ naturæ Latin literally wild beasts of nature. 179.25 Juno wife ofJupiter. 179.26–27 Pantheon kind of a name the Pantheon was a temple dedic­ ated to all the ancient deities, so Oldbuck is saying that the dog is named after one of them. 179.40 at any rate in any case. 180.2–3 breakfast—with what appetite we may see Henry VIII, 3.2.202–03. 180.3–4 Sir Isaac Newton Scott’s source for this well-known story is not known. 180.13–14 aureum quidem opus Latin assuredly a golden work. 180.17 Fingal... Fin-Mac-Coul see note to 84.29–30. 180.19 spirit of Loda see ‘Cath-Loda : a Poem’, Duan First, in James Macpherson, The Poems of Ossian. Loda was ‘the house of the spirits of men’. 180.23 maunder this word, meaning to ‘ramble in one’s talk’, is in italics because it had not yet become standard English. The first recorded use, accord­ ing to the OED, is in Carlyle’s Sartor Resartus (1833–34), Book 1, Ch. 4. 180.25 Scottish morning tea-table see note to 82.3–4. 180.27–29 bark ... is muckle waur than his bite proverbial : see ODEP, 30 (where this is the first recorded use of the proverb in this form) ; compare Ray, 76. 181.15–16 no stone should have been left unturned proverbial : see ODEP, 453. 181.35–40 Macbeth ... Duncan see Macbeth, 2.3.42–61. 182.1 sanctum sanctorum see note to 19.40. 182.7–8 present state of the money-market the price of stock at threeper-cent varied between 91 and 93 in July 1792 ; in July 1794 it varied between 66 and 69. 182.16 the funds i.e. government stocks. 182.19 personal bond Scots Law document in which a debtor acknow­ ledges a debt, and binds himselfto pay it on or before a specified date. Failure to do so incurred set penalties.

EXPLANATORY NOTES

182.19–20

notes ofhand

497

written promises to pay specified sums at speci­

fied times. 183.1 Eldorado the name of an imaginary city of fabulous wealth which Spanish explorers claimed to have found in America. 183.43–184.1 rari—et rariores—etiam rarissimi Latin rare—rarer still—and even very rare. Pinkerton (see note to 185.20) uses the notation ‘R, RR, RRR’ to indicate rarity. 184.1 bonnet piece ofJames V gold coin, first issued in 1539, having a value of 40 shillings Scots (3s. 4d. sterling ; 17p ). It carried a portrait ofthe King in a flat cap, or bonnet. This was the first Scottish coin to be dated. 184.1–2 unicorn ofJames II gold coin, first issued in 1486 (when James III rather than James II was King of Scots ), having a value of 18 shillings Scots ( 1S. 6d. sterling; 7½p). It carried a picture of a unicorn, one of the heraldic symbols of the royal coat of arms. 184.2 gold testoon of Queen Mary silver coin, issued between 1553 and 1562 when Mary was Queen of Scots, having a value of 4 shillings Scots (4d. sterling; 1½p). 184.17 Sapiens dominabitur astris Latin the wise man will have domin­ ion over the stars. 185.2 Peolphan see note to 171.32. 185.3–4 Nicolus Remigius, or Petrus Thyræus Remigius wrote on demonology, Daemonolatreiae ( 1595 ) : CLA, 140. Petrus Thyræus wrote on hauntings, De Apparitionibus (1605 ), and on possession by spirits, De Obsessis (1598): CLA, 152,153. 185.20 Pinkerton’s catalogue John Pinkerton (1758–1826), An Essay on Medals, 2 vols (1784). 185.25–27 Pinkerton ... impugned ... credit of Scottish history see An Essay on Medals, new edn, 2 vols (1789), 2.94 : ‘It is a radical error of such poor antiquists as Scotland, where antiquities are an unknown land in Science, to compare its ancient history with that of England’. 185.28–29 Mair and Boece John Mair or Major (1469–1550), whose most important work, HistoriaMajoris Britanniae ( 1521 ) deals with both Scot­ tish and English history. For Boece see note to 38.31. 185.29 Jachin and Boaz see 1 Kings 7.21 : ‘And he [Solomon] set up the pillars in the porch of the temple : and he set up the right pillar, and called the name thereofJachin : and he set up the left pillar, and called the name thereof Boaz’. See also 2 Chronicles 3.17. 185.37 affectation of terror Oldbuck alludes to Gothic literature, which was very much in vogue in the nineties. 186.1–3 Money ... pay see Samuel Butler, Hudibras, Part 3 (1680), 3.624–26. 187 motto Ben Jonson, The Alchemist (performed 1610, published 1612), 4.6.40–45. 187.7 in fumo Latin in smoke. 187.26 Fairport bank-note the Scottish banks had (and retain) the right to issue their own bank notes, which were used in Scotland with more confid­ ence than similar notes issued by English banks. Many of the smaller towns in Scotland originally had their own banks. 187.35 supposed treasure see ‘Historical Note’, 449–50. 188.8 genius stood rebuked see Macbeth, 3.1.55. 188.17–18 Oldenburgh horn made around 1465 for Christian I of Den­ mark, who was originally Duke of Oldenburg in Germany, it is of silver gilt and elaborately decorated with mythological animals. Legend suggested that the horn was given to an ancestor of Christian I by a nymph in a wood who promised wealth if he drank from it, and misery ifhe did not ; he suspected it to be a magic

498

EXPLANATORY NOTES

potion, refused the drink, but kept the horn. In 1794 the horn was in the Royal Kunstkammer in Copenhagen, and was transferred to Rosenberg Castle in 1824. 188.25 metaphorical horn probably the cuckold’s horn. 188.36 commission of the peace i.e. both are Justices of the Peace, magistrates who may be called upon to preside at trials for minor offences. 188.39–40 abolished the cruel laws against witchcraft an act of 1736 abolished witchcraft as a criminal offence in Scotland, but, as Oldbuck says, allowed the prosecution for imposture of those pretending to locate lost, stolen or concealed goods by means of the occult. 189.5–6 And is dat de laws ... Thyself shall see the act see The Merchant of Venice, 4.1.309. 189.22 chop-fallen Hamlet, 5.1.187. 189.28–20 Intelligences ... planetary hour see note to 171.17–18. 190.21 Aha, old true-penny see Hamlet, 1.5.150. A ‘true-penny’ is a trusty, genuine person. 191.9 the last call the final summons of God for all to appear before him on the day of judgment. 191.16 triangular vial of May-dew dew gathered in the month of May is supposed to have medicinal and other properties; compare the entry for 10 May 1667 in Pepys’s Diary. 191.33 Bartholinus Thomas Bartholinus, author ofAntiquitates Danicae (1689): CLA, 90. 191.3 7 travelrd earth already dug over. 191.40 green Yule warm Christmas. 191.41 a green Yule makes a fat kirk-yard proverbial: see Ray, 36; Kelly, 30; ODEP, 337. 191.43 for Edie on account of Edie. 192.31–32 man and bairn as a man and as a child; i.e. for a lifetime. 192.33 it’s nae sic mote neither but what ane might see it in their parritch it’s not such a speck of dust that one can’t see it in one’s porridge. 193.6 for an auld bedral as an old beadle (i.e. sexton). 193.9–10 Nae halvers and quarters—hale o’ my ain and nane o’ my neighbours no halves and quarters—all my own and none for my neigh­ bours. Although this sounds proverbial it is not recorded as a proverb except by Andrew Cheviot who cites this sentence (Proverbs, Proverbial Expressions and Popular Rhymes ofScotland (1896), 259). 194.9–13 Your toad … name Ben Jonson, The Alchemist (performed 1610, published 1612), 2.3.189–191, 193, 198. 194.14 Ah! rare Ben Jonson see Jonson’s tombstone in Westminster Abbey. 194 motto see John Fletcher and Philip Massinger, The Beggar's Bush (performed 1622, published 1647), 3.2. 194.35 graduated and calculated sigil see note to 170.30. 195.4–5 he that ken’d sae muckle … find mair variant of the proverb ‘he that hides can find’ (see Ray, 106, ODEP, 372). 195.24—25 Exchequer,… interference on the part of the crown the Court of Exchequer dealt with matters concerning public finance, and in this case would decide on whether what was found belonged to the crown: according to Lord Stair, ‘treasures hid in the earth, whose proper owners cannot be known, are not his in whose ground they are found, nor the finder’s, but belong to the King’ (Institutes ofthe Law ofScotland, ed. David M. Walker (Edinburgh and Glasgow, 1981), 2.1.5). In practice the Crown frequently made ex gratia grants (presumably by ‘deed of gift’) ofsuch property to the owner ofthe ground and to the finder.

EXPLANATORY NOTES

195.34

Barons

499

Barons of the Exchequer, the judges of the Court of Ex­

chequer. 196.5 196.7 196.8

brown study ‘gloomy meditations’(Samuel Johnson). Mine heiligkeit German my holiness. sapperment corruption of the German Sakrament, meaning ‘sacra­

ment’. The word is used as an oath by German speakers here, in Guy Mannering, 2.194.5 (Ch. 23), and in Quentin Durward, 2.282.11 (Ch. 22). 196.10 mein himmel German my heaven. 196.28 three times tried in the fire see Psalm 12.6: ‘The words of the Lord are pure words : as silver is tried in a furnace of earth, purified seven times’. 196.40 Dutch burgomaster counting his dollars perhaps a reference to Rembrandt’s ‘The Money Changer’ (1627). 197.10 ta’enup arrested. 197.31 ordinary black letter similar to ‘Gothic’ type, as distinct from Roman type. 197.42 in de wheel presumably the wheel of fortune. 198.32 treated anent dealt with. 198.36–37 kitchen ... ha’ the realm of the servants as against the part of the castle where the owners and gentry lived. 198.38–39 things o’ that auld warld sort are na keepit in mind ... as they used to be ever since the 18th century those recording traditional tales

and songs have claimed that oral tradition is in terminal decline. 199.4 rugging and riving in Scott’s day it was believed that until the 17th century there was much feuding in Scotland, with families and clans stealing from each other. 199.5 ilkaane for himsel, and God for us a’ proverbial : see ODEP, 229. 199.16 Norman Wardours members of the Anglo-French ruling class of England were invited north, especially in the reign of David 1(1124–53). The feudalisation of Scotland was extended north from central Scotland during the reigns of his grandsons, Malcolm IV(1153–65) and William the Lion (1165–1214). 199.19 of that ilk literally of that place ; but the phrase was often a formal part of someone’s designation. 199.22–23 fa’en a wee ower thick got a little too involved. 199.27 ca’ thro’ disturbance, row. 199.27–28 she’s be burnt, and he’s be slain see‘The Gaberlunzie Man’, line 51, in Allan Ramsay, The Tea-table Miscellany, first published in 1724. 199.28 the best word o’their mouths the best they had to say about them. 199.31comes o’ the wrang side o’ the blanket is illegitimate. 199.36 lang-legged Highlanders Highlanders were ‘lang-legged’ be­ cause they wore kilts not breeches ; but the phrase also indicates the contempt in which they were held by Lowlanders. 200.2–3 sixteen quarters see note to 86.26. 200.9 art of multiplying metals i.e. the ability to transmute base metals into precious metals. 200.19 stood on the right o’halie kirk i.e. he insisted on the rights of the church to maintain the secrets of those who confessed. 200.41 dark lantern shaded lantern. 201 motto see King John, 3.2.7–9, 12–13. 201.38–39 lucre o’ gain acquisition of wealth. 202.2 moon as she the moon is feminine because the moon was personified as a goddess in both Greek and Latin mythology (Artemis and Diana), and because the gender of the Latin word for the moon (luna) is feminine. 202.27–28 a step advanced i.e. the sound of someone stepping. 202.32 baarenhauter literally bear-skinner; i.e. one who wears a bearskin

500

EXPLANATORY NOTES

(the tall furry cap worn by guardsmen in the British army), a sentry. Afactionary is a member of a faction that is likely to be quarrelsome and difficult. 203.21–22 I wish we may get the light keepit in neist wi’ this fear­ some wind next I hope we can keep the light on in this dreadful wind. 203.31 Misticot walks i.e. the ghost of Misticot walks about. 203.34 Alle guten geister German all good spirits. 204.6 Time about’s fair play proverbial : variant of‘turn about is fair play’

(ODEP, 846). half-crown ilka day 12½p a day. This would have been a high wage in 1794 for an agricultural labourer ; Edie is indicating that Dousterswivel is working hard. 204.31 weel up by out 0’ the gate right up out of the way. 204.40–41 Wallace’s straiks strokes as powerful as those of Sir William Wallace. In Hary’s Wallace (see note to 175.9–10), the hero’s strength and violence with his weapon are prodigious. 205.25 Hear till listen to. 205.40 the voie de fait French law act of violence or assault. 206.27 the practice of other countries it is not known which countries or which practices are referred to. 207.26 nixies ... blue spirits and grey nixies water fairies ; oak-kings fairies who live in oak trees, especially oak coppices ; were-wolves persons trans­ formed, or capable of transforming themselves, into wolves ; hobgoblins fairies of the brownie kind; for the spirits see Thomas Middleton, The Witch (written before 1616, printed 1778): ‘Titty and Tiffen,/ Suckin and Pidgen,/ Liard and Robin,/ White spirits, black spirits ;/ Grey spirits, red spirits ;/ Devil-toad, devil-ram ;/ Devil-cat, and devil-dam’ ( 1.2.1–7 ) ; and ‘Black spirits and white ; red spirits and grey,/ Mingle, mingle, mingle, you that mingle may’ (5.3.60-61). 208.20 dust to dust words from the funeral service, derived from Genesis 3.19 : ‘dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return’. 204.19

208.23-24 rites ... now rarely practised in Protestant countries, and almost never in Scotland as it was illegal to celebrate Roman Catholic rites

in public in Scotland it was rarely done. See note to 214.11. 209.22 mair by token moreover. 209.23 touch ye wha liket whoever touched you. 210.7 ignis fatuus light seen hovering over marshy ground, and supposed to be due to the combustion of methane given off by rotting vegetation. Because the light was intermittent, it gave the impression ofbeing the work of some spirit or enchantment. 210 motto John Ewen (1741–1821), ‘The Boatie Rows’, lines 1–4, 13–16. Ewen was bom in Montrose of tinker origins, and progressed from hawker to fashionable jeweller in Aberdeen’s Castlegate. The song has tradi­ tional origins : for two differing versions see The Poetry ofNortheast Scotland, ed. James Alison (London, 1976), 58–60; The Scots Musical Museum, ed. James Johnston, 6 vols (1787–1803), 4.438. 210.32–33 The clartier the cosier proverbial : ODEP, 125, gives this as the first recorded use. 211.15 the more regulated spinning wheel spinning wheel of 90 inches in circumference, as defined by law. It was heavier than the traditional wheel and thus less likely to move while in use. 211.16 Princess of the fairy-tale ‘Sleeping Beauty’. It is not known whether Scott knew the story from oral tradition, from a chapbook, or from another written source. A briefhistory ofthe tale together with the first transla­ tion of Perrault’s version of 1697 into English is given in Iona and Peter Opie, The Classic Fairy Tales (London, 1974), 81–92.

EXPLANATORY NOTES

501

Findhorn Findon, fishing hamlet in Kincardineshire, noted for its smoked fish; the name was pronounced ‘Finnan’. 211.31 sight... for sair een proverbial : ODEP, 732. 211.32-33 up bye up there. 212.9 kilt their coats tuck up their outer garments. It was standard prac­ tice for the women to carry the men ashore : see the illustration in T. C. Smout, A History ofthe Scottish People 1560–1830 (London, 1969), facing 176. 212.16 gaewa’ go away. 212.22 thack and rape literally the thatch on a cottage and the rope tying it down; by extension ‘a’ tight, thack and rape’ indicates that the home is welltended and organised. 212.24 thae that guide the purse rule the house a Magnum note to this paragraph opens : ‘In the fishing villages on the Friths of Forth and Tay, as well as elsewhere in Scotland, the government is gynecocracy, as described in the text’ (Magnum, 6.68). 212.27 ilka land has its ain lauch proverbial : every country has its own customs etc. See Kelly, 92 ; ODEP, 441. Lauch is a form of‘laich’, meaning an area of low-lying, or undrained gound. 212.35 down bye down there. 213.5 the auld harlot the whore of Babylon (see Revelation, Ch. 17), identified in Scottish demonology with the Church of Rome. 213.6 cup of enchantments cup of the whore of Babylon : see Revelation 18.3. 211.22

213.16 213.30 213.33 213.38

what for why. ca’d hame literally called home, i.e. dead. lang race lifetime. Harlaw battle in 1411 near Inverurie, Aberdeenshire, when Don­

ald, Lord of the Isles, leading an army from the Highlands and Islands, was defeated by the Earl of Mar with a lowland army drawn from Aberdeen city, the county of Aberdeen, and from Kincardine and Angus. 213.39 Tay river in central Scotiand running into the North Sea. 213.39–40 BuckoftheCabrach prominent hill (722m) on the boundary of Aberdeenshire and Moray, which marks the watershed between rivers run­ ning north to the Moray Firth and running east to Aberdeen. 214.7 proud word o’the family something the family liked to pride itself on. 214.11 by the law and by the commons the Act of 1690 re-establishing presbyterian church government also proscribed ‘popery and papists’. Thus the public enactment of any Catholic service was illegal, and would certainly have attracted the hostility of the people. 214.18 break out speak out suddenly and strongly. 214.27 Friday in the Catholic Church Friday was a day of fasting on which the eating of red meat was prohibited ; thus fish was habitually substituted. 215.10 in-ower and out-ower thoroughly. 215.25 out ower yonder over there. 216.12 the wicked, that flee when no one pursueth see Proverbs 28.1. 216.17 brought me off carried me off. 216.18 Prestonpans battle in East Lothian in 1745 when the Jacobites defeated government forces. Edie thinks of being on the government side be­ cause he was once a soldier in the 42nd Regiment. 217.13 twopenny ale i.e. ale costing two pence (a little less than 1p) per Scots pint (about 3 imperial pints). 217 motto see John Fletcher and Philip Massinger, Beggar's Bush (per­ formed 1622, published 1647), 1.3.165–167.

218.12 tak the tale hame to mysel apply the lesson to myself. 219.8 lang pilgrimage life. 219.36–3 7 whole extensive estate... descended to the countess

Scott imagines the Earldom of Glenallan as a Scottish peerage which in the absence of sons would be inherited by the eldest daughter. The property could be willed where the owner wished (allowing for the provisions for widow and other children as laid down in law, and any legal settlements), but it would be natural that it would go to the inheritor of the title. On her death, her elder son, Lord Geraldin, would inherit the title and the Glenallan estate, and for this reason ‘was totally dependent on his mother during her life’ ; there is, however, a complication for which see note to 260.38–40. On the other hand her marriage settlement stipulated that her husband would leave his property in England to their younger son (but see also note to 281.24). Her husband died after only two years of marriage. As her younger son was a minor the Countess managed the English estates until he was 21, when he succeeded to the full rights of owner­ ship. 220.21–22 incapacities attached to those of his religion Roman Catholics were debarred by law from any kind of public office. 221.3 great Glenallan cause the reference is to the ‘great Douglas cause’. Archibald, Duke of Douglas, died without issue in 1761. His sister had married at the age of 48 and two years later in 1748 had announced the birth oftwins in Paris in obscure circumstances. One ofthe twins died. The right ofthe survivor, Archibald Douglas, to inherit the Douglas dukedom was challenged, the argu­ ment being that he was not the child of the late Duke’s sister. The Court of Session upheld this argument in 1767, but the decision was overturned by the House of Lords in 1769. It was one of the most celebrated legal causes of its kind. 221.6 Inigo Jones (1573–1652), English architect of the first half of the 17th century. He introduced the Palladian style ; his greatest surviving works are the Queen’s House, Greenwich, and the Banqueting House, Whitehall, London. His prestige was such that many Palladian buildings were erroneously attributed to Jones : Sir William Bruce (c. 1630–1710) brought the classicism of Palladio and Jones to Scotland. 221.22 auld wife’s errand proverbial foolish errand : compare ‘old wives’ tales’ (ODEP, 593). 221.3 8 occasional conformist formally prevented by the Corporation and Test Acts (1661 and 1673 ) from holding any kind of public position in England, non-conformists (i.e. Protestants who did not belong to the Church of England) developed the practice of occasionally taking communion in the Church of England (occasional conformity) in order to qualify themselves for public office and employment. The issue was heated in the reign of Queen Anne (1702–14) : bills were twice introduced in 1702–03 to prevent the practice, and in The Shortest Way with Dissenters (1702) Defoe ironically advocated their extirpation. 221.42–43 morning of every birth-day see note to 30.31. 222.17–18 prelatists ... kirk-folk those who believed in church govern­ ment by bishops (i.e. Episcopalians), and those who attended the kirk, as the Church of Scotland was known, and who were therefore Presbyterians. 222.25 Fat... feel-body what ; in the Aberdeenshire dialect ‘wh’ is usually pronounced as an ‘f', and ‘oo’ has an ‘ee’ sound. 222.27 Fontenoy battle in 1745 during the War of the Austrian Succession, in which the 42nd fought with distinction. 222.28 Keep thegither, front and rear the story is that this was a ser­ geant’s order at Fontenoy as the regiment was retiring, but whether the story is authentic has not been determined.

EXPLANATORY NOTES 222.29–30 north-country yell ofrecognition the word 'ohon' presents rather a Lowland idea of Highland speech than Aberdeenshire. 222.37 let that flee stick to the wa'-when the dirt's dry it will rub out don't worry about that-it will not be seen: see Tobias Smollett, The Reprisal 757), 2.3; Rob Roy, 2.218.4-6 (Ch. 23); ODEP, 268. 223.21 single soldier soldier of the lowest rank; a private. 223.31 Ne'er speed may there be no good fortune. 223.32 tum us awa dismiss me. 223.34 Inverurie town 25 kms NW of Aberdeen. 223.40 Carrick's company companies like regiments were at one time known by their commanding officer's name.JohnCampbell ofCarrick, Captain the Black Watch or 'the Forty-twa', was killed at Fontenoy in 1745. 224.2 I got that job cookit I fixed that. 224.29–30 union ofthe crowns 1603, when James VI of Scotland also became King of England as James I. 224.37 Vandyke Sir Anthony van Dyck (1599-1641). Born in Antwerp he became the court painter of Charles I, and is best known for his portraits. 224.39 Domenichino (1581-1641), famous for his work on churches in come and Naples, and for religious paintings. 224.39 Velasquez Diego Rodriguez de Silva ( 1599-1660). Born in Seville he became the Spanish court painter in 1623. He is best known for his portrait­re rather than religious painting. 224.39 Murillo Bartolome Esteban Murillo ( 1617-82). Born in Seville, he is principally noted for the production ofdevotional and pious images, and for paintings ofbeggar boys and urchins. 225.4 anti-chamber 'It is generally written, improperly, antichamber Samuel Johnson). 225 motto Thomas Southerne, The Fata/Marriage (1694), 4.3.6-10. 226.6–7 exterior trappings ofwoe see Hamlet, 1.2.86. 226.12 stained glass there is no 14th century stained glass remaining in Scotland with this subject. 226.19 Spagnoletto Jose Ribera (1588-1659), Spanish painter. 229.11 war's sweet to them that never tried it proverbial: see ODEP, 366. 230 motto George Crabbe, The Village, Book 1, lines 333-36. 230.20 Bandilier a 'bandoleer' is a belt worn by a soldier over the shoulder and across the chest to carry ammunition. 230.34 some hard play hard time, something unfortunate; compare the expression 'foul play'. 231.5 I was in America then the 42nd served in America during the Seven Years' War (1756-63), leaving in 1767. 231.9 the de'il gaed o'er Jock Wabster proverbial: there was an enorm­ous row. See ODEP, 180. 231.19 heresies ofthe country i.e. the doctrines of the Church of Eng­ land as viewed by the Roman Catholic Church. 231.19 mair by token moreover. 231.20 sib to him nearer than our Church's rules admit of Eveline Neville was brought up as 'the daughter of a cousin-german' (259.31), i.e. as daughter of a first cousin, and according to Canon Law marriage was not permitted within 3 degrees (i.e. the number ofsteps to a common ancestor ofthe more distant of the pair). 231.25 de'il ane not one. 232.12 pride goeth before destruction Proverbs 16.18. 232.29 Kinblythemont a fictitious place, but reminiscent ofKenneth­mont, 50 kms NW ofAberdeen.

EXPLANATORY NOTES

504 232.40–41

drave a bowl, or threw an axle-tree

sports similar to bowling,

and tossing the caber. 233.2 new Speaker called to the chair the Speaker presides in the House of Commons and when a new one is elected he or she is expected to show resistance to accepting the position. 233.6 simply the best qualified person compare Much Ado About Noth­ ing, 3.3.19–20, and A Midsummer Night's Dream, 4.2.9. 234.11 peace-officer... baton constable and his emblem of authority. 234.14–15 no right to arrest the the king’s bedesman as a vagrant see note to 30.31. 234.16–17 give highland bail secure freedom by force. 234.23–24 escape like a bird from the fowler see Psalm 124.7 ; Pro­ verbs 6.5. 234.34 Play out your play see I Henry IV, 2.4.467. 234.42 examination and committal a person apprehended had to be examined by a magistrate or sheriff who then decided either to release or to commit that person for trial. 237 motto not identified ; probably by Scott. 237.21 kittle cast tricky or inconstant fortune. 237.25 crops and the powder-tax at the end of the 18th century fashion for men moved towards short-cut natural hair and against wigs ; the change was accelerated by the imposition of a tax in 1796 on the hair-powder used on wigs. 237.26–27 Quid mihi cum fæmina what have I to do with woman. ‘Quid mihi cum’ is a common Latin phrase. 237.32 see the corpse affhis grounds although obviously considered part of funeral etiquette here, this is not recorded as a burial custom. 238.1 Kelso convoy, a step and a half ower the door-stane apparently proverbial. Convoy is ‘the accompanying or escorting of someone on their way’ ; it is not known why Kelso was thought to be so niggardly in this respect. 238.21 mutual aid and dependence compare Scott’s description of a British agricultural settlement in Peter's Letters to His Kinsfolk ( 1816) : ‘The solitary farm-house, with its little dependences of cottages,... seldom fails to excite in the mind, the idea of the natural and systematic dependence of a few virtuous cottagers upon an opulent and industrious farmer, who exercises over them a sort of natural and patriarchal authority’ (Prose Works, 5.191 ). 238.25 Helot a helot was not a slave but was subjected to specific Spartan families and was tied to a specific place. Helots were mainly engaged in agricul­ ture and domestic service ; their position was therefore comparable to serfs in feudal Europe. 238.31 kolbkerl see 23.1 and note. 238.31 ascriptus glebæ Latin ascribed, or tied, to the land. Someone who was ‘ascriptus glebae’ was bound to service on a particular estate. 238.38–39 Catholic priests ... burials a‘corpse-present’of the most valuable animal, or failing that, the best cloth, was taken by the pre-Reformation church whenever there was a death. 238.40 right as my glove not recorded as a standard phrase. 238.43 more merit in doing that duty for nothing the ministers of the Church of Scotland have an obligation to bury the dead of the parish without charge. 239.1 empress of superstition the Church of Rome. 239.3–4 The daughter... slow see Edmund Spenser, The Faerie Queene, 1.3.18. Corecca should read ‘Corceca’. 23 9.25 Ira furor brevis anger is a short madness : Horace, Epistles, 1.2.62. 239.27 lachrymatory vase thought (particularly in Scott’s time) to have

EXPLANATORY NOTES

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been intended to hold tears, applied to small phials of glass, alabaster etc. found in Roman tombs. 239.27 Clochnaben or Clachnaben, hill (579m) 15 kms SW of Banchory, near Aberdeen. 239.39–40 Hector ... mine see Othello, 2.3.250. 239.43 camp train non-military staff, baggage carriers, camp followers, etc. 240.1 expeditus, or relictis impedimentis unencumbered, or with baggage left behind. ‘Expeditus’ is a very common term; for ‘relictis impedi­ mentis’ see Caesar,Bellum Gallicum, 7.66.5, and Livy,Ab Urbe Condita, 7.37.6. 240.8 claustrum fregit Latin, literally she broke the bar. In Scots law breaking into a ‘lockfast place’, i.e. a locked room or cupboard within a house, constitutes an aggravation of theft. 240.33–34 To trace the connection of nations ... employ the invest­ igation of society and its development was one of the principal characteristics of the Scottish enlightenment. In his ‘Memoirs’ Scott, commenting on the nature of his memory and his boyhood reading, says: ‘I gradually assembled much of what was striking and picturesque in historical narrative and when in riper years I attended more to the deduction of general principles I was furnished with a powerful host of examples in illustration of them’ (Scott on Himself, ed. David Hewitt (Edinburgh, 1981), 27). 241.10–11 Alexandria affair what is referred to is not clear, but from 1770 Britain and France were diplomatic and commercial rivals in trying to secure a route to India via Alexandria and Suez, and warships from India were regularly dispatched to Suez, and to Alexandria from Britain. In 1794 an agree­ ment was reached which gave British merchants the right to travel overland between the Mediterranean and the Red Sea. 241.25 remora sucking fish, which the ancients believed had the power of stopping any ship to which it attached itself. 241.34–37 Weave the warp ... gather pence see Thomas Gray, ‘The Bard’, line 49–52. 242.5 Fatal Sisters ... the original Gray’s translation of a Latin version of one of the Old Norse poems in the Poetic Edda, a compilation of about 1270. 242.20–21 resemblances ... popular customs see note to 240.33–34. 242.31 age ofhills this might be direct speech or it might be a quotation; if the latter the quotation has not been identified. The age of hills was a live intellectual issue; James Hutton (see note to 98.6) read a paper to the Royal Society ofEdinburgh in 1785 in which he argued that rocks and land areas were continuously evolving. 242.41 ofiicina gentium Latin the workshop of nations. 243.1–2 Stern ... death see ‘To A. S. Cottle, from Robert Southey’, in IcelandicPoetry, ortheEddaofSaemund, trans. A. S. Cottle (Bristol, 1797), xxxiv, lines 62–65. The Southey reads ‘That laughed in death’; ‘who smiled in death’ comes from James Thomson, Summer, edition of 1746, line 1493, in The Sea­ sons, ed. James Sambrook (Oxford, 1981). (Corson) 243.4 Runic monument stone monument on which inscriptions in Old English using the Runic script are engraved. 243.8–9 Cressy and Agincourt English victories over the French in 1346 and 1415. 243.11–12 Edward and Henry Edward the Black Prince (1330–76), eldest son of Edward III, and Henry V(1387–1422; reigned 1413–22), victors respectively at Cressy and Agincourt. 243.16 Ossian see note to 84.29–30. 243.16–17 Fingal and Lamon Mor, and Magnus Lamon, or as Mac­ pherson calls him, Lathmon, was a British prince who attacked Fingal’s king­

506

EXPLANATORY NOTES

dom of Morven when Fingal was in Ireland. But Fingal returned unexpectedly and Lathmon was surprised and captured. See ‘Lathmon: A Poem’, in James Macpherson, The Poems of Ossian. Magnus, or Manos, King of Lochlin (Nor­ way), was defeated by Fingal in single combat but afterwards set free and sent home. 243.17 spirit of Muirartach see the Gaelic poem entitled ‘Duan a Mhuileartich’, ‘taken down from the recitation of a Highland blacksmith’, in The Gentleman’s Magazine, 53(1783), 399–400. 243.19 Macpherson James Macpherson (1736–96), poet and ‘translator’ of Ossian. See note to 84.29–30. 244.3 Harolds, Harfagers, and Hacos Hector’s versions of the names Harald, Harfagri (‘fair hair’), and Hakon. Several Norse kings were called Harald, and others Hakon. A number of Haralds and Hakons are associated by history or legend with Scotland; Harald Harfagri’s visit to the Orkneys is re­ corded in the Orkneyinga Saga. 244.7 Mancipia and Serfs slaves obtained by purchase, and peasants who while not slaves were still bound to service on particular lands or estates. 244.19 Hector and Achilles, and Agamemnon respectively, Trojan hero, the greatest Greek warrior, and leader of the Greeks in Homer’s The Iliad. 244.37 dialogue between Oisin ... and Patrick Patrick (c. 389–461), patron saint of Ireland, said to be son-in-law to Ossian. MacIntyre’s version of the dialogue takes off‘Ossian agus an Clerich’, or ‘Dialogue between St Patrick and Ossian’, in The Gentleman’s Magazine, 53 (1783), 34–36, 140–41. 245.4 the most admirable fooling see Twelfth Night, 2.3.28, 77. 245.9 drone and small pipes i.e. bass and higher-pitched pipes of the bagpipes. 245.23 It will go near to be thought so shortly Much Ado About Nothing, 4.2.20. Oldbuck refers (a little anachronistically) to the investigation by a com­ mittee ofthe Highland Society chaired by Henry Mackenzie which reported in 1805 that although Macpherson’s Ossian poems were not fakes he had indeed taken considerable liberties in his treatment of originals. 245.29 female dog compare Henry Fielding, Joseph Andrews (1742), Bk 1, Ch. 17. 245.31 Fenians one of the names of the ancient people of Ireland, later confused with the body ofwarriors said to have been the defenders of Ireland in the time of Fingal and other legendary kings. 245.42 herd of Proteus Proteus was a minor sea-god who herded seals: the story of Proteus is told by Homer in The Odyssey, beginning at 4.385. 246.8–10 Sancho ... flock of sheep see Cervantes, Don Quixote, Part 1 (1605), Ch. 18. Quixote, seeing two flocks of sheep, tells Sancho Panza that they are the armies of the Christian Pentapolin of the Naked Arm and of the pagan Alifanfaron, and charges on the ‘pagans’. 246.15 minds me not more than a post proverbial: see ODEP, 640. 246.31 upon eagle’s wings see Isaiah 40.31, as it appears in Scottish Paraphrases (1781), 22.8. 246.33 spolia opima Latin spoils taken by a victorious Roman general from an enemy leader whom he has killed in single fight (see Livy, 1.10.6, for the first instance of this). Later the phrase was used loosely of any kind of spoils taken by soldiers of any rank. 246.40 Hawthornden home of the poet William Drummond (1585–1649), about 8 miles south of Edinburgh. 246.42 an ocean of seals compare The Merchant of Venice, 3.1.106. 246.43 born to be the prop of Troy Hector, the Trojan hero, was the eldest son of Priam, King of Troy, and expected to inherit the kingdom. 247 motto probably by Scott.

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247.27 Wilkie Sir David Wilkie (1785–1841), born in Fife, made an early reputation as a painter of the communal activities of Scottish villages. 247.30 within the wooden bedstead inabox-bed(abuilt-inbed,entirely surrounded by boards and with doors that could be shut). 248.18 Buchan-ness headland about 3 miles south of Peterhead in Aber­ deenshire. It is the most easterly point of Scotland. 248.40 distaff Elspeth is spinning flax (see 211.13) not on the spinning wheel, but on the older system of spindle and distaff. The spindle was a hooked rod which was made to revolve and to draw the fibres into thread; the distaff was a cleft stick about 3 ft long on which the flax was wound. It was held under the left arm and the fibres of the flax were drawn from it through the fingers of the left hand, and twisted by the right, with the aid of the spindle round which the thread was wound. For a description and illustra­ tion see Robert Chambers, The Book ofDays, 2 vols (Edinburgh and London, 1883), 168–69. 249.32–35 augmentations ... General Assembly ... moderator for Augmentations see note to 149.22. The General Assembly, the supreme court of the Church of Scotland, debated augmentations etc. in 1790, 1791 and 1792. The Moderator (who presides) is elected annually. 249.36 God-ward and man-ward showing due respect to God and man. 249.41–42 affairs of genius and taste genius and taste are two key words in the critical vocabulary of 18th century aesthetics, and pertain, respectively, to qualities in the artist and in the audience. 249.43 chair of rhetoric and belles lettres the first professorship for the study of modern literature was founded in the University ofEdinburgh in 1762 as the Chair of Rhetoric and Belles Lettres. It was first occupied by Rev. Hugh Blair (1718–1800), whose critical reputation was established by his ‘Critical Dissertation on the Poems of Ossian’ (1763), and from 1765 prefixed to Mac­ Pherson’s Fragments ofAncient Poetry. 250.32 O my bairn ... my bairn compare 2 Samuel 18.33. 251.35–36 the fathers of the Scottish kirk ... England the Scottish church rejected set services to distance itselfas far as possible from what was felt to be the empty and meaningless ritualism of the pre-Reformation church. 252.38 sumptuary law several acts were passed by the Scottish Parliament (in 1621,1681,1688,1693 and 1695) restricting expenditure upon burials and requiring that only Scottish linen should be used as winding sheets. 253 motto Horace Walpole, The Mysterious Mother (1768), 1.3. 253.26 mourners these comprise only the men; women did not go to the graveside in Scotland. 254.26 vale of sorrow and darkness see Psalm 23.4. 255.6 heavy dispensation heavy here means either ‘hard to bear’ or severe’, and dispensation is ‘the way in which God has arranged things’. 255.11 what wad ye see at what do you want from. 255.12 Gentle or semple gentry and commoners alike. 256.12 tablets of brass with a pen of steel compare Job 19.23–24:‘Oh thatmywordswerenowwritten! oh thattheywere printed in a book! That they were graven with an iron pen and lead in the rock for ever’. In the Bible it is usually ‘tables ofstone’, not ofbrass, in which words are set for ever, but in the Bible ‘brass’ is indicative of‘people impudent in sin’. 256.12–13 where all is recorded that is done in the flesh see Revela­ tion 20.12: ‘And I saw the dead, small and great, stand before God; and the books were opened:... and the dead were judged out of those things which were written in the books, according to their works’. 257.18 gentle or semple gentry and commoners alike. 259 motto not identified, probably by Scott.

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EXPLANATORY NOTES

260.2–3 shewing o’ the cauld shouther proverbial appearing cold and reserved. See OED, cold-shoulder; ODEP, 133; this is the earliest example in both. 260.22 mair than any more than. 260.27 Sheriffmuir indecisive battle near Stirling in 1715, which checked the progress of the Jacobite rebellion. As a Catholic from the Northeast, the Earl of Glenallan would have fought on the Jacobite side in support of the restoration of the Stuarts to the throne. 260.38–40 should they have a son ... dowager at 220.2–4 Scott writes that ‘Lord Geraldin, who was to succeed to the tide and fortune of Glenallan, was totally dependent on his mother during her life’. As regards the tide, the Countess of Glenallan was countess in her own right, and remained so until her death (see note to 219.36–37). As regards the estate, Scott hints at a complica­ tion when he writes that the Countess had the ‘uncontrouled management of the large estates of her two sons’ (220.1–2). It now appears that the Countess’s father left the Glenallan estate to his eldest grandson, but with his daughter having the life-rent of the estate (i.e. the right to all the income arising from it without any right to the capital) until such time as his eldest grandson was married and had a son, i.e. an heir-male. Her income would have then been dependent upon the allowance paid to her by her son, probably in accordance with her father’s will, and in this sense she would have become a ‘stipendiary dowager’. For the situation of the younger son see notes to 219.36–37 and 281.24. 261.22–23 let them that scorn the tartan fear the dirk i.e. let those who scorn a Highlander fear a Highland mode of revenge. Although the formulation seems proverbial this is not recorded as a traditional proverb. 261.28 Massymore of Glenallan the dungeon at Glenallan House; it would be a deep hole with a narrow mouth. A keep is a fortified tower. The Heritable Jurisdictions (Scotland) Act of 1747 removed the rights of land­ owners to try people for major offences, and gave full responsibility for such trials to the Sheriff Courts and to the High Court. 261.40–41 By the religion of our holy Church they are ower sibb see note to 231.20. 262.3–4 sae sibb as no Christian law will permit their wedlock Elspeth intended to make them think that Eveline was the illegitimate daughter of Lord Geraldin’s father, i.e that they were half-brother and sister. 262.34–35 tom by wild horses mode of torture whereby someone would be tied to each of two horses which were driven in opposing directions. The expression is proverbial: see ODEP, 889. 262.38 gathering-word of Clochnaben i.e. the rallying cry of the Glen­ allan clan. See also note to 239.27. 263.17–19 make your merrymen ...burn! the auld witch Elspeth a traditional end for wicked women; compare the fate of the ‘false nurse’ in the ballad ‘Lamkin’ (Child, 93), and see C. M. Jackson-Houlston, ‘“Scoundrel Minstrels”: Allusions to Song in Two Scott Novels’, in Scott in Carnival, ed. J. H. Alexander and David Hewitt (Aberdeen, 1993), 103. 266.4 dealt upon dealt with. 267 motto not identified; probably by Scott. 267.13 Tiend Court see note to 149.21. 267.13–14 procurator for the church advocate appointed as official ad­ viser in legal matters to the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland. 268.25 near and close mean and miserly. 268.26–27 raise up the puir folk against the gentles some riots, such as the Gordon riots in 1780 and those in Birmingham in 1791, had revolutionary aspects. There were periodic com riots (i.e. riots to do with availability and price

EXPLANATORY NOTES

509

of corn) in the late 18th century. There was also considerable agitation for reform and democracy from 1792–96. Scott himself attended the trials ofWatt and Downie, tried for plotting a revolution in Edinburgh in 1794. Each or all of these might seem to involve raising up ‘the puir folk against the gentles’; see E. P. Thompson, The Making ofthe English Working Class (London, 1963). 268.34 Stoic philosophy the teachings ofthe school founded in Athens by Zeno about 300 bc. Of its specific teachings the most important is that man possesses reason and thus should be independent of the vicissitudes of fortune; in popular opinion stoicism became synonymous with forbearance, endurance, and the suppression of feeling. 269.27–28 more sinned against than sinning King Lear, 3.2.60. 271.37–38 blotted out of the book of the living Psalm 69.28. 273.41 saddle horses horses used for riding as distinct from pulling coaches or carts. 275.2 lines from Chaucer see 76.9–15, 76.17–22, and notes. 275 motto not identified; probably by Scott. 275.27 mutton’s but new killed meat should hang for a period to let it mature before being cooked. 275.29 skirl at the tail o’ the gaefa’ shriek at the end of the guffaw. 275.38 titular’s condescendence in the process of valuation and sale a titular was a layman to whom, after the Reformation, the Crown transferred the title to teinds or tithes; such teinds were therefore a species of property which could be sold. The titular’s condescendences were statements setting out his vaula­ tion ofthe teinds for sale; they were lodged with the Teind Court as part ofthe legal process ofvaluation and sale. 276.3 Erskine’s Institutes John Erskine of Camock (1695–1768), pro­ fessor of Scots Law at Edinburgh from 1737. In 1754 he published Principles of the Law ofScotland, known familiarly as ‘little Erskine’; thus the ‘larger copy’ refers to An Institute ofthe Law ofScotland, which was published in 1773. 276.5 Coke upon Littleton Institutes ofthe Laws ofEngland, 4 parts (1628–44) by Sir Edward Coke. The work was a nominally a commentary upon the treatise on Tenures of Sir Thomas Littleton (1422–81) but was in fact an important reformulation of English property law. 276.7–8 temporality of benefices see note to 275.38. 276.32 Falemum of Horace Falernian is a better wine which Horace mentions in Odes, 1.20.10, and on 15 other occasions. It is claret which Oldbuck compared to Falernian wine at 17.12. 276.34 mess of vegetables many poor people did not eat meat regularly; the more prosperous always did; vegetarianism as a principle was almost un­ known in Britain. See 277.8–9. 276.39 high festivals of the Church probably Christmas, Epiphany, Easter, Ascension, Pentecost, Corpus Christi, the Assumption of the Virgin Mary, All Saints. No such festivals were observed in the Church of Scotland in Scott’s day. 277.8–9 diet is that of a heathen Pythagorean, or Indian Bramin Pythagoras (b. c. 580 bc), a celebrated Greek philosopher and mathematician founded a school in Croton in Italy. Members of the order had to follow a strict discipline which included abstention from eating meat. A Bramin or Brahmin is a member of the highest, or priestly, caste among Hindus. 277.29–30 French Revolution see ‘Historical Note’, 446–47. 277.31–32 bigotted Catholic and zealous aristocrat the French Re­ volution at the time was particularly hostile to the Church and to aristocrats. In June–July 1794 1515 people were executed in Paris alone. 277.34 first Constituent Assembly name assumed by the French Assemble nationale on 23 June 1789. The Assembly reformed many aspects of

510

EXPLANATORY NOTES

government and a new constitution was accepted by Louis XVI in February 1791. Many of the changes were considered salutary ; Scott himself comments in his Life ofNapoleon Buonaparte that in ‘clearing the channels ofpublic justice’ the Assembly rendered ‘the greatest possible services to France’ (Prose Works, 8.212). 278.30 Dumourier Charles François Dumouriez (1729–1823), French general. He led the French campaign in Belgium in 1793. 278.40–41 quidproquo Latin, literally thatforwhich; as an English phrase one thing or action in return for another. 278.41 Rowland for his Oliver proverbial tit for tat (see Ray, 208; ODEP, 682 ). Roland and Oliver were two of the paladins, or knights, of Charlemagne, who, when they met in single combat, were so equally matched that it was impossible to distinguish between them. 279.13 Suumcuiquetribuito Latin bestow their own on each person ; i.e. as Oldbuck says ‘do right to everyone’. See Cicero, De Officiis (44 BC), 1.15 ; Ulpian ( died 223 ), Digest, 1.1.10. The opening sentence of Justinian’s Institutes (533) is directly derived from Ulpian : ‘Justitia est constans perpetua voluntas jus suum cuique tribuens’ (justice is the constant and perpetual wish to give everyone his due), and this became a maxim in those legal systems such as Scots law which were derived from the Roman. 279.32–33 carry a child … out of that country the law of Scotland remained an independent system after the Union of England and Wales, with Scotland, in 1707, and England remained, legally, a foreign country. There was little co-operation between the two jurisdictions, and thus it would be difficult to prove in England the legitimacy of a child born in Scotland. 280.7 lying-in hospital maternity hospital. 280.23 Examinations, &c. any incident which might imply that a crime had been committed was investigated by a magistrate or the sheriff, who would take statements from anyone whose evidence had a bearing on the issue of whether a crime had been committed. 280.25 Eheu Evelina! Latin alas, Evelina. 281.8 Neville’s-Burgh fictitious place, said later to be in Yorkshire. 281.9 Anglo-Norman architecture i.e. the architecture of the period from the mid-11th to the mid-13th centuries, characterised by round arches and round pillars. 281.24 father’s possessions stood entailed upon my son any landowner could entail heritable property, specifying which descendants could in­ herit, and in doing so preventing heirs from selling or giving away either the whole or any part of it. When Neville married the old Countess, there was a marriage settlement which specified that the Glenallan property in Scotland would go to the eldest son, and the Neville property in England to the younger son (see notes to 210.36–37 and 260.38–40 ). It is now clear from this context that Neville created a limited entail which involved leaving the property to his younger son and to that son’s direct legitimate descendants ; but if the younger son died without issue the Neville property would go to the eldest legitimate son of the elder brother (who is now the Earl of Glenallan) ; but if the Earl had no legitimate heir-male, the entail would lapse leaving the Neville property to the ‘free disposal’ of the younger brother. 281.42–43 Saxon horn which is in the Minster there thehorn ofUlph presented to York Minster before 1042. Made of ivory, it was probably pro­ duced by Islamic artisans in Sicily or Southern Italy. In the Dedicatory Epistle to Ivanhoe, addressed to Dr Dryasdust of York, mention is made ofhis essay upon the ‘Horn of King Ulphus’ (1.iv.3–4). 282.2 Dr Dryasdust a fictitious person; later he is Laurence Templeton’s addressee in the ‘Dedicatory Epistle’ to Ivanhoe, and he is the nominal author of

EXPLANATORY NOTES

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the ‘Prefatory Letter’ to Peveril ofthe Peak. 282.10 as an emigrant many French aristocrats and clergymen emigrated to Great Britain to escape the Revolution, and later the Terror. 282.18 Use makes perfect proverbial: see Ray, 166; ODEP, 856. 282.22 betwixt and supper between now and supper. 282.32 a toast i.e. a piece of toast. 282.33 to close the orifice of the stomach see Ben Jonson, Every Man in His Humour (performed 1598; published 1601), 1.5.146. 283.6 Quickens-bog quickens is Scots for couch-grass. 283.7–8 Mantanner... Clochnaben Glentanar lies west of Clachnaben, on Deeside, west of Aberdeen. 283.19 Linnæus the Swede, Carl Linné, 1707–78, established what was for long the dominant system for the classification of plants. 283.27 Gird-the-mear gird is a ‘girth’ and mear a ‘mare’. 283.34 elisa Hij the letter ‘H’ being elided, i.e. dropped. 284 motto The Passionate Pilgrim (1599), no. 12, lines 1–2. The Passionate Pilgrim is an anthology on the ‘Venus and Adonis’ theme published by William Jaggard; it contains 5 poems by Shakespeare, but this is not one of them. 284.23 India silk silk imported from India. 284.26 valley-de-sham see Tobias Smollett, The Expedition ofHumphry Clinker (1771), Win Jenkins to Mary Jones, 18 July. 284.37 once and away once and done with. 284.42 won ower wi’t recovered from it. 285.9–13 democraws ... Friends o’ the People see ‘Historical Note’, 445–46. 285.24 Coquet the name is derived from‘cocket’, which was either a seal used in the Customs House, or a document from customs officers indicating that duty had been paid. 285.25 collector i.e. collector of the land tax, or cess. 285.25 Blue and a’Blue Club see note to 35.17. 285.32–33 the peace ... the new tax ... meal mob Charles James Fox (1749–1806) proposed in June 1793 that the House of Commons petition the King to make peace; but which new tax (Pitt’s fiscal reforms were extensive) and which meal mob (food was particularly short in 1792) cannot be determined from what is said. 285.37–38 be shankit aff till Edinburgh castle such preventive detention would have followed the pattern of 1745. 286.1live not in their report i.e. the reality is not in the report; see Measurefor Measure, 4.3.155–56. 286.16 three-nookit handkercher three-cornered scarf. 287.23 Aymer de Geraldin a fictitious name. 287.24 Alexander II King of Scots, 1214–49. 287.25–26 Marmor of Clochnaben or mormaor, from the Gaelic mor­ maer. in ancient Scotland the high steward of a province. The word was dis­ placed by ‘earl’ in the course of the normanisation of Scotland in the 12th century. 288.1–2 Quadriga... scholium... vox signata Latin chariot drawn by 4 horses ... marginal gloss or explanation of a difficult passage of text... the very word. 288.13 Yarico see George Colman the Younger, Inkle and Yarico: an Opera in Three Acts (performed 1787). Yarico is female, and is the lover of Inkle. 288.15 off this grass this season (i.e. spring or summer). 288.31 –32 Sunt... Juvat there are those who delight in churning up the Olympic dust in a chariot: Horace, Odes, 1.1.3–4. 290.25 true philosopher i.e. a Stoic.

512

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290.31 master of the revels person who officiates at play and recreation. 291 motto not identified; probably by Scott. 292.19 Baillie Littlejohn his title indicates that in addition to being a burgh councillor he is also a burgh magistrate. Magistrates and sheriffs con­ ducted the enquiries about offences in addition to their judicial role. 292.21–22 zealous loyalist of that zealous time see ‘Historical Note’, 446–47. 292.40 demurred to the motion English law legal objection to the relev­ ance of the opponent’s case. The phrase is used to indicate that Edie has legal grounds for objecting to the question: an arrested person was not bound to answer questions at the preliminary examination. 293.36–37 liberty-boy... riots in Dublin a liberty-boy was a journey­ man living on the Earl of March’s ‘liberties’ on the outskirts of Dublin. In August 1765 there were riots against the behaviour of some of the troops resident in the city, during which the gaol was broken open and all felons released, and so ‘liberty-boy’ comes to have the secondary meaning of‘one who stands for liberty’. 293.37 ate the king’s bread i.e. has been a soldier. 294.6 afore the Lords at the Circuit the High Court ofJusticiary, Scot­ land’s highest criminal court, tries the most serious offences and, in 1794, ones for which sentences of more than 2 years’ imprisonment were being sought. The High Court sits in Edinburgh, but goes on circuit to other places. 294.18 emblems of justice sword and a pair of scales. 294.27 through the manual volunteer troops each had manuals prescrib­ ing their uniform, drill, sword exercises, modes of discipline etc. 294.34 Hecaté of the ancients ‘she is powerful in courts oflaw and in assemblies, can grant victory in war and athletics and success in horsemanship, in fishing, and cattle-breeding’: Oxford Classical Dictionary, 2nd edn (1970). 294.35–36 quid non pro patria Latin what will one not do for one’s country. ‘Pro patria’ is a common phrase but the full phrase used here does not occur in classical Latin. 295.8–9 in the commission a member of the Commission of the Peace. 295.10 precognition Scots Law statements gathered from those likely to have relevant evidence by the magistrate examining a case. 295.20 out o’ sight out o’ mind proverbial: see ODEP, 602. 295.34 nec lex justior ulla Latin there is no more just law: see Ovid, Ars Amatoria, 1.655. 296.17 Causa scientist patet Latin the reason for the information is clear. The tag was used to indicate that evidence was direct rather than hearsay. 296.23 prima facie Latin on the first view. 296.26 nebulo nebulonum Latin scoundrel of scoundrels. 296.29–30 sound friend to government someone who was committed to the British consitution as then established. 296.35–36 Egyptian... spoil see Exodus 3.22, and 12.36. The phrase is used proverbially to indicate that an injury is being done to those who deserve it: ODEP, 767. 296.38–39 bribe from the other side of the water... seditious club the ‘other side ofthe water’ is France. In the decrees ofNovember and Decem­ ber 1792 France offered assistance to all peoples who wished to recover their liberties, and one of the ways of doing this was to support individuals, clubs and societies committed to reform. 297.15 hook on, hook on 2 Henry IV, 2.1.156. 298 motto not identified; probably by Scott. 298.36–37 ReefofRattray the name comes from ‘Rattray Head’, about 7 miles north of Peterhead in Aberdeenshire.

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299.10 the ferry i.e. Queensferry. 299.10 fragilem mecum solvere phaselum Latin to untie the frail boat with me: see Horace, Odes, 3.2.28–29. 299.13–14 idle jade Rumour ... hanged with her trumpet about her neck compare Virgil, TheAeneid, 4.173, and 2 Henry VI, 4.2.104. 300.2 Lar Familiaris in Plautus spirit who had special care of the house and household, who speaks the prologue in Aulularia, or ‘The Pot of Gold’, a comedy by Plautus (c. 254–184 bc). In the play Euclio finds a pot full of treasure buried in his house, but he hides it away and continues to pretend poverty. Staphyla is Euclio’s elderly housekeeper whom he mistreats because he does not want her to find out his secret. 300.3 Brownie male fairy, about 3 ft in height, who, all over Scotland, was believed to look after the farm on which it lived, and to come out at night to do the work of the servants. 300.9 Euclio ... Aulularia see note to 300.2. 300.17 I sought nane and gat nane proverbial: see Kelly, 291; ODEP, 711. 300.17–18 like Michael Scott’s man Michael Scott (c. 1175–c. 1235) studied in Oxford, Bologna and Paris, and became astrologer to Emperor Fred­ erick II in Palermo. He obtained a reputation as a wizard and as such was condemned in Dante’s Inferno (20.115–17). In a note to The Lay ofthe Last Minstrel (Poetical Works, 6.252), Scott tells the story ofhow Michael Scott, to be revenged on a witch who had turned him into a hare, armed his servant with a spell and sent him to ask her for bread, knowing that she would refuse. When she did so the servant laid above the door a paper ‘containing, amongst many cabalistical words, the well-known rhyme,—/ “Maister Michael Scott’s man/ Sought meat, and gat nane” ’. The woman then began to dance around the fire repeating the rhyme. 300.32 draw me wi’ wild horses see note to 262.34–35. 300.32–33 saw ... Ammon see 2 Samuel 12.31 and 1 Chronicles 20.3. 3 00.41 ingenuity was totally at fault hunting metaphor: hounds which lose the scent are said to be ‘at fault’. 301. 1 (Edipus mythical King of Thebes, famous for solving the riddle of the sphinx. 301.5–6 obtestations of the superior powers calls on the deities to act as witnesses to something. 301.16 butter in the black dog’s hause butter in the black dog’s throat, i.e. beyond recovery. Proverbial: see Kelly, 236; ODEP, 94. 301.20 Aulam auri pienam quadrilibrem a four-pound jar full of gold: Plautus (c. 254–184 ), Aulularia, 821. 301.23–24 gowden eggs ... story-buick the Greek fairy-story of the goose who laid the golden eggs, and of the owner who killed it in order to get all the eggs for himself. 301.30 Mars ... Themis god of war and the personification of justice. 301.36–37 How merrily live we that soldiers be not identified. 301.38 mock-turtlesoup soup made of calf’s head in imitation of turtle soup. 302.2 first ofJune British naval victory under Admiral Richard Howe (1726–99) over the French about 300 miles west of Brest on 1 June 1794. 302.7 Dirtenalan Bay a fictional place; the name is Scots for the skua. 302.9 Gazette of a victory official announcement of a victory in the London Gazette. 302.24 the twelfth 12 August, the day on which grouse shooting begins. 302.28–29 Omne... montes when Proteus drove all his herd to go to the mountains: see Horace, Odes, 1.2.7–8. In Homer’s Odyssey (4.365) Proteus is

514

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‘an ancient one of the sea’ who herds the seals. 302.35 race of Nimrods see Genesis 10.9: ‘Nimrod the mighty hunter before the Lord’. 303.1 We’ll hang a seal-skin on thy recreant limbs see KingJohn,3.1131.

303.18 alien act see‘Historical Note’, 446. 303.21 tanquam suspect the real Latin would be: tanquam suspectus (as though he were a suspected person). 303.26 Under Secretary of State possibly Sir Evan Nepean (1751–1822), a civil servant who from 1794 was under-secretary for war. 303.27 tax on Riga hemp the reference is unclear; subsidies were offered to encourage the growing ofhemp in England, and tax was levied on imports; it is possible that Scotland with an extensive Baltic trade resented the interference in the market. 303.27–28 putting down political societies the Seditious Meetings Act, by which meetings with more than 50 attending required the leave and presence of a magistrate, was passed only in 1795, but from 1793 political societies were intimidated by the trials in Edinburgh of such as Thomas Muir and T. F. Palmer: ‘The Scottish trials of 1793–94 were aimed not only at the very vigorous ScottishJacobin societies, but also at the societies in England’ (E. P. Thompson, The Making ofthe English Working Class (London, 1963), 124). 303.37–38 Act... regulating bail-bonds in an act of 1701 the Scottish Parliament fixed maximum rates of bail according to the rank of the accused. 304.1 meopericulo Latin at my risk. 304 motto As You Like It, 2.7.156. 304.17 arquebuss early type of musket; it was obsolete by mid-17th cen­ tury, and so Oldbuck is being deliberately archaic. 3 04.19 Joe Manton fowling-piece made by a noted London gunsmith, Joseph Manton (1766?–1835). 304.20 a fool and his money is soon parted proverbial: see Ray, 108; ODEP, 273. 304.22 every one has their fancy proverbial: compare ‘every man to his taste’ (ODEP, 230). 304.24–25 Coemptos ... Iberis to exchange illustrious books, gathered from far and wide, for Spanish armour: Horace, Odes, 1.29.13. 304.28 Cordery see note to 24.5. 304.34 Captain or Colonel, or Knight in Arms Milton, Sonnet 8 (1642), line I. 304.3 5 Gens humida ponti the wet race of the sea: Virgil, Georgies, 4.430. 304.37 Stemunt... phocæ the scattered seals sprawl in sleep on the shore: Virgil, Georgies, 4.432. 305.3–4 et se jactu dedit æquor in altum and [ Proteus ] threw himself into the deep sea: Virgil, Georgios, 4.528. In Homer’s Odyssey (4.365) Proteus is ‘an ancient one of the sea’ who herds the seals. 305.9 West Indies MacIntyre was engaged in the war in Flanders, and is suggesting a tansfer to the other main theatre of war, the West Indies; in 1794 British forces captured the main ports of Haiti, and all French islands except Guadeloupe. But Britain lost 40,000 troops in the West Indies over the next 3 years. 305.24 monitoribus asper literally harsh to teachers, i.e. resentful of advice: Horace, ArsPoetica, 163. 305.36 competent witness a person convicted of a major crime was not a competent witness. But Oldbuck doesnot say that Edie would notbe acompet­ ent witness; he just says that in current circumstances Edie’s evidence might be doubted.

EXPLANATORY NOTES

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305.38 tanquam suspectus Latin as though he were a suspected person. 305.39 cum nota Latin with a mark. In Rome, the duties of the censors included making lists of senators, knights, members of tribes, and aerarii, as conclusive evidence of each man’s standing and civil and political rights. They could remove at their discretion any who had incurred their censure; the nota was the mark of the censors’ disapproval. 305.39 omni suspicione major Latin above all suspicion. 306.1 doughty son of Priam Hector. 306.9 Bengal army the army of the East India Company. 306.10 Indus great river in Sind and Punjab in the west of the Indian sub­ continent. 306.21 Petrie, in his Essay on Good-breeding Adam Petrie, Rules of Good Deportment, or of Good Breeding, for the Use of Youth (Edinburgh, 1720): CLA, 110. 306.23 led captains hangers-on. 306.29 arca auri chest of gold. See note to 300.2. The phrase ‘arca auri’ does not occur in Plautus’s Aulularia, but the word arca is used of the place where the gold is hidden. 306.33 sheriff-officer, or messenger a sheriff-officer was appointed by the sheriff to execute the orders of the Sheriff Court; a messenger at arms was appointed by the Lord Lyon King ofArms to execute the orders of the Court of Session. 306.33–34 illaff poor, bad. 306.35 stane wa’s stone walls; i.e. Sir Arthur will be imprisoned. 306.38–39 no man can be legally imprisoned for debt this was a legal fiction. As Oldbuck explains, the crown would demand that debtors satisfy their creditors, and when they failed to do so the crown would outlaw them and imprison them for failing to obey the royal summons. 307.4–5 feudal system Oldbuck could be referring to either the political system in general, or more particularly to the system ofland tenure in Scotland. 307.7–8 rerum cognoscere causas to know the causes of things: see Virgil, Georgics, 2.490. 307.9 haud alienum a Scævolæ studiis not at all foreign to the interests of Scaevola: see Cicero, AdAtticum (68–44 bc) 4.16.3. Quintus Mucius Scaevola (died 82 bc) was an eminent orator and jurist. 307.16 letters of four forms procedure (replaced in 1613) whereby the Crown sent four successive letters exhorting the debtor to pay his debts. 307.25 process of diligence legal enforcement. 307.32–33 three blasts of a horn at the market place of Edinburgh outlawing was announced in this way, a process known as ‘homing’, or ‘putting to the horn’. 308.9 gie them leg-bail run away, decamp. 308.14 fugie-warrants see note to 161.14. 308.15 Border-warrants warrants for debtors residing on the English side ofthe Border, issued by a sheriff of a Scottish Border county, for arresting and imprisoning debtors until they were able to find security for their appearing in a Scottish court. 308.17 Saint James’s Fair held annually in Kelso on 5 August. 308.27 How’s a’ wi’ ye the day how’s everything with you today. 309.1 ower free o’ too free with. 309.8–9 crappit heads stuffed haddocks’ heads. 309.15 a’this length all this distance. 309.34–35 wind us a pirn spinning metaphor meaning ‘create difficulties for us’. 309.36 gets to her English gets worked up or excited.

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309.38 ta’en out taken out, i.e. educated. 309.40–41 half-merk marriage clandestine but valid marriage marriage (for which a half-merk (3p) was the fee). 310 motto not identified; probably by Scott. 310.18–21 The herring... gentle kind compare ‘The Dreg Song’, in David Herd, Ancient andModern Scottish Songs, Heroic Ballads etc. 2 vols (1776), 2.165, lines 58–59; also in Joseph Ritson, Ancient and Modern Scotish Songs, 2 vols (1791), 2.68, lines 58–59. 310.28–312.6 Now hand your tongue... Highland kerne although the earliest version of the ballad ‘The Battle of Harlaw’ in Child was recorded in 1823 (Child, 163), it seems the ballad was known to Scott if only because Roland Cheyne seems to give advice similar to that offered by ‘John the Gryme’, and the reference to ‘mail-clad men’ picks up Forbes’s ‘coat of mail’. Yet Scott has written an imitation ballad, which draws upon the traditional one, to fit the circumstances of TheAntiquary. For the battle see note to 213.38, and compare C. M. Jackson-Houlston, ‘ “Scoundrel Minstrels”: Some Allusions to Song in Two Scott Novels’, in Scott in Carnival, ed. J. H. Alexander and David Hewitt (Aberdeen, 1993), 104. 310.32–33 Bennachie ... Don prominent hill 30 kms NW of Aberdeen overlooking the valley of the river Don; the battle was fought nearby. 310.40 Percy Thomas Percy (1729–1811). He is best known for his cele­ brated collection of ballads and other pieces, Reliques ofAncient English Poetry (1765). 310.41 Ritson Joseph Ritson (1752–1803) took a genuinely scholarly view of traditional song, and disapproved strongly of editors who improved their texts; in his A Select Collection ofEnglish Songs, 3 vols (1783), 1.ix–x, he accuses Percy of corrupting his texts in the Reliques. 311.1 on the back of immediately after. 311.14 Donald Donald, Lord of the Isles, who led the army of Highlanders and Islanders against the Earl of Mar at the battle in 1411. ‘Donald’ is also the name given to Highlanders and Islanders in general, with a generally disparag­ ing overtone. 311.35 fight before Mar came up there is no record of a skirmish before the main battle. 311.36 Mearns, and Aberdeen, and Angus the lowland army was largely recruited from the counties of Aberdeen (including the town of Aber­ deen), Kincardine, and Angus. 312.5–6 Norman blude ... Highland kerne this is a normal misrepres­ entation of the issues, and of the cultural divide. The opposing sides in the battle were led by cousins fighting over the ownership of Ross, which both claimed. 312.11 Ossian’s songs of Selma see James Macpherson, ‘The Songs of Selma’, in The Poems of Ossian. 312.13 halfpenny ballad i.e. a street ballad, printed on a broadsheet and sold for a halfpenny (about one-fifth of 1p). 312.22 Hunter’s song of the Owl see Ann Grant, Essay on the Superstitions ofthe Highlands ofScotland, 2 vols (London, 1811), 2.260. 312.40 Do manus Latin I give my hands; i.e. I submit. 313.6 the black ox has trampled on ye proverbial: see ODEP, 64. The ‘black ox’ is a symbol of adversity. 313.26–30 Omni... eduxit worse than any loss oflimb is loss of memory, when a man cannot remember the names ofhis servants, or the face ofthe friend he dined with the previous night, or the children he begot and brought up: Juvenal, Satires, 10.232–36. 314.26–29 He turn’d ... anither compare ‘The Douglas Tragedy’ (Child, 7B), stanza 7, in Minstrelsy, 3.6.

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314.43 for a’ that‘s come and gane in spite of everything that’s happened. 315.11 there’s nae torture in our days torture as a means of compelling confessions was made illegal by the Claim of Right (1689) and by an act of 1708. 316.8 strae death straw death, i.e. a natural death. 316.25–26 Ane suldna speak ill o’ the dead proverbial: see ODEP, 761. 316.34 Gothic Leichnam lyke-wake is derived from Old English ‘lic’ (a body) and ‘wake’. The word ‘lyke’ does not come from the modern German ‘leiche’, a corpse, but both ‘lyke’ and ‘leiche’ have a common Primitive Ger­ manic root. The derivation of wake is both complicated and obscure, but it too has a Primitive Germanic root. Oldbuck’s comments are derived from John Brand, Observations on PopularAntiquities (1777), ed. Henry Ellis 2 vols (1813), 2.139. 316.35 Brand John Brand (1744–1806), English antiquary, author of Observations on Popular Antiquities (1777). 317.9 free-goer horse that goes easily. 317.15 Bucephalus the horse ofAlexander the Great (356–323 bc), and used as a generic name for any powerful mount. 317.25 frank to the road ofa horse ready to go, willing. 317.27–28 Quintus Curtius Quintus Curtius Rufus (dates unknown) wrote a history of Alexander the Great in mid-first century ad. 317.28–30 Nobilis ... potest a thoroughbred horse is also guided by the mere shadow of the whip; a worthless one cannot be stirred up even by the spur: see Curtius, Alexander, 7.4.18. 317.35–41 With that... question 2 Henty IV, 1.1.43–48. 318.2 light horseman military mounted soldier lightly armed and equipped. 318.4–6 Beneficia ... redditur good deeds are welcome as long as it seems that they can be repaid; when they go far beyond that point it is hatred and not gratitude that results: Tacitus, Annals (c. 115–117 ad), 4.18. 318.7 motto not identified; probably by Scott. 318.32 that might have rivalled that of Windsor Windsor Castle is one of the residences of the British monarchy; it was extensively remodelled in the reign of George III. 319.3–4 Afico...joys see 2 Henry IV, 5.3.98–99. 319.3 2 Harpagon character in Molière’s play L’avare (1668). 320.5 Panchresta ... Basilius panchresta universal medicines, i.e medi­ cines to solve everything; polychresta nonce word made up to indicate that Dousterswivel does not understand what he is talking about; Pelasco de Taranta Valescus de Taranta (14th–15th centuries), doctor and surgeon of Montpel­ lier, as pronounced by Dousterswivel; Basilius Basilius Valentinus, apparently an alchemist of the 15 th century, but in fact the pseudonym ofJohann Thölde who wrote in the first half of the 16th century. 320.28–29 sickness of delayed hope see Proverbs 13.12: ‘Hope de­ ferred maketh the heart sick: but when the desire cometh, it is a tree of life’. 322.4 Leith Roads sheltered water near Leith, the port of Edinburgh. 322.28 He dears me the use of the word ‘dear’ implies familiarity; in a letter of 1794 a superior with whom one was not acquainted would have been ad­ dressed as ‘Sir’, or ‘Your Grace’, etc. 322.28–29 writer’s office lawyer’s office. 322.29–30 second table the best company sat at the first table. 22.39 3 man of business lawyer who not just advised a client when re­ quested but conducted routine legal and factorial work for the client. 322.39–40 Writer to the Signet member of the most prestigious body of solicitors in Scotland. 322.40 parliament-house clerk Grinderson has once been Greenhorn’s

518

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clerk dealing with court business in Parliament House (i.e. the Court of Session or High Court), but has now been assumed as a partner. 323.3 Lamberton village north of Berwick. 323.12–13 applying for a suspension... of Goldiebird’s bond applying to the Court of Session to suspend the execution of a bond (i.e. a legal promise to pay money on a particular day) until it can be reviewed by the Court of Session. 323.13 inconsistent such a conflict of interest was not acceptable even in 1794. 323.14–15 procurators and attornies agents and representatives in legal matters. 323.15 charge of homing the process by which the court required a debtor to pay his debts, and in case of non-compliance ultimately resulting in the debtor’s imprisonment; see notes to 306.38–39 and 307.32–33. 323.16 schedule ... the messenger details of the debts, left by the messenger at arms (see note to 306.33) with the letters requiring the debtor to pay his debts. 323.17–18 four thousand ... sixpence £4756.27½. 323.19–20 during the currency of the charge the period within which the debtor was required by the charge (or letter from the court) to make payment. 323.21–22 seven ... sixpence £769.52½. 323.23–24 rights, title deeds, and documents in hypothec hypothec was the right of a creditor to hold the effects of a debtor as security for a claim without taking possession of them. The lawyers here are retaining the docu­ ments relating to Sir Arthur’s ownership of Knockwinnock and to his rights to explore for minerals etc. 323.25 the next money term Martinmas, 11 November. 323.27 peremptorie and sine mora forthwith and without delay. 323.29 to agé as accords Scots law act as may be necessary. 326.26–27 whare they clip there needs nae kame not recorded as a proverb. 326.30–31 there’s a heaven ower your head proverbial: see ODEP, 365. 326.32–33 He, wha rebuked the waters see Luke 8.24. 326.36–37 when the night’s darkest, the dawn’s nearest proverbial: see ODEP, 168. 326.39 Royal Charlotte the mail coach. 326.39 Kittlebrig i.e.‘difficult bridge’. 327.15 day o’distress biblical phrase :see Genesis 35.3 ;Obadiah 12,14; Zephaniah 1.15. 327 motto not identified; probably by Scott. 327.34–35 inventory... poinding list of moveable goods which are to be sold by order of the court to meet debts. 328.16 taxed cart two-wheeled open cart drawn by one horse. Carriages were considered to be luxuries and were taxed. 328.35 down in the schedule i.e. written in the list of goods to be sold to meet debts. 329.6 process of battery and deforcement crime of assaulting and opposing a public officer, such as a messenger, in the execution ofhis duty, but the messenger must have displayed his baton. Deforcement could result in the forfeit of all moveable property, and battery could result in imprisonment. 329.20–21 He that will to Cupar maun to Cupar proverbial used of a wilful person: see Kelly, 141; ODEP, 161. Cupar is a town in NE Fife. 329.27 execution of deforcement see note to 329.6. 329.35–36 Phoca Barbata... Phoca vitulina zoological names for the

EXPLANATORY NOTES

519

bearded and common seals, although the bearded is usually called erignathus barbatus. 330.3 William the Lion 1143–1214, King of Scots from 1165. 330.3 capite quarto, versu quinto Latin in the 4th head, 5th section. 330.4 despectus Domini Regis Latin contempt of the lord the king 330.5 legal diligence i.e. legal enforcement. 330.8 letters of caption warrant to arrest a debtor following his being put to the horn (see notes to 306.38–39 and 307.32–33). 330.8 tanquam participes criminis rebellionis Latin as if participants in the crime of rebellion. 330.18 per Legem Juliam a Lex Iulia de Maiestate was passed under both Julius Caesar and Augustus. The laws concerned treason; in essence they made any help given to an enemy an act of treason. Edmund Burke read from this law in the debate on the Traitorous Correspondence Bill of 1793 (see note to 331.31). 330.19 Hark thee hither see The Merry Wives of Windsor, 3.4.21. 331.10 Sed pereundi mille figuræ but [ there are ] a thousand forms of death. See Ovid, Heroides, 10.81. 331.17 desipere in loco [ it is pleasant ] to play the fool in [ due ] place: Horace, Odes, 4.12.28. 331.31 unlawful correspondence the Traitorous Correspondence Act of 1793 made it unlawful in general to aid the enemy in anyway, and specifically to trade in arms and to enter Britain without a passport or licence. 332.7–8 where the slaughter is, the eagles will be gathered together see Matthew 24.28; Luke 17.37. 332.17 wings of the morning fly away quickly early in the morning: Psalm 139.9. 332.18 twigs limed for him twigs smeared with lime for the purpose of catching birds. 332.20 Jonah minor prophet who is told by God to go to Nineveh to preach against it, but who tries instead to escape God by taking a boat to Tarshish. A storm arises, and the crew, realising that Jonah has created the storm by dis­ obeying God, throw him overboard. 332.23 in nomine regis Latin in the name of the king. 332.39–40 tell yourselves off by nine military count yourselves off in nines. MacIntyre adapts a proverb, ‘Nine tailors make a man’ (ODEP, 567). 333.1 to the right about military turn to the right until you face the opposite way. 333.40 Indian Banians Hindu traders, especially from the province of Guzerat; or in Bengal, brokers. 334.11–12 Tower... 1745 see page 37. 334.14 Highgate then an area to the north of London through which ran the road from the north. 334.14 life guards mounted troops forming part of the monarch’s body­ guard. 334.15 secretary of state’s warrant see note to 37.33–34. 334.21 hanging, drawing and quartering the punishment for high treason, according to the law of England. Guilty persons were hanged, had their entrails removed, and then were divided into quarters. 334 motto not identified; probably by Scott. 335.8–9 dogs who... eat dirty puddings proverbial: hungry dogs will eat dirty puddings. See ODEP, 393;Jonathan Swift, A Complete Collection of Polite and Ingenious Conversation, in The Works ofJonathan Swift, D.D., ed. Walter Scott, 19 vols (Edinburgh, 1814), 11.346, 427 (Corson). 335.32 favete linguis be silent: Horace, Odes, 3.1.2.

520

EXPLANATORY NOTES

335.36 Secede paulisper Latin retire for a short time: Seneca (c. 4 bc–AD 65), Epistles, 67.12. 335.37 supersedere of diligence delaying of legal action. 335.38 make your bear-garden flourish elsewhere see William Con­ greve, The Way ofthe World (1700), 5.1 (twice). 336.15 bills i.e. bills of exchange. In effect these were cheques; they might be immediately payable, or payable in the future, in which case someone could offer them to a bank which would cash them at a discount, the discount being essentially the interest on the money lent until the time the bill was due for payment. 337.6–7 See’st thou this paper compare King Lear, 5.3.160. 337.8 sist on a bill o’ suspension stay of execution by virtue of Letters of Suspension, a writ granted to a debtor seeking a review of proceedings. 337.9 ultimate diligence in this case the imprisonment of the debtor. 337.23 evacuate Flanders a reference to the British retreat from Flanders in January 1794. 338.2 discharge all proceedings stop and withdraw all proceedings. 338.16 Dutch baby-house barometric toy which works as explained in the text. Here Dutch is a form of‘Deutsch’, i.e. German; a baby-house is a ‘doll’s house’. 338.25 Strathtudlem a fictional territorial designation. 338.37 patrimonial rights either rights of inheritance or property or other rights having monetary value. 339.1 Aha, old Truepenny, art thou there see Hamlet, 1.5.150. 339.3–4 slaughter from afar see Matthew 24.28; Luke 17.37. 339.4 blue pigeon...returned with the olive branch see Genesis 7.11. The pigeon is blue because Edie wears a blue gown. 339.16–17 soft answer turneth away wrath Proverbs 15.1. 339.28–29 Odi accipitrem qui semper vivit in armis I hate the hawk which always lives in arms: see Ovid, Ars Amatoria, 2.147. 339.29 eat and drink and be joyful see, in the Apocrypha, Tobit 7.9. 339.36–37 last privileged fool or jester in his review of Tales ofMy Landlord Scott writes: ‘such a personage held this respectable office in the family of the Earls of Strathmore within the last century, and his costly holiday dress, garnished with bells of silver, is still preserved in the Castle of Glamis’ (Prose Works, 19.15). In a letter of 9 February 1808 he says that the ‘late Duke ofArgyll had a jester of this description, who stood at the sideboard among the servants, and was a great favourite, until he got into disgrace by rising up in the kirk before sermon, and proclaiming the bans of marriage between himself and my friend Lady Charlotte Campbell’ (Letters, 2.16). 340.7 par nobile fratrum a noble pair of brothers: Horace, Satires 2.3.243. 340.16 St Winnox imaginary saint whose name is derived from Knockwin­ nock. 341.3–4 twelfth of August the first day of the grouse-shooting season. 341.14 French is coming see ‘Historical Note’, 446–47. 341.17 lieutenancy correspondence Sir Arthur was Deputy Lieutenant for the county. 341.29 cockit up having the coiffure heightened by the use of a pad of false hair. 342 motto not identified; probably by Scott. 342.14 par excellence French especially. 343.10 hoc erat in votis that was in prayers or wishes; i.e. that was the summit of desire: Horace, Satires, 2.6.1. 343.31–32 The cry is still, They come Macbeth, 5.5.2.

EXPLANATORY NOTES

521

344.29 -30 they liked mutton weel that lickit whare the yowe lay proverbial: see Kelly, 125; Ramsay, 8 2; ODEP, 494. 345.12 sting and ling forcibly. 345.2 4 simmered it and wintered it e'er sae lang went into it at great length and detail. 346.5 De'il hae't not a thing. 346.24-25 they'll be odds against us they'll outnumber us. 346.30 Even in our ashes . . . fires Thomas Gray, 'Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard' (1751), line 92. 347.25 guide us a' oath meaning 'God direct us all'. 348 motto James Hogg, 'Lord Derwent', in TheMountain Bard ( Edinburgh, 18 07), 134. 348 .14-15 looked toward Bimam see Macbeth, 5.5.29-38 . 348.2 4-2 5 with fear of change perplexing nations see Milton, Para­ dise Lost, 1.598 -99. 348.34-35 signal of invasion the Magnum version ofTheAntiquary concludes with a long note headed'Alarm oflnvasion' (Magnum, 6. 338-40) in which Scott discusses a false alarm on 2 February 18 04, 'the person who kept watch on the commanding station of Home Castle [ Berwickshire], being de­ ceived by some accidental fire in the county of Northumberland'. 349.10 Andrea Ferrara in her edition of Waverley (Oxford, 198 1), Claire Lamont writes: 'Andrea Ferrara was a North Italian swordsmith of the late sixteenth century. His name became a mark of quality for Scotsmen in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, and many Scots swords bear his name, but it is doubted whether any of them are in fact his work' (452). 349.16-17 sea fencibles.. . land fencibles . .. volunteers.. . yeo­ manry sea and land fencibles were members of the armed services liable for only defensive service at home; volunteers were those who had voluntarily formed themselves into companies and regiments for the defence of the coun­ try; the yeomanry were a volunteer cavalry force, first embodied in 1794. 349 .23 make shift make it serve. 349.2 9 no occasion for such vanities compare MuchAdoAbout Nothing, 3.3.15-23. 350.16 slipped their cables undone their moorings and moved out, but remaining tied to a buoy, so as to effect a quick get-away if necessary. 351.3-4 Diogenes at Sinope 4th century B c, principal representative of the cynic school of philosophy. His 'extravagantly simple mode of life and repudiation of civilized customs' (Sir Paul Harvey, The Oxford Companion to Classical Literature, 1937) gave rise to many stories, including his living in a tub. 351.14 Glenallan yeomanry... regiment of five hundred men the lowland tenants form a volunteer cavalry force, but the Earl raised a regular regiment from his Highland tenants. The model for this is the Duke of Gordon, who raised a regiment offencibles in 1793, and a regular regiment, the Gordon Highlanders, in 1794. The latter was incorporated on 24 June 1794, and the first commanding officer was the Marquis of Huntly, the eldest son of the Duke. 351.34-35 assessors of the lieutenancy technical advisers to the Lord Lieutenant and his deputies. 353.12-13 Cresar and Polybius, and the Strategemata Polyreni Julius Caesar (c. 102-44 BC), whose Commentaries on the Gallic and Civil Wars are a brilliant amalgam of historical narrative, military and political analyis, and self-justification. Polybius (202 - c. 118 B c) was a Greek historian who wrote of the dramatic rise ofRome in the period 264-146 B c. Polyaenus (2nd century AD) was author of Strategemata, an analysis of ruses to be used in war. 353.2 0 pushed forward in the army by money and interest commis­ sions (i.e. the royal appointment of an officer) could be purchased, but it was

522

EXPLANATORY NOTES

often necessary to have someone in or connected with government to secure openings. 353.28 French-Flanders the eastern part of modern Belgium where French is the dominant language. 354.10 Raro antecedentem scelestum... deseruit pœna literally rarely does punishment fail to catch up with a wicked person who has gone before: Horace, Odes, 3.2.31–32. Horace’s image is of a person who thinks he has a head start and cannot be overtaken by punishment. Oldbuck suggests ‘scel­ estam’ because that is the feminine form, and he is applying Horace to Teresa. 356.12 Gazette The London Gazette in which official announcements are made. 356.23 En attendant French while waiting.

GLOSSARY

This selective glossary defines single words; phrases are treated in the Explanatory Notes. It covers Scottish words, archaic and technical terms, and occurrences of familiar words in senses that are likely to be strange to the modern reader, which are unlikely to be in commonlyused one-volume dictionaries. For each word (or clearly distinguishable sense) glossed, up to four occurrences are normally noted; when a word occurs four or more times in the novel, only the first instance is normally given, followed by ‘etc.’. Orthographical variants of single words are listed together, usually with the most common use first. Often the most economical and effective way of defining a word is to refer the reader to the appropriate explanatory note. a he 64.21, 64.23; I 196.25, 216.38 a’ all 31.6 etc. abide wait for 165.25 etc. aboon above 92.28 about around 168.32 abracadabra cabalistic word used as a charm or spell 194.8 abread abroad 200.20 absolute free from external restraint 17.11 abune above 57.2 etc. accompt finance account 338.8 acmé summit of perfection 105.22 adept alchemy ‘He that is completely skilled in all the secrets of his art’ (Johnson) 128.16 etc. adventurer one who lives by his wits 34.38; one who engages in hazard­ ous enterprizes 59.17 ae one 62.4 etc. æstus Latin fire, glow 108.10 aften off 17.1 etc. afore before, in front of 12.30 etc. aften often 265.42 again, again’ against 110.30 etc.; in preparation for 268.11 agent one who acts on behalf of an­ other especially in another place 46.40, 234.23, 336.11, 352.37 agger Latin rampart 27.42 ahint behind 212.11, 215.25, 300.28 aiblins perhaps, possibly 165.39, 166.21 aid-de-camp officer who aids a gen­ eral in his duties by bearing orders

etc. 123.36,350.36 aik-tree oak tree 59.11 ain adjective own 7.36 etc. airn iron 18.21, 190.42 ait-meal oatmeal 165.23 ait-strae oat-straw 203.6 aith oath 190.31 aliunde Latin from another source 20.15 allerbestmost nonce word the very best 172.40 almoner chaplain, with responsibility for distributing alms 222.9 etc. amaist almost 72.7 etc. amang among 47.20 etc. amateur one who loves or is fond of something 9.38,23.23,23.37,24.40 an, an’ if 53.4 etc.; and 60.37 etc. analecta see note to 109.22 anathema solemn denunciation 96.31 ance see anes anchoret anchorite, hermit 165.13, 272.13, 276.42 ane one 9.9 etc. aneath beneath 57.3, 313.6 anent about, of 198.32 anes, ance 66.1 etc. aneugh, aneuch enough 32.43 etc. anglicé French in English 5.21 anither another 74.1 etc. anker cask holding about 8½ gallons 120.26 antic1 antique 190.40, 190.41 antic2 grotesque in figure or shape 140.19

524

GLOSSARY

apropos French fitting, to the purpose 184.42,185.7 arcanum alchemy ultimate secret or mystery 320.4 armipotent mighty in arms 123.39 aroint begone 44.1 arquebuss portable fire-arm of 16th and 17th centuries 304.17 (see note) arras tapestry 79.12, 79.21 as if 65.2 aside beside 316.23 assoilzie assoil, absolve 215.35, 259.15 atweel certainly 308.32 atween between 92.26 etc. aught see note to 115.39–40 auld old 12.19 etc. auld-farrant sagacious, ingenious 328.13 auto-da-fe burning of a heretic by the Inquisition 135.3–4 (see note) ava of all 89.30 avay Aberdeenshire away 222.26 awa away 30.39 etc. aweel well 33.1 etc. awen Welsh genius 108.10 awmous alms 66.5 etc. aye yes 9.7 etc.; always 93.9 etc. ayont beyond, over 166.16 baarenhauter see note to 202.32 backsey sirloin 112.13 bail-bond written undertaking by an­ other person that the accused will appear to answer the charge under pain of forfeiture of the sum fixed as bail 301.18 etc. baillie officer of a barony 16.40; member of a town council who acted as a magistrate 36.39 etc. bairn, baimie child 63.27 etc. baith both 72.18 etc. baldrick belt worn from one shoulder across the chest to support a sword 349.23 ban curse 212.14, 212.14 band-string string for fastening neck-band or collar 72.17 bane bone 65.29 etc. bang jump, rise hastily 72.40 bannock round flat cake of oat or bar­ ley meal cooked on a griddle 210.39 bannock-fluke turbot 88.36, 88.37 barm froth on yeast 89.37, 214.28 barns-breaking frolic 212.31

barony lands held directly from the crown 58.19, 64.25, 283.7; district 92.4З barouche four-wheeled carriage with seats for two couples facing each other 128.2, 128.12, 128.28 basse-cour French poultry-yard 274.9 baton-sinister heraldry sign of bas­ tardy 192.26 Baudrons generic proper namefor a cat 72.21 bauld bold 58.39 etc. bawbee small coin worth one old half­ penny (0.2p) 295.22 bay horse of reddish-brown colour 128.3, 288.5, 291.13; reddishbrown as applied to a horse 323.40 bead-roll list or string of names 38.30, 49.34 bean comfortable, pleasant 356.1 beaver hat made of beaver’s fur 335.23 bedral beadle 191.38, 193.6 behint behind 195.4, 205.35 behuve behove 326.40, 326.41, 344.32 belang belong 114.16, 232.14, 256.15, 286.17 belay nautical run a small rope round a cleat to secure a sail 62.18 belive soon 111.35, 312.26, 312.30, 326.26 ben (into) the inner or best room 113.11 etc. bennison blessing 174.38 beyont beyond 16.43 bicker wooden porridge bowl 81.24; beaker 217.13, 327.1 bidden waited 116.36 bide endure, tolerate, wait for 56.39 etc.; stay 59.3 etc. bield shelter, protection 31.6 big verb build, construct 30.36 etc. bigaLatin chariot drawn by two horses 289.8 bigging building, cottage 66.31 etc. bill written order to a bank to pay the stated sum to the payee on a given date 110.7,114.31,336.15,336.42 billet1 purse 159.29 billet2 letter 126.11; military official order requiring the person to whom it is addressed to provide board and lodgings for the soldier bearing it 350.26

GLOSSARY bink plate-rack, kitchen dresser 212.81 binna be not, isn’t 82.31 birss temper 175.15 bit indicating smallness 30.35 etc. black-neb literally black nose, one disaffected against the government 47–27 blatter incoherent flow ofwords 72.30 blazon badge of office displayed by a King’s messenger 329.20 blazoned decorated with armorial bearings 128.4 blazonry heraldic devices, armorial bearings 149.27 bleeze blaze, sudden flaring up 201.39 blink noun glance, look 92.15; period of light between clouds 203.22; moment 312.25 blink verb look 209.6 blithe happy, merry 31.7; well, hap­ pily 209.16 block wooden head for a wig 36.40 blonde kind of silk lace 43.5 blude blood 199.40,312.5,314.30 blue-bonnet see note to 177.30 boatie diminutive boat 210.17 etc. bob-wig for 127.31 see note bode price asked by the seller 309.2 bodkin person squeezed between two others when there is room for only two 127.38 bodle, boddle small coin worth two­ pence Scots (0.17p) 7.29 etc. body, bodie person 71.22 etc. bogle ghost 216.4 bole small recess in a wall, usually shuttered, acting as a window 255.37, 255.38 boll measurement ofcapacity 145 litres of grain 27.15, 88.10, 88.14 bolt’s-head globular flask with a long neck used in distillation 187.4 bonnet-laird small landowner who farmed his own land 28.43 bonny-die toy, trinket 165.31 book-leared learned, educated 32.42, 197–21 bosky bushy 129.40 bottle-holder supporter 306.24 bounds lands 58.19 bountith for 7.33 see note to 7.32–33 bourd joke, sport 31.10 bourock mound 30.35 etc. bouse, bowse swing out 62.16, 65.10

525

bowk large 205.14 bowl move smoothly or easily 355.37 brae hill 72.27, 311.14 braid broad 59.14 brak, brake broke 60.20, 260.3 bramble blackberry 129.41 branched embroidered 69.9 brank bear oneself proudly 311.14 braw, bra’ excellent, fine 113.14 etc. brawly, brawlie very well 205.11 etc. braws fine or best clothes 211.40; fine things 232.10 breviary Catholic service book con­ taining the order of service for each day 208.18 bridewell kind of prison in which minor criminals and beggars were engaged in forced labour 167.20 brig, brigg vessel with two, squarerigged masts 57.14 etc. brilliant diamond of the finest cut and brilliancy 218.42 Britains Britons 123.41 brock badger 167.23 broken ruined 112.9 brouze feed on rough grass 115.27 brunt burnt 111.41 Bucephalus horse of Alexander the Great, hence a horse 126.33, 329.34 budget bag 334.38 buke book 214.21 burrows-town town 212.3, 212.13 bush inn-sign 12.8 busk dress hooks for fly-fishing 92.42 by in addition to, besides 165.20 bye beyond 63.16 bye-job additional job on the side 330.13 bye-word proverb 238.4 ca’ call 31.5 etc.; pull, set in motion 65.2 cabala see note to 101.39 callant lad, fellow 31.10 etc. caller fresh 12.40 etc.; for 167.31 see note calthrop military iron ball with 4 spikes arranged so that one will always point upwards, used to obstruct cavalry 22.28 can drinking vessel 26.15 canary sweet white wine from the Canary Islands 26.17 Candlemass 2 February, a Scottish quarter day 92.26

526

GLOSSARY

cankered ill-tempered 205.19, 223.32 canna can’t 16.42 etc. cannle candle, candles 215.34 canny careful 59.12 etc.; comfortable 89.28; lucky, auspicious in dealing with the supernatural 214.36 cant tip 149.22 canton quarter, corner 76.16 cantraip trick 344.31 capeechin Aberdeenshire for 224.12 see capuchin capper copper 190.42 caption Scots law warrant for an arrest for debt 307.8, 330.8, 333.12 capuchin friar of the order of St Francis 138.21 etc. car-cake small cake 211.20, 216.1, 217.11 career charge, gallop 130.11 carle man, fellow 26.32 etc. carline somewhat derogatory old woman 213.7, 313.15 carry conduct, lead 167.7 carta Latin charter 72.35 etc. cartes cards 113.13 carvy-seed caraway seed 112.7 casqued wearing a helmet 46.38 cast verb make fast a rope by means of a hitch 59.9 cast noun lot, fortune 237.21; oppor­ tunity, chance 326.38; specimen, taste 330.17 castra Latin military camp 11.26 etc. castrametation art of laying out a military camp 10.11 etc. catched caught 200.40, 202.25, 344–20 catechize instruct in religious matters by means of formal question and answer, especially by using the 17th century Shorter Catechism 249.37; ask questions systematically of 100.2, 103.9 cauld cold 89.29, etc. caulk stop up the seams of a ship 159–24 certie for 168.6, 200.29, 204.15, 212.4 see note to 168.6 chafron armour protecting the front of a horse’s head 311.7, 311.13 chancy lucky 316.25 change-house small inn or ale-house 15.3 chariot coach 64.6, 64.10

chasing embossing or engraving 355–34 chasse French hunting 302.26 chaunt chant 207.21 etc. chield, chiel chap 175.23 etc.; muckle chield lad, young man 310.1 chimera wild fancy 188.41 chimlay-nook chimney corner 311–33 chip-box small box made of thin wood 218.39 chop-fallen dejected, dispirited 189.22 chrystal rock crystal used in magic 194.6 chuse choose 75.11 etc. cicerone, ciceroné guide who shows the antiquities of a place to strangers 28.21, 128.32, 129.32 cinctured girdled 138.3 claes clothes 177.9 claise clothes 89.29, 89.32 claith clothing 89.28; cloth 200.12; clothes 72.41 clash gossip 231.6, 231.7 clatter gossip, talk scandal 198.35; rumour 315.1 claymore long sword formerly used by Highlanders 125.12 clean completely 72.32 etc. cleed clothe 212.22 clementines decrees of Pope Clem­ ent V 131.31 cleugh cliff, crag 62.4 clink sudden fall, blow 174.29 clink down for 69.4 see note; write down quickly 299.23; sit down quickly 315.17 clipping-time in the nick of time 174.37 clod throw 68.4,231.10 clout patch 87.2, 91.8, 92.40, 268.3 coat skirt 212.9; outer jacket 285.43, 286.1 coble short flat-bottomed rowing-boat 89.38 etc. cockade badge or feathers worn in the cap to indicate allegiance to one side or another 166.38 cock-padle male lump fish 88.37 etc. cocked-hat three-cornered hat with brim turned up 335.20 cockit see note to 341.29

GLOSSARY cœnobite member of a religious order living in a community 20.4 (see note) cœnobitical pertaining to a cœnobite 36.13 cœnobitium place where a cœnob­ ite lives 280.6, 287.32 collation light meal 136.40 collectanea see note to 109.22 collector person employed to collect taxes etc. 285.25 coilop slice of meat 74.11 colophon inscription usually at the end of a book giving title, printer’s name, and the date and place of printing 9.40, 50.22 comfits conserves, sweetmeats 180.25 commission for 295.9 see note t0 295.8–9 commons the common people 36.39, 214.11 communing discussion 29.1 composing-stick printing instru­ ment in which type is set before be­ ing transferred to the galley 86.31 conceitedly fancifully 180.18 concurrent one who accompanies a king’s messenger as witness or assistant 326.25, 333.28 condescend enter into particulars about 82.8; as condeshend 293.13 confer convey forcibly 138.34 contingence contingency 185.14 convoy the accompanying of someone on their way 238.1, 238.2, 238.3 cookie bun 113.12 cookit arranged 224.2 cope-stone head stone of a building, finishing touch 322.22 copperplate plate of polished copper on which a design is engraved for printing 21.12 corbie crow 179.6 cornucopia horn of plenty 188.28, 191–3 coronach dirge 213.39, 214.1, 214.5 couldna couldn’t 56.39 etc. council-house house where the town-council met 121.1 coupit overturned 326.39 couples braces or leashes 40.9; pair of rafters forming a V-shaped roof­ support 92.28 cove cave, cavern 166.4 etc.

527

covinarii Latin soldiers who fought from chariots 30.6, 123.41 crack talk, gossip, chat 92.39 etc. craig1 crag, cliff 53.4 etc. craig2 neck, throat 68.37 craigsman person who climbs cliffs for seabirds and their eggs 58.40, 60.19 crappit-heads stuffed haddocks’ heads 45.24, 309.8 creel lobster-pot 210.24; deep basket for carrying fish on the back 308.19 creesh grease 81.15 croft smallholding 32.26 cronach funeral lament, dirge 310.33 (see also coronach) croon sing quietly 312.28 crop natural hair conspicuously short 81.4 cross staff instrument used in sur­ veying 348.22 crousely confidently 306.34 cruppin crept 312.29 cummer female friend 218.3 etc. curb-stane kerb-stone 326.43 curfuffle state of excitement or agitation 160.38, 230.32 curricle light, two-wheeled carriage drawn by two horses abreast 288.33 curriculum Latin light, two-wheeled chariot drawn by two horses 288.40, 289.9 curtesy verb curtsey 21.19 cusin cousin 231.1 cut affect not to know (someone), break off an acquaintance with 54.5 cutikins gaiters 87.39 dactyl metrical foot consisting of one long and two short syllables 107.28 daft-like silly, stupid 32.38 dainty large, fair-sized 308.35 dammer one who constructs dams 190.33 dander, daunder stroll, wander 166.9, 292.3, 346.33 darena daren’t 196.25 darg day’s work 328.5 daur dare 167.21, 212.17, 212.18 day-star sun 130.5 de’il devil 16.33 etc. deacon chief official of a craft or trade, formerly an ex officio member of a town council 36.39 etc. deal plank 268.8 deburse disburse 9.18

528

GLOSSARY

declarant person who makes a state­ ment in the presence of a sheriff or magistrate 293.35 etc. decompose analyse 10.41 decreet for 149.38 and 149.41 see note to 149.41–150.3 decretals collection of papal decrees 131.31 dee1 die 89.29 etc. dee2 Aberdeenshire do 222.25 deevil devil 161.3 etc. deforce Scots law prevent a legal officer by force from discharging his duty 329.13 deforcement Scots law prevention of a legal officer by force from dischar­ ging his duty 329.6 (see note), 329–27, 330.13 delation accusation by an informer 309.21 demi-pique ofa saddle half-peaked, having a peak half the height of the older war-saddle 37.22 denner dinner 13.8 deukes ducks 112.16, 112.20 devel severe blow 204.39 devoted doomed 8.29, 57.29 didna didn’t 52.42 etc. diet-cake special cake for those on a diet 26.18 diligence1 public stage-coach 5.30 etc. diligence2 legal process 307.25 etc. ding beat, get the better of 33.15, 113.7 dinna don’t 47.17 etc. direction address on an envelope 319.21 dirgé funeral drink 214.3 dirk short dagger worn by High­ landers 21.34, 261.2, 261.23 disclamation Scots law vassal’s dis­ avowal of a person as a superior, hence repudiation, disclaimer 107.38 discuss consume 68.38 disna doesn’t 81.9 distaff for 211.9, 219.23, 248.40 and 314.33 see note to 248.40 distress English law legal seizure and sale of goods and chattels to repay a creditor or satisfy some wrong 319.28, 327.35, 328.29 div do 88.42, 111.1, 326.20 doatwander in speech 219.32,228.13

doesna doesn’t 82.24 etc. dog-horse worn-out horse only fit for dog-meat 289.17 dog-whip sexton, beadle 33.38 doited crazed, confused 7.27 etc. dole gift of food or money 92.23 etc. dollar large German coin 196.40, 311.10 donnard stupid 12.19, 12.21 dooms extremely 114.11,291.31 door-cheek door-post 121.3 door-pin kind of door-knocker con­ sisting of a vertical, serrated rod fixed to a door and a ring which was moved up and down to produce a rattling noise 314.13 door-stane threshold 120.3, 238.1, 285.4,312.19 doubt fear 56.43 etc. doubtna, doubt na don’t doubt 92.10, 230.33 douce pleasant, respectable 112.20 douceur French gratuity, tip 81.8 douk bathe 113.23 doun down 165.40 etc. doup butt, end of a used candle 36.33 dour hard, unyielding 199.14,213.43, 268.9 dowbe able 191.42 dow-cot dovecot 72.42 downa be unable, be unwilling 92.19 etc. dram small drink of whisky 89.21 etc. drap drop 16.33 etc. drave drove 232.40, 339.7 dredge collect and bring up oysters 310.21 dredging-box box for holding bottles, powders etc. 36.33 dree endure, suffer 70.21, 255.5, 266.33 dreep drip 215.21 drill draw, entice 205.26 droukit drenched, soaked 47.20, 68.6 drucken drunk 316.22 duello conventions governing the practice of duelling 154.17, 340.23 dulcimer stringed instrument in which strings stretched over a sounding board are struck with a hammer 169.7 dune done 92.26 etc. duodecimo book made up of sheets of paper folded and cut to give 12 leaves per gathering 7.11,25.17

GLOSSARY

dure hard, severe 175.7 durst dare 207.27 etc. durstna daren’t 165.38, 260.22 dwam swoon, stupor 65.30 eard put in the earth, bury 200.18 easel-ward eastward 59.10 eclaircissement explanation, revela­ tion 181.31, 196.19 e’e, ee eye 57.1 etc. een, e’en eyes 32.10 etc.; 112.26 e’en1 evening 32.16 etc. e’en2 even 57.1 etc. e’enow, e’en now, e’now just now 160.27 etc. effeir belong, pertain to 323.19 eilding fuel, esp. peat 89.31 eithly easily 191.37 Eldorado see note to 183.1 elder member of the Kirk Session in a presbyterian church 39.1 (see note) eneugh enough 92.30 etc. enow1 enough 69.27 etc. enow2 see e’enow epopea Greek writing of epic poetry 123.40 eremite hermit, recluse 161.35 Erse Gaelic 72.26 escritoire portable writing-desk 159.29, 159.30 espieglerie French mischievousness, impishness 43.12 everich every 76.12 evidents written documents, titledeeds 27.20 ewk itch 168.7 ex-peruquier former wig-maker 343.43 exies hysterics 275.28 expectoration process of expelling from the lungs 180.39 express messenger specially dis­ patched 113.33 etc. exstacies hysterics 284.41 extent tax (upon time and toil) 23.35 fa’ fall 62.4 etc. fa’an fallen 199.22 etc. fae Aberdeenshire who 224.4 failed impaired in health, infirm with age 92.36, 204.5,310.37 fain glad 93.40, 313.5; willingly, be glad to 199.19 etc.; obliged 222.2, 260.4, 265.12 fallow fellow 212.23 etc. fan Aberdeenshire when 224.4, 231.29 fand found 161.13 etc.

520

fanever Aberdeenshire whenever 224.14 fash verb trouble, bother 291.35 fashious troublesome, annoying 168.6 fat Aberdeenshire what 222.25 etc. faulchion curved sword with the cut­ ting edge on the outside 349.10 fauld fold 110.6, 315.17 faulter falter 333.38 fause false 264.9 feal loyal, faithful 83.27 feal-dike field wall of turf 162.13 feck (great) quantity, amount 285.20 feckless weak, incompetent 211.41 fee for 7.33 see note feel Aberdeenshire fool 230.31 feel-body Aberdeenshire foolish fellow 222.25 fending provisions, maintenance 89.27 fere healthy 218.4 fickle puzzle, perplex 310.4 fico fig 64.29 finis Latin end 25.20 fire-flaught lightning 264.35 firlot quarter of a boll 88.10, 88.13 fisher-wives fisher women 212.15 fit foot 89.13 etc. fite Aberdeenshire white 224.12 flaughter flash 166.11 flaw gust or squall ofwind, chiefly one bringing rain 162.14 flee1 noun fly 92.42 flighter flutter 204.28 fliskmahoy flighty or frivolous woman 275.28 flit move 228.12 flitting removal 316.9 flood-tide, flood the incoming tide near its height 6.1 etc.; 54.17 flude flood 18.25 fluke for 89.4 see bannock-fluke fly ‘stage-coach, distinguished by this name in order to impress a belief in its extraordinary quickness in travelling’ (Johnson) 5.30 etc. flyting, flyte violent argument 308.37,309.2 folio book made up from sheets of paper folded in half, i.e. a large book 7.7 etc. forbye besides, in addition 82.23 fore-end first part, beginning 218.4 forehand part of the horse that is

530

GLOSSARY

before the rider 288.6 forfaim worn out 165.21, 212.30 fossa Latin ditch 27.42 fouth abundance 18.20 founder sink, fell 216.25 fowling-gun light gun for shooting game birds 178.29 frae from 32.24 etc. freer Aberdeenshire friar 224.12 freestone sandstone 192.3 frizeur French hair-dresser 81.10 frizz form into small, tight curls 341.36 front-rank in the first line of a battal­ ion or army 222.30 fuff puff 73.4 fugie for 161.14 see note fugie-warrant see note to 161.14 fule fool 93.33 etc. fulish foolish 326.13 full-blown nautical andfigurative filled with wind, puffed out 319.30 fun’, fund found 192.15 etc. fasht Aberdeenshire for 222.37 see whisht fussil rustle 72.12 gaberlunzie beggar 26.36 etc. gadso exclamation God forbid 284.36 gae1 g0 31.4 etc. gae2gave 73.1, 346.20 gaefa’ guffaw 275.29 gae-down drinking match 31.7 gait1 goat 111.21 gait2 see gate gane gone 36.31, etc. gang go 52.42 etc. ganging continuing 12.29; going on 68.6 gar make (someone do something or something happen) 71.37 etc. gart past tense ofgar gat got 66.12 etc. gate, gait way 47.17 etc. gathering-coal large piece of coal laid over the embers of a fire to keep it alight without attention 217.19 gaudé-day festival, day of rejoicing 109.21 gauger exciseman 232.34 gaun going 116.10 etc. gay very 169.23, 356.1 gear goods, property, money 5.24 geck mock 261.16 gelt German money, but at 196.32 and 196.40 probably meaning treasure

gentle noun and adjective (person) of high birth, descended from a family of position 22.1 etc. geomantic pertaining to divination through the figures formed by joining dots randomly put on paper 194.7 gewgaw something of no account, trifle 22.9 ghaist ghost 52.33 etc. gie give 32.38 etc. gied gave 109.10,120.24, 347.36 gien given 32.25 gig light two-wheeled, one-horse car­ riage 343.8 gill liquid measure .053 litres 36.35 gill-stoup drinking vessel holding a gill of spirits 212.11 gim-cracks useless machines or apparatus 347.21 gin if 89.8 etc. glaive lance, halbert 311.17 glance gleam 166.11, 311.17 glass-breaker tippler 72.5 gleg quick, alert 202.25 gliff fright 167.13, 218.22, 345.11 gloamin twilight 31.28 glunch sulky 68.23 God-ward see note to 249.36 goodman husband 89.34 goustie, gousty cheerless, desolate 201.40, 308.18 gowd gold 65.39 etc. gowk cuckoo, fool 81.14, 200.38, 216.19 grain smallest unit of weight 112.8 grandmither grandmother 213.13 grane groan 93.36, 166.17, 166.17 grange outlying farm-house belonging to a religious establishment where crops and tithes in kind were stored 19.4 grape grope 216.34 green-room room back-stage where actors wait while not on stage 43.35 greet weep 250.33, 275.29, 298.25 grete great, large 76.9 greybeard one or two-handled jug for holding liquor 65.8 griesly grisly 123.38 ground-rent feu-duty, i.e. inScotslaw a payment by vassals to the superior of land 19.7 grund ground 32.38 gude good 17.2 etc.; God 8.7, 8.17,

GLOSSARY 69.35, 175.6, 204.28; well 117.27 glideman husband 69.3 etc. gudemither mother-in-law 213.8 etc. gudesire, gude-sire grandfather 71.13 etc. gudewife mistress of a house 92.40 etc. guerdon reward 18.3, 54.8 guide direct, manage 8.7 etc.; treat 112.40 gull dupe 184.18 gully knife 174.40 gyre-carline female supernatural be­ ing 166.13 gyte mad, insane 335.24 habit dress, clothes 237.19, 242.18 habited dressed 46.39 hack-chaise see hackney-coach 128.27 hackney-coach carriage kept for hire 8.26 haddie haddock 308.35, 309.7 haddo haddock 36.36 hadna hadn’t 216.28 etc. hae have 12.31 etc. hail haul 213.13 hale, haill whole 112.32 etc.; healthy, sound 218.4 half-mutchkin liquid measure half­ pint of spirits 6.10 halie holy 88.11, 200.19, 210.11 hallan inner partition between rooms 215.25 hallen-shaker tramp, vagabond 31.3 hame home 60.9 etc. handkercher, hankercher handker­ chief 267.24; piece of linen or silk worn about the neck 286.15 hands people 168.2 handspike wooden bar 252.5 hand-werker German skilled manual worker 86.15 hang-choice choice between two evils 245.17 hank hold, power 302.42 hantle noun much, considerable quantity of, great deal of 71.11, 119.24,165.43 har’st harvest 218.4 hams brains 116.7, 216.29 hasna hasn’t 111.38, etc. haud, had hold 32.28 etc.; for 32.41 see note

531

hause throat 301.16 havena haven’t 308.27 haver speak nonsense 345.14 having behaviour, manners 152.33 he’s he shall 199.28 hear listen 205.25 hedge inferior, third-rate 128.26 hegh exclamation expressing sorrow 122.16 hellicat ofa girl noisy, restless person 309.4 herd shepherd 31.5 heritor property owner liable to parish levies for poor relief, the stipends of minister and schoolmaster, and maintaining school and church buildings 71.23 herry harry 162.12 hersel, hersell herself 36.35 etc. heugh precipice, cliff, steep hill 60.19 etc. heugh-head top of a cliff or hill 215.43 hieland highland 310.35, 312.6 himsel himself 35.5 etc. hindermost furthest way 82.37 hinney, hinny, hinnie term of en­ dearment, honey 7.29 etc. hirple limp 116.6, 162.13 hoast cough, coughing 47.20, 64.4 hollin holly 263.18 hone groan 196.39, 197.2, 201.4 hoodie-craw hoodie-crow 62.13 hoolly, hooly slowly, gently 63.21, 65.2 hospitium Latin place of refresh­ ment, lodgings for travellers 27.19 hotch-potch mutton broth thickened with young vegetables of all kinds stewed together 45.20 howdie midwife, old woman 212.11 howk, houk dig 31.8 etc. howlit owl 167.8 howsomever however 310.2 humour whim, fancy 125.40 humourist person subject to fancies or whims 38.24 huz us 111.40, 112.21 hypericon St John’s wort 83.7, 83.22 hypothec right of a creditor to hold the effects of a debtor as security 323.24 I’se I shall 62.8 etc. ilk, ilka each, every 36.36 etc. ill-fa’ard ill-favoured 301.14

532

GLOSSARY

illuminé see note to 101.31 Illustrissimus medieval Latin the very distinguished 74.10 imperative peremptory 67.35 impertinent out of place, irrelevant 37.7 impose lay pages of type on the bed of die press 87.8 in-ower see note to 215.10 indagator Latin someone who invest­ igates 106.34 indurate harden 101.3 indue endue, put on 69.8 ingle fire-side 166.17, 212.11 innoxiously harmlessly 105.14 insouciance French lack of concern, carelessness 350.38 instanter Latin immediately 335.40 interrogatories questions 156.7, 181.12, 293.21 irrefragable undeniable, incapable of being broken 238.41 isna isn’t 166.37, 166.41, 313.15 ither other 59.10 etc. jackanapes ape, monkey 159.11 jacket coat of mail 18.21 Jacobite supporter of the Stuart kings 13.30,37.13 jalouse, jealouse guess 119.28, 345-32 jeedging Aberdeenshire judging 223.27 jeest Aberdeenshire just 231.1 jeopardie daring exploit 311.23 jimp scarcely 199.25 jink move or dodge quickly 209.6 jocolate chocolate 284.40 jolter-headed having a large, clumsy head 21.38 jow rock, toss 212.22 justle josde 287.33 kail-blade cabbage-leaf 167.31 (see note) kale-yard literally cabbage-yard, i.e. kitchen garden 33.1 kame comb 326.27 kylevine black lead (pencil) 299.20 keepit kept 72.40 etc. kemping fighting 229.6, 346.38 ken know 9.8 etc. kenna don’t know 113.18, 222.34, 346.24 kerne light-armed highland foot-sol­ dier 312.6 key quay 298.41

kilt tuck up 212.9 kimmer for 261.17 see cummer kindness affection, love 259.42 kippage state of excitement or anger 112.22 kirk church 6.40 etc. kist chest 204.17 etc. kistfu’ chestfull 197.6 kiver cover 204.38 knack trick, device 21.13 knowe small hill 32.26 lachrymatory small glass or earthen­ ware vessel found in Roman tombs and supposed to hold tears 239.27, 239.33 laigh basement 5.21; low 32.26 laird landlord of landed property (but not a peer) 14.4 etc. laith loth 199.20 etc. lamen plate of metal used as an astro­ logical instrument or charm 194.6 land-louper person who roams the country from idleness or to escape the law 101.23, 174.36, 347.8 land-louping roaming the country from idleness or to escape the law 216.32 landlord host at a private dinner party 47.36 landward rural 212.3, 346.36 lang long 12.35 etc. lang-breathed for 167.29 see note langsyne long ago 69.30, 161.8 lapper-milk soured milk 81.18 lappet loose, overlapping part of a gar­ ment forming a flap 168.27 larboard port side of a ship, left side when looking towards the bows 306.26 lassie girl 27.43 etc. latch noun small bar of wood or iron which falls into position when a door is closed, and which can be lifted by a thumb lever from either side 310.16 latch verb secure with a latch 258.1 latticed made of pieces of wood crossed and joined to each other with spaces in between (for glass) 80.4 lauch laugh 212.27 (see note) laud praise 167.14 lave rest 349.19 law-plea law-suit 71.10,71.11 lawland lowland 310.35

GLOSSARY

lay-to nautical lie stationary with bows into the wind 176.32 leasing lying 175.5; for 9.2 see note to 8.43–9.2 leddy lady 52.31 etc. lees lies 168.2 leg-bail see note to 308.9 legend inscription on a medal or coin 76.16,344.21 legerdemain trickery, deception 131.34, 135.10; as adjective deceiv­ ing 172.29 lend give 285.2 leze-majesty treason 38.29 libation pouring out of wine in hon­ our of a god 26.27, 178.12 liberty-boy for 293.36 see note to 293.36–37 licket for 72.2 see note lift sky 56.41 lightsome carefree, cheerful 210.23 lilt song 82.25; sing 178.20 limmer derogatory woman 109.10 links stretch of open sandy ground covered in turf and bent-grass near the sea-shore 88.24, 294.35 list border or selvage of a piece of cloth 200.12 lists space enclosed by fences where tournaments were held 200.12 little-ease narrow place, place of con­ finement 5.19 loan-head outer end of a loaning 237.33 loaning track leading to house 31.4, 52.4, 53.33 local verb for 149.22 see note locality for 249.33 see note to 149.22 loe love 94.11 long-bowls ninepins, ‘game much used in Angus in which heavy leaden bullets are thrown from the hand’ (Jamieson) 232.19 lookit looked 56.41 etc. loom container 190.30 loon lad, chap 212.8, 216.43, 257.17; scoundrel, rogue 301.14 lot for 47.33 see note lothely middle English disgusting, re­ pulsive 22.1 Loudons Lothians 18.22 lound peaceful 199.33 lounder heavy blow 174.37 lower lour 28.21 luckie familiar address to an elderly

533

woman 32.36 etc. lucre for 201.38 see note lug ear 59.11, 65.4, 72.31 lungie guillemot 58.41 lykewake, lyke-wake funeral party 93.31; watching over the dead 316.22, 316.29 maggot whim, fancy 300.29, 301.3 magisterium philosopher’s stone; for 101.38, 188.32, 188.33 see note to 101.38 magnum bottle containing 4 pints (2.27 litres) of wine or spirits 16.30 mail-shirt shirt of chain mail 356.20 mailing tenant farm 32.39 main-port main gate 165.38 mair more 32.11 etc. maist1 most, mostiy 81.19 etc. maist2 almost 308.33, 314.24 maister master 194.25 etc. mak make 9.14 etc. man husband 88.43, 89.6 man-ward for 249.36 see note mane mourn, regret 314.31, 314.32 manna, maunna mustn’t 112.40 etc. manse house of the minister of the parish 32.14 etc. mantry-maker dress-maker 111.25 martinet military officer who is a stickler for maintaining discipline 297.33 massymore dungeon 261.28 matin morning 287.30 maun must 17.8 etc. maunder ramble in one’s talk 180.23 (see note) maunna see manna maze bewilder, confuse 95.19 meat food 34.6 etc. meikle much, great 212.33 mem. Latin abbreviation remember 238.16 mendicant beggar 30.23 etc. mercer dealer in textiles 46.43 merk 13s. 4d. Scots, 1s. 1½d. (5½p) sterling 303.36 etc. merlin murlin, round narrowmouthed basket 210.24 messenger king’s messenger, person who executed summonses etc. for the higher courts 306.33 etc. mew shut up, coop 294.41 mickle much 65.8 etc.; great, large 93.43 etc. middenstead site of a midden 70.35

534

GLOSSARY

middle meddle 81.18 miles Latin knight 50.33 mind remember 16.36 etc.; remind 258.19 minnie affectionate name for a mother, mummy 116.27 etc. mirk dark 168.40, 315.37 misca abuse verbally 89.2, 92.18 misdoubt suspect, be afraid 53.5 misruled lacking order and discipline 218.13 mist missed 201.22 moderator person elected to the chair in the courts of Presbyterian churches 249.35 monomachia Latin duel 70.37 mony many 26.33 etc. moon-dial dial for showing the hours of the night by the moon 21.14 mom tomorrow 65.40 etc. morpeon crab-louse, usually found in the genital area 21.14 Moslemah Moslems 44.34 mote speck of dust 77.27, 192.33 mould, moul clod of earth 256.16, 257.32, 268.30 muckle big, great 57.14 etc.; much 161.18 etc. mum kind of beer 81.34 (see text and note), 178.12 muniments documents such as title deeds and charters 131.39 murther murder 314.12 myrmidons warlike race led to the Trojan war by Achilles, hence sol­ diers, followers 294.41 mysel, mysell myself 12.29 etc. na no 13.6 etc.; not (unemphatic, equivalent to English n’t) 69.32 etc. nae no 12.40 etc. naebody nobody 32.23 etc. naething nothing 71.4 etc. naig horse 10.24 nain (one’s) own 231.1 nane none 17.9 etc. near parsimonious, mean, stingy 89.14 neb nose 57.2 needna needn’t 160.43 etc. neist next 203.22 etc. nevoy nephew 285.14 newsman bearer or collector of news 290.31 nick-nackets trifles, trinkets 18.20 nick-stick reckoning stick 112.23

niffer barter 190.32 night-cowl close-fitting woollen night-cap 64.5 night-gown dressing-gown 66.43, 123.7, 237.15 nixie for 207.26 see note no not 7.29 etc. non-juring refusing to take the oath of allegiance to the Hanoverian monarchy 37.39 nor than 92.18, 175.15; neither 198.35 nor-wast north-west 213.14 nu now 292.40 o’ of 8.17 etc. oakis oaks 76.9 oak-king for 207.26 see note oakum loose fibre used to caulk ship’s seams 193.23 obtestation action of calling or be­ seeching a deity 301.5 odd mild oath God 62.15 etc. oe grandson 313.14 offing position at a distance from shore 176.33 ohon alas 162.7, 166.6, 255.5; oh yes 222.29, 222.29 oneirocritical relating to the inter­ pretation of dreams 103.40 ony any 8.17 etc. or before 93.36 etc. ordinary noun tavern providing meals at a fixed price 18.12 orra occasional 177.13; odd 190.41; spare, unoccupied 310.4 o’t of it 12.34 etc. ou exclamation oh 53.3 etc. ought anything 197.32 oursel, oursels ourselves 112.37, 300.38 out verb go out 215.20 out-ower for 215.10 see note out-taken excepting 198.41 outbye out at sea 89.1 out-rider mounted attendant who rides beside a carriage 128.4 overture proposal for legislation pre­ sented by a Presbytery to the Gen­ eral Assembly of the Church of Scotland 249.33 ower over 12.18 etc. ower-head precipitately 36.35 owerlay necktie 286.17 owerlook overlook 93.41 owerta’en overcome, deranged 311.1

GLOSSARY owzel blackbird 20.24 (see note to 20.23–24) pace way of walking 44.21 pacificator Latin peace-maker 154–20 packman pedlar 347.41 paddock frog 70.34 paladin one of the 12 peers or war­ riors of Charlemagne’s court 278.42 palmer pilgrim, itinerant monk 27.24 etc. Pantheon for 179.26 see note papist, papistical Roman Catholic 133.12 etc. parcel a number, small quantity 185.16 etc. parfumed perfumed 17.14 parlour dining-room 13.10 Parnassus mountain range in Greece sacred to Apollo and the Muses 106.20 parofle ostentatious display 169.9 parridge, parritch porridge 18.24 etc. partan edible crab 89.20, 214.38 particulareeze particularise 72.18 pat past tense put 216.40 patent royal letter conferring some right or privilege 338.28 paterae Latin broad, flat dishes used by the Romans for libations at sacri­ fices 51.40 patient person who undergoes some­ thing, ‘that which receives impres­ sions from outside agents’ (John­ son) 283.15, 283.16 pawky crafty 26.32 peace-officer officer appointed to keep the public peace, constable 292.8 peak edge of a cliff 62.6, 62.7 pease-strae stalks and foliage of the pea plant used as bedding for an­ imals 65.42 peer Aberdeenshire poor 222.31, 231.9 peery spinning-top 161.7 pentacle material symbol used in magic 194.6 periapt something worn about the person as a charm 194.7 peremptorie peremptorily 323.27 periwig wig 36.36 etc. perpend consider, ponder 68.12 perry alcoholic drink made from pears

81.37

535

petted spoiled 154.3 phantasmata Greek visions, dreams 78.18 philosopher person skilled in occult science such as alchemy or divining 98.11 etc. phocaLatin seal 245.42 etc. phoenix mythical bird with gorgeous plumage only one of which lives at a time 65.6 etc. phrase ostentatious talk 268.31 pibroch march etc. played on the bag­ pipes 311.18 pickle few 68.23; little 93.40, 165.23 pictamie black-headed gull 307.22 pike-staff long walking-stick with a spike at the end 33.10 etc. pinch time of need 223.30 pinnace small two-masted vessel 9.19 pinners two long flaps, one down either side of the face, of a close­ fitting cap 121.41 pipkin small earthenware pot 240.18 pirn spool or reel of thread 46.35 pit put 66.3 etc. place position 110.27 placebo something intended to please 41.32 plainstanes pavement 113.8, 119.14 plea law-suit 71.16, 71.21 pleasure-grounds area set out for walking 258.11 pliskie practical joke 327.15 pock bag, small sack 202.35 pock-manky travelling bag 205.13 podagra gout in the feet 294.26,297.1 poinder estate officer 201.21,209.1 o, 209.18 poinding Scots law legal seizure and sale of goods and chattels to repay a creditor or satisfy some wrong 327.35 poke-full bag-full 72.3 poltroon coward, poor fellow 158.11 poneypony 113.33 etc. popple bubble up 165.24 port gate 27.24 etc. porter carrier 96.13 pose money or valuables hidden away 196.27, 200.31, 203.33, 345.13 posie motto 12.9 post-chaise carriage whose horses were hired by the stage 8.25 etc. post-horse horse hired by the stage 126.40, 160.39

536

GLOSSARY

postillion rider of one of a pair or 4 horses drawing a coach when there was no driver on the box 18.2, 127.22, 155.28 pouch pocket 89.31 pourtray portray 79.18 pout shoot at partridges or moorfowl 341.14 pouthered powdered 81.9 pow1 head 36.37, 327.13 pow2pull 113.20, 113.26,165.30 powder-pluff powder-puff 52.36 powneypony 114.11, 195.37 powsowdie thick soup 275.33 powther powder 286.7 precognition for 295.10 see note prelacy church governed by bishops 222.2 prelatist supporter of church govern­ ment by bishops 222.17 prent print, printed 214.21, 309.37 present symbolise, represent 42.33 primmer primer, i.e. small school­ book 25.3 process legal action 149.22, 275.38, 307.25,329.6 procurator law agent empowered to act for another person or body 267.13 (see note), 323.14 professor one who makes open pro­ fession of religious belief 13.39 program public notice 9.16 propine gift 219.14 prose verb speak in a dull, unpoetic way 14925, 149.39 proser someone who speaks at length on a dull subject 249.32 proud pleased, gratified 232.11 provost Scottish equivalent of mayor 14.5 etc. prune dress or preen feathers 106.22 pu’ pull 168.4 public public house 231.41 punaise bed-bug 21.16 puir, pure poor 88.11; 72.13 etc. puirly poorly 120.2 pull strain against the bit 317.10 purpose-fa’ard with an appearance of purpose or determination 161.4 pursy short-winded 12.12 put on make for 232.15 quadriga Latin carriage drawn by four horses 288.41, 289.9 qusere Latin question, query 238.16 quarter-session court of appeal for­

merly held quarterly by Justices of the Peace 46.23, 46.24 quarto book made out of sheets of paper folded into 4 leaves 23.29, 85.8,85.9 quean girl 36.32, 309.4; bold impud­ ent woman 109.12 quiz make sport or fun of 34.5 quodammodo Latin in some degree 330.10 quondam former 225.1, 230.15 quotha sarcastic said he 179.42 quotidian daily 12.3 rack neck (of mutton) 12.3 rackon reckon 230.41, 231.12 ramilies for 127.30 see note rampauge rush about furiously 35.6 randy brawling, bad-tempered woman 109.7 rape rope 59.8, 212.22 rapparee derogatory Irish bandit 107.13 rappee kind of coarse snuff 24.1, 190.39 rash forceful, having wide powers 308.16 rathe early 308.29 rattan walking-stick made from the rattan, a kind of palm found chiefly in the East Indies 306.11 rattlin nautical thin rope 62.17 rebeck early three-stringed instru­ ment played like a violin 23.18 receipt recipe 82.39 regret miss 297.30 rehearse repeat aloud, go over 297.10 reist stop and refuse to move 114.11, 195.37 relique relic 68.13 etc. relishing having a strongly distinctive flavour 45.14 remit noun transfer of a law case from one court to another 13.5 remora obstacle, impediment 84.22; for 241.25 see note rencontre meeting, duel 159.17, 176.41, 247.11 repeater kind of watch, first made about 1676 7.18, 284.22 respublica Latin the state, the com­ monweal 294.15 reversion remains, that which is left over 68.14, 109.21 reyne rein 311.25 rickle heap, pile 73.1, 268.8

GLOSSARY

right sane 214.32 rights mining document(s) substanti­ ating a claim 323.23 rin run 56.41 etc. rinnin’ running 57.1 rive rob, plunder 199.4 (see note) rooftree, roof-tree main beam or ridge of a roof 212.20, 313.6 roturier French commoner 342.24 rough-handed rough, apt to use fists 296.16 roughie torch 169.5 rouse nautical haul up 64.23 routh plenty, abundance 89.27, 314.15 rudas cantankerous 213.7 rug take forcibly 199.4 (see note) rund border or selvage of a piece of cloth 200.12 sackbut obsolete instrument: base trumpet with a slide like a trombone 160.7 sackless blameless 209.24, 209.26 sacristy place in a church where vest­ ments, communion plate etc. are kept 207.31, 207.43 saddle-bow arched front of a saddle 273.42 sae so 32.34 etc. safe save 69.35 saft soft 216.15 sain bless 199.15, 260.6 sair sore, very 31.7 etc. sail shall 32.23 etc. sallee, sallie hired mourner at a funeral 209.35, 252.27 saltery stringed instrument played by plucking 23.18 saltire-ways crossed diagonally like a St Andrew’s cross 43.5 sang song 92.43 etc. saturnalia period of unrestrained license 178.16 sauld sold 212.15, 347.41 saut-backet small wooden box for holding salt-water 18.24 saw saying 328.6 sax six 17.2 etc. saxty sixty 192.32 scandal treat scandalously 12.2 scantly barely 81.1, 90.3 scape escape 77.5 scar, scaur scare 216.22, 299.21 scauld scold 212.14, 212.14 scaur cliff 231.10

537

sconner feeling of disgust or aversion 165.27 scot for 47.33 see note scot-free free from the payment of the tax ‘scot’, thus, exempt from punishment etc. 90.14 scour run, rush 242.9 scrutator Latin someone who invest­ igates thoroughly 106.34 scull shallow, scoop-shaped basket for carrying fish 212.13 sea-maw sea-gull 113.39, 265.5, 307.21 seannachie from the Gaelic profes­ sional recorder and reciter of family history 49.39 seekit sought 109.11 seere Aberdeenshire sure 223.40 seerpreese Aberdeenshire surprise 224.1 self-same identical 165.24 sell self 71.38, 200.42 semple for 255.12 and 257.18 see note to 255.12 serve play 16.36 Session Court of Session 12.22 (see note), 13.7,71.14 set suit 81.17 setting-dog setter 178.29 shagreen species of untanned leather with a rough surface 85.8 shank walk, march 221.31, 285.37 shathmont distance from the knuckle of the little finger in the clenched fist to the tip of the extended thumb 66.29 shattered scattered 210.40 shaw small wood, thicket 292.3 she’s she shall 199.27 sheene bright, shining 76.14 shelve ledge or shelf of rock 131.12 sheriff chief judge and principal in­ vestigative officer of a county 35.34 etc. sheugh trench in the ground 347.18 shilling coin worth 12d. (5p) sterling 9.6 etc. ship-letter letter carried by a private vessel and not the ordinary mail­ boat 110.11, 110.15 shirra sheriff 160.36 etc. shool shovel 191.7 etc. shoon shoes 212.37 shouther shoulder 110.14 etc. shriegh screech 61.5

538

GLOSSARY

shrift confession 269.25 sib, sibb related by blood 231.20, 261.41, 262.3, 315.2 sic, siccan such 32.37 etc. side for 72.18 see note sigil for 194.6 and 194.35 see note to 170.30 siller silver, money 33.12 etc. siller-groat silver coin worth 4d. Scots (0.14p) 177.10 silly simple 26.35 simmer summer 165.24, 191.38, 291.34 sin-syne, sinsyne since then, from that time 59.1; ago 94.9 sinker one who sinks mine-shafts 190.33 sinning cinnamon 112.14 sippie sip continuously 72.6 sist stay or suspension of legal pro­ ceedings 337.8 sitiation situation 68.26 skart cormorant 62.14, 341.29 skeel skill, knowledge 308.15 skeelfu skilled, knowledgeable 196.43 skeely skilled, knowledgeable 231.27, 328.13 skill skill in the art of healing 92.42 skirl scream, screech 61.6 etc. skriegh, skreigh shriek, screech 61.5 etc. slaister eat in a messy or slobbering way 81.17 slap-bason slop-basin 284.41 sleepit slept 69.32 slink dishonest 111.39 slow-hound, sluth-hound species of blood-hound formerly used in Scotland for tracking game or fugit­ ives 24.3, 163.8 smoking raising dust, or steaming 128.3 snaw snow 58.13 sneck lock, bolt 230.18, 260.13 sneeshing-mull snuffbox 190.31 snell biting, sarcastic 175.7 snishing snuff 93.40, 117.30, 177.15 snood bind the hair with a ribbon round the brow and underneath the hair at the back 211.35 snuff-coloured brown, brownish 237.16 snuffy sulky, touchy 71.22 somedele a good deal 46.30

sonné sun 76.14 sonsy handsome, impressive 36.37 soothfast truthful, reliable 209.21 sort feed 113.35 ; provide for 275.34; put in order 341.22, 341.23 sough noun general feeling 175.22, 231.2 ; sighing sound of the wind 207.11 sough verb breathe, sigh 221.42 soup, sowp sufficient amount 66.2 ; mouthful (of) 81.17, 92.13 soupled suppled 92.36 souter shoemaker 17.6 souther, sowder solder 224.8, 224.11 ; settle, patch up 199.29 sownder young wild boar 76.19 sowp see soup speel climb 58.42, 60.19 speerings information, news 298.35, 301.15 spindle for 211.9 etc. see note to 248.4 spleet split 204.39 spondee metrical foot consisting of two long syllables 107.28 spontoon species of half-pike carried by infantry officers in the 18th cen­ tury 46.43 spring-bolt lock which fastens auto­ matically when a door is shut 226.38 spring-tide tide shortly after the new or full moon when the tide is at its highest 54.16, 56.20, 57.5 sprongen sprung 76.14 spunk spark (of fire) 70.43 ; spark, spirit 174.25 spur-rowel spiked disc at the end of a spur 175.24 Stadt-hous town hall 196.41 stand stance 6.3 stane stone 31.9 etc. stang bar of wood 216.27 station place or region assigned to a government ship for duty 176.43 stauncheon stanchion, upright bar of a window 169.2 steek shut 113.12, 255.20, 295.19 steer, stir disturb 167.15, 268.27, 284.32 steery commotion 67.29 steeve firmly fixed, stable 228.23 step nautical wooden block in which is fixed the foot of a mast 62.17 sternutation sneeze 172.11 stick stab 70.34, 174.39

GLOSSARY

stickit stuck 214.7 stir see steer stirraboy, lad 116.1, 165.29 stiver small coin of little value from the Low Countries 170.9 stock kind of neck-tie 286.14, 286.17 stop stay 212.33 story-buick story-book 301.24 stout strong, in robust health 292.10 stouth health 89.27 strae straw 65.42, 203.6, 316.8 (see note) straik stroke 204.41, 285.14 strake struck 216.24 streek stretch 165.24, 191.127 studden stood 347.39 stude obeyed 216.23 stuff nonsense 159.37 stuff-bottomed having the cushion made of stuff or woollen cloth 76.25 sublime alchemy purify 187.6 suffumigation smoke or vapour used in incantations 170.40 etc. suflamina Latin put on the brake 105.4 suld should 67.39 etc. suldna shouldn’t 286.11 etc. sun-down sunset 60.21 sune soon 62.8 etc. swarf faint, swoon 224.4 sweer reluctant, unwilling 114.11, 116.15 symposion Greek meeting over food or drink for intellectual conversation and discussion 36.13, 42.17 syne since 17.2 etc. synod second highest of the courts of presbyterian churches 46.31 syren for 78.6 see note tackets hob-nails for boots 18.22 ta’en taken 11.27 etc. ta’en out educated 309.38 ta’en up arrested 308.16 tae1 (the) one 73.2, 110.6 tae2toe 204.20 tak take 57.11 etc. tald told 82.30 tale-piot tell-tale 32.11 tane one of two 203.30, 224.10 tangs tongs 81.4 tap top 60.34 etc. tapis French tablecloth; for 152.9 see note tartarean infernal, pertaining to the lower regions 178.20

539

tauld told 72.14 etc. tawpie giddy young woman 214.36, 309.6 tax-cart, taxed-cart, taxed cart two­ wheeled open cart drawn by one horse usually used for agricultural purposes 328.16, 328.34, 330.14, 339.6 teem empty 284.40 tenement building 121.24 tent noun care 59.12 tenter-hooks hooks or nails on which something is stretched 80.2 tête French head 43.2 etc. thack thatch 212.22 (see note) thae those, these 36.30 etc. thareout outside 160.43 thegither together 59.15 etc. themsels themselves 161.1 thir these 198.38, 201.40 three-nookit three-cornered 286.16 threep argue, contend, assert 113.27, 175.13,199.38,285.5 through-stane large stone used in buildings or on graves 120.43, 192.30 thrum tell monotonously 166.16 tide time 311.39 tiends tenth part of the produce of the land collected for the support of reli­ gion ; later an assessment on the in­ come of landowners for payment of the minister’s stipend 132.27 etc. tie-wig wig having the hair gathered behind and tied with a ribbon 22.7 tight well-ordered, not admitting contact from outside 167.43 till to, into 72.41 etc. tilley-valley exclamation ofimpatience nonsense! fiddlesticks! 42.22 (see note), 42.23 tinkler tinker, worker in metal 161.8, 224.7 tintamarre confused noise 196.37 tippence twopence (less than 1p) 89.30 tirl1 cut through 191.25 tirl2 move (a door fitment) to produce a rattling noise 314.13 tirlie-wirlie cleverly devised 167.30 tissued woven 79.11 tobacco-stopper contrivance for pressing down tobacco in the bowl of a pipe 151.34 tochered dowered 94.8

540

GLOSSARY

toddle ofa child walk with uncertain steps 346.35 toga Latin outer garment of a Roman citizen 107.18 toilet table on which articles for the toilet (make-up, tooth-brush, hair­ brush etc.) are placed 76.28 tolbooth prison 306.43 toom empty 327.1 topiarian pertaining to clipping yewtrees 19.18 tother the other of two 73.2 etc. touzle turn (out) 72.3 towrope 59.15, 64.24, 331.38 towmond twelve months, year 18.23 town farm and associated dwellings 346.35 town-house town-hall 294.35, 350.20,351.35 toy linen or wool cap with flat crown worn by elderly women 211.8 traffic trade 74.6 train on deceive, lead astray 102.18 transport state of being carried out of one’s normal demeanour, strong emotion 335.27 travail verb suffer pain of childbirth 162.5 travail noun childbirth 265.19 travel capacity for movement 240.12 trencher wooden plate 210.39, 212.21 trig tidy 198.2 trim mock, reprove 305.19 trimmer stiff letter 84.37; fighter 231.27 triton for 78.7 see note troker dealer 24.34 troth good faith, honesty; as exclama­ tion, short for ‘by my troth’ 12.24 etc. trow trust, believe, think 30.8 etc. tumulus Latin mound 29.41 tup-headed having the head of a male sheep 51.10 turn household chore 212.11,212.17 turnpike noun and adjective toll road 38.17 etc. turnpike-gate gate at which tolls were paid on a turnpike road 126.23 turnpike-stair spiral stair 165.34 tutelar pertaining to a supernatural being with responsibility for guard­ ing or looking after someone 22.14, 138.1, 244.37

twa two 17.10 etc. twal twelve 58.20 etc. twalpenny twelvepenny (5p) 64.24 tyro beginner or learner in anything 283.39 ugsome disgusting, repulsive 165.26 ulyie oil 81.15 unbrizzed uncrushed 182.29 uncanny careless 168.4; unlucky, in­ auspicious, in league with supernat­ ural forces 203.32, 214.35; threat­ ening 308.16 unce ounce 112.7 unco very 64.5 etc.; great 110.18 etc.; strange, odd 257.9, 257.10, 308.34, 310.38 undress informal or ordinary dress, as distinct from that worn on ceremo­ nial occasions 147.3 unlade unload 218.29 up verb get up 165.30 uphaud, uphauld maintain, look after 10.24, 230.26 upsides be even with 174.40 vallum Latin rampart surmounted by a palisade 27.42, 49.1 various different, foreign 166.38 vent ofa chimney draw smoke up and out 82.24 vera very 59.13 etc. vide Latin see 71.34 villain serf 22.43 virtuoso one who engages in special investigations in arts or sciences 181.41 vivres victuals, food 275.40 vixen ill-tempered, quarrelsome 181.5 vole the winning of all the tricks in cer­ tain card games; see note to 33.27 wa’1 wall 31.24 etc. wa’2 away 212.16 wad would 17.1 etc. wadna wouldn’t 31.28 etc. wainscot wooden panelling lining walls 22.4, 45.6, 265.36 wale toast 167.19 wallet bag 30.28, 110.41, 234.38 wame stomach 58.13, 166.33 wampish wave 309.35 wand stick 161.27 wanle agile, active 199.30 wanton sportive, merry 331.9 ward guard 264.40, 264.40 ware spend 257.34, 327.14

GLOSSARY wark work 31.5 etc. ; fuss 309.40 warld world 16.41 etc. warp measurement four (oysters) 252.19 warrant bet, be sure, promise 62.8 (see note) etc. warranted authorised, have authority for 69.28 warst worst 89.30 etc. wasna wasn’t 116.4 etc. wat wet 212.10 water-gruel light food made by boil­ ing oatmeal in water 68.7 wauk wake 166.31, 341.36 waur1 defeat 71.14, 71.17 waur2 worse 161.18 etc. wawly ornament 232.14 waws waves 313.11 wax grow 71.41, 80.28 we’se we shall 112.18 etc. wean child 92.41 etc. weary depressing 313.12 wee little, small 57.12 etc. weel1 well 9.8 etc. weel2 welfare 199.15 weel-fa’ard good-looking, respect­ able 72.15, 112.32 weel-tochered having a good dowry 94.8 weird fortune, destiny 255.5 weize manoeuvre, ease gradually 59.10 werena weren’t 167.29 were-wolves for 207.26 see note wha who 69.30 etc. whaewho 65.41, 115.9 whar, whare where 31.27 etc. whase whose 73.43, 92.30, 262.16 what in what way, how 178.35 whatna with negative implication what 254.41,308.19 whig-burghers for 37.30 see note whiles sometimes, from time to time 93.39 etc. whilk which 89.30 etc. whin noun and adjective few, several, collection of 31.3 etc. whirl move swiftly, drive 16.42, 160.37, 191.8

541

whisht be quiet 111.3 etc. whomle capsize 313.11, 326.43, 326.43 wi’ with 9.9 etc. wife woman 116.41 etc. wife-carle man who occupies himself with women’s affairs 109.11 wile verb beguile, deceive 17.1,174.35 wilyard wayward 201.38 win get, earn 60.10 etc. win ower recover from 284.41 winded wound 129.16 windfa’ windfall 212.40 winna won’t 57.15 etc. winsome attractive in appearance 57.12 wirricow see worricow witches-hazel wych-hazel, the drooping or weeping hazel 191.17 without unless 212.18 wool-gathering indulging in wan­ dering fancies 130.8, 67.7 worricow, wirricow hobgoblin, de­ mon 82.36, 166.13, 217.81 worthy deserving of 340.10 wot know 47.18 etc. wrang wrong 109.17 etc. wreath snow-drift 58.12 writer lawyer, solicitor 14.31 etc. wrought worked 191.38 wuss wish 120.39 etc. yald, yauld active, vigorous 60.26, 92.37 yallow yellow 9.9 yauld old 346.25 yaw nautical deviate, move from course 306.26 ye’se, ye’s you shall 16.33 etc. yere your 114.1 yerl earl 219.15 etc. yestreen yesterday 31.27 etc. yon that, that over there 30.41 etc. yoursel yourself 59.10 etc. yowe ewe 344.30 ysate sat 76.21 Yule Christmas 92.26, 191.40, 191.41,315.37 Yung-frau German young woman 86.24