The Antiquary

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The Pennsylvania State University is an equal opportunity university. Sir Walter Scott

THE VOLUME ONE

ANTIQUARY I knew Anselmo. He was shrewd and prudent, Wisdom and cunning had their shares of him; BY 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, SIR WALTER SCOTT, Or else the jingling of a rusty medal, Or the rare melody of some old ditty, BART. That first was sung to please King Pepin’s cradle

COMPLETE

3 The Antiquary language. This is, I think, peculiarly the case with the peasantry of my own country, a class with whom I have INTRODUCTION 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 el- THE PRESENT WORK completes a series of fictitious nar- evated understanding, give pathos to their grief, and ratives, intended to illustrate the manners of Scotland dignity to their resentment. at three different periods. Waverley embraced the age I have been more solicitous to describe manners mi- of our fathers, Guy Mannering that of our own youth, nutely than to arrange in any case an artificial and com- and the Antiquary refers to the last ten years of the eigh- bined narrative, and have but to regret that I felt my- teenth century. I have, in the two last narratives espe- self unable to unite these two requisites of a good Novel. cially, sought my principal personages in the class of The knavery of the adept in the following sheets may society who are the last to feel the influence of that gen- appear forced and improbable; but we have had very eral polish which assimilates to each other the manners late instances of the force of superstitious credulity to of different nations. Among the same class I have placed a much greater extent, and the reader may be assured, some of the scenes in which I have endeavoured to illus- that this part of the narrative is founded on a fact of trate the operation of the higher and more violent pas- actual occurrence. sions; both because the lower orders are less restrained I have now only to express my gratitude to the Public by the habit of suppressing their feelings, and because I for the distinguished reception which, they have given agree, with my friend Wordsworth, that they seldom to works, that have little more than some truth of fail to express them in the strongest and most powerful colouring to recommend them, and to take my respect-

4 Sir Walter Scott ful leave, as one who is not likely again to solicit their tempts have not in this last particular been uniformly favour. successful. There are men whose characters are so peculiarly marked, that the delineation of some leading and * * * principal feature, inevitably places the whole person before you in his individuality. Thus the character of To the above advertisement, which was prefixed to the Jonathan Oldbuck in the Antiquary, was partly founded first edition of the Antiquary, it is necessary in the on that of an old friend of my youth, to whom I am present edition to add a few words, transferred from the indebted for introducing me to Shakspeare, and other Introduction to the Chronicles of the Canongate, re- invaluable favours; but I thought I had so completely specting the character of Jonathan Oldbuck. disguised the likeness, that it could not be recognised by “I may here state generally, that although I have any one now alive. I was mistaken, however, and indeed deemed historical personages free subjects of delinea- had endangered what I desired should be considered as tion, I have never on any occasion violated the respect a secret; for I afterwards learned that a highly respect- due to private life. It was indeed impossible that traits able gentleman, one of the few surviving friends of my proper to persons, both living and dead, with whom I father, and an acute critic, had said, upon the appear- have had intercourse in society, should not have risen to ance of the work, that he was now convinced who was my pen in such works as Waverley, and those which, the author of it, as he recognised, in the Antiquary, followed it. But I have always studied to generalise the traces of the character of a very intimate friend* of my portraits, so that they should still seem, on the whole, father’s family.” the productions of fancy, though possessing some re- *The late George Constable of Wallace Craigie, near semblance to real individuals. Yet I must own my at- Dundee.

5 The Antiquary I have only farther to request the reader not to sup- Many of the old Scottish mendicants were by no means pose that my late respected friend resembled Mr. to be confounded with the utterly degraded class of be- Oldbuck, either in his pedigree, or the history imputed ings who now practise that wandering trade. Such of them to the ideal personage. There is not a single incident in as were in the habit of travelling through a particular the Novel which is borrowed from his real circumstances, district, were usually well received both in the farmer’s excepting the fact that he resided in an old house near a ha’, and in the kitchens of the country gentlemen. Mar- flourishing seaport, and that the author chanced to wit- tin, author of the Reliquiae Divi Sancti Andreae, written ness a scene betwixt him and the female proprietor of a in 1683, gives the following account of one class of this stage-coach, very similar to that which commences the order of men in the seventeenth century, in terms which history of the Antiquary. An excellent temper, with a would induce an antiquary like Mr. Oldbuck to regret its slight degree of subacid humour; learning, wit, and droll- extinction. He conceives them to be descended from the ery, the more poignant that they were a little marked ancient bards, and proceeds:—”They are called by oth- by the peculiarities of an old bachelor; a soundness of ers, and by themselves, Jockies, who go about begging; thought, rendered more forcible by an occasional quaint- and use still to recite the Sloggorne (gathering-words or ness of expression, were, the author conceives, the only war-cries) of most of the true ancient surnames of Scot- qualities in which the creature of his imagination re- land, from old experience and observation. Some of them sembled his benevolent and excellent old friend. I have discoursed, and found to have reason and discre- The prominent part performed by the Beggar in the tion. One of then told me there were not now above twelve following narrative, induces the author to prefix a few of them in the whole isle; but he remembered when they remarks of that character, as it formerly existed in Scot- abounded, so as at one time he was one of five that usu- land, though it is now scarcely to be traced. ally met at St. Andrews.”

6 Sir Walter Scott The race of Jockies (of the above description) has, I And when I downa yoke a naig, suppose, been long extinct in Scotland; but the old re- Then, Lord be thankit, I can beg. membered beggar, even in my own time, like the Baccoch, or travelling cripple of Ireland, was expected Again, in his Epistle to Davie, a brother Poet, he states, to merit his quarters by something beyond an exposi- that in their closing career— tion of his distresses. He was often a talkative, face- tious fellow, prompt at repartee, and not withheld from The last o’t, the warst o’t, exercising his powers that way by any respect of per- Is only just to beg. sons, his patched cloak giving him the privilege of the ancient jester. To be a gude crack, that is, to possess tal- And after having remarked, that ents for conversation, was essential to the trade of a “puir body” of the more esteemed class; and Burns, who To lie in kilns and barns at e’en, delighted in the amusement their discourse afforded, When banes are crazed and blude is thin, seems to have looked forward with gloomy firmness to the possibility of himself becoming one day or other a Is doubtless great distress; the bard reckons up, with member of their itinerant society. In his poetical works, true poetical spirit, the free enjoyment of the beauties it is alluded to so often, as perhaps to indicate that he of nature, which might counterbalance the hardship and considered the consummation as not utterly impossible. uncertainty of the life, even of a mendicant. In one of Thus in the fine dedication of his works to Gavin his prose letters, to which I have lost the reference, he Hamilton, he says,— details this idea yet more seriously, and dwells upon it, as not ill adapted to his habits and powers.

7 The Antiquary As the life of a Scottish mendicant of the eighteenth dicant chanced to be a King’s Bedesman, or Blue-Gown, century seems to have been contemplated without much he belonged, in virtue thereof, to the aristocracy of his horror by Robert Burns, the author can hardly have order, and was esteemed a parson of great importance. erred in giving to Edie Ochiltree something of poetical These Bedesmen are an order of paupers to whom the character and personal dignity, above the more abject Kings of Scotland were in the custom of distributing a of his miserable calling. The class had, intact, some privi- certain alms, in conformity with the ordinances of the leges. A lodging, such as it was, was readily granted to Catholic Church, and who where expected in return to them in some of the out-houses, and the usual awmous pray for the royal welfare and that of the state. This (alms) of a handful of meal (called a gowpen) was scarce order is still kept up. Their number is equal to the num- denied by the poorest cottager. The mendicant disposed ber of years which his Majesty has lived; and one Blue- these, according to their different quality, in various bags Gown additional is put on the roll for every returning around his person, and thus carried about with him the royal birth-day. On the same auspicious era, each principal part of his sustenance, which he literally re- Bedesman receives a new cloak, or gown of coarse cloth, ceived for the asking. At the houses of the gentry, his the colour light blue, with a pewter badge, which con- cheer was mended by scraps of broken meat, and per- fers on them the general privilege of asking alms through haps a Scottish “twalpenny,” or English penny, which all Scotland,—all laws against sorning, masterful beg- was expended in snuff or whiskey. In fact, these indo- gary, and every other species of mendicity, being sus- lent peripatetics suffered much less real hardship and pended in favour of this privileged class. With his cloak, want of food, than the poor peasants from whom they each receives a leathern purse, containing as many shil- received alms. lings Scots (videlicet, pennies sterling) as the sovereign If, in addition to his personal qualifications, the men- is years old; the zeal of their intercession for the king’s

8 Sir Walter Scott long life receiving, it is to be supposed, a great stimulus Treasurer’s accompts. The following extract, kindly sup- from their own present and increasing interest in the plied by Mr. Macdonald of the Register House, may in- object of their prayers. On the same occasion one of the terest those whose taste is akin to that of Jonathan Royal Chaplains preaches a sermon to the Bedesmen, Oldbuck of Monkbarns. who (as one of the reverend gentlemen expressed himself) are the most impatient and inattentive audience in the world. Something of this may arise from a feeling on the part of the Bedesmen, that they are paid for their BLEW GOWNIS. own devotions, not for listening to those of others. Or, more probably, it arises from impatience, natural, though In the Account of Sir Robert Melvill of Murdocarney, indecorous in men bearing so venerable a character, to Treasurer-Depute of King James IV., there are the fol- arrive at the conclusion of the ceremonial of the royal lowing Payments:— birth-day, which, so far as they are concerned, ends in a lusty breakfast of bread and ale; the whole moral and “Junij 1590. religious exhibition terminating in the advice of Johnson’s “Hermit hoar” to his proselyte, “Item, to Mr. Peter Young, Elimosinar, twentie four gownis of blew clayth, to be gevin to xxiiij auld men, Come, my lad, and drink some beer. according to the yeiris of his hienes age, extending to viii xx viii elnis clayth; price of the elne xxiiij s. Of the charity bestowed on these aged Bedesmen in Inde, ij cj li. xij s. money and clothing, there are many records in the

9 The Antiquary “Item, for sextene elnis bukrum to the saidis gownis, price of the elne x s. Inde,viij li. “Item, to workmen for careing the blewis to James Aikman, tailyeour, his hous xiij s. iiij d. “Item, twentie four pursis, and in ilk purse twentie four schelling Inde, xxciij li. xvj s. “Item, for sex elnis and ane half of harden to the saidis gownis, at vj s. viij d. the elne Inde,xliij s. iiij d. “Item, the price of ilk purse iiij d. Inde, viij s. “Item, to the said workmen for careing of the gownis “Item, for making of the saidis gownis viij li. ” fra the said James Aikman’s hous to the palace of Halyrudehous xviij s.

In the Account of John, Earl of Mar, Great Treasurer “Item, for making the saidis fyftie ane gownis, at xij of Scotland, and of Sir Gideon Murray of Enbank, Trea- s. the peice Inde,xxx li. xij s. surer-Depute, the Blue-Gowns also appear thus:— “Item, for fyftie ane pursis to the said puire menlj s. “Junij 1617. “Item, to Sir Peter Young,li s. to be put in everie ane “Item, to James Murray, merchant, for fyftene scoir of the saidis ljpursis to the said poore men j cxxxl jj s. sex elnis and aine half elne of blew claith to be gownis to fyftie ane aigeit men, according to the yeiris of his “Item, to the said Sir Peter, to buy breid and drink to Majesteis age, at xl s. the elne Inde,vj c xiij li. the said puir men vj li. xiij s. iiij d.

10 Sir Walter Scott versed with Andrew, but cannot recollect whether he held “Item, to the said Sir Peter, to be delt amang uther the rank of Blue-Gown. He was a remarkably fine old puire folk j cli. figure, very tall, and maintaining a soldierlike or military manner and address. His features were intelligent, “Item, upoun the last day of Junii to Doctor Young, with a powerful expression of sarcasm. His motions were Deane of Winchester, Elimozinar Deput to his Majes- always so graceful, that he might almost have been sus- tic, twentie fyve pund sterling, to be gevin to the puir pected of having studied them; for he might, on any be the way in his Majesteis progress Inde,iij c li.” occasion, have, served as a model for an artist, so remarkably striking were his ordinary attitudes. Andrew I have only to add, that although the institution of Gemmells had little of the cant of his calling; his wants King’s Bedesmen still subsists, they are now seldom to were food and shelter, or a trifle of money, which he be seen on the streets of Edinburgh, of which their pe- always claimed, and seemed to receive as his due. He, culiar dress made them rather a characteristic feature. sung a good song, told a good story, and could crack a Having thus given an account of the genus and spe- severe jest with all the acumen of Shakespeare’s jesters, cies to which Edie Ochiltree appertains, the author may though without using, like them, the cloak of insanity. add, that the individual he had in his eye was Andrew It was some fear of Andrew’s satire, as much as a feel- Gemmells, an old mendicant of the character described, ing of kindness or charity, which secured him the gen- who was many years since well known, and must still be eral good reception which he enjoyed everywhere. In remembered, in the vales of Gala, Tweed, Ettrick, Yar- fact, a jest of Andrew Gemmells, especially at the ex- row, and the adjoining country. pense of a person of consequence, flew round the circle The author has in his youth repeatedly seen and con- which he frequented, as surely as the bon-mot of a man

11 The Antiquary of established character for wit glides through the fash- those times would, like him, have thought there was ionable world, Many of his good things are held in re- nothing extraordinary in passing an hour, either in card- membrance, but are generally too local and personal to playing or conversation, with Andrew Gemmells. be introduced here. This singular mendicant had generally, or was sup- Andrew had a character peculiar to himself among posed to have, much money about his person, as would his tribe for aught I ever heard. He was ready and will- have been thought the value of his life among modern ing to play at cards or dice with any one who desired foot-pads. On one occasion, a country gentleman, gen- such amusement. This was more in the character of the erally esteemed a very narrow man, happening to meet Irish itinerant gambler, called in that country a Andrew, expressed great regret that he had no silver in “carrow,” than of the Scottish beggar. But the late Rev- his pocket, or he would have given him sixpence. —“I erend Doctor Robert Douglas, minister of Galashiels, can give you change for a note, laird,” replied Andrew. assured the author, that the last time he saw Andrew Like most who have arisen to the head of their profes- Gemmells, he was engaged in a game at brag with a sion, the modern degradation which mendicity has un- gentleman of fortune, distinction, and birth. To preserve dergone was often the subject of Andrew’s lamentations. the due gradations of rank, the party was made at an As a trade, he said, it was forty pounds a-year worse open window of the chateau, the laird sitting on his chair since he had first practised it. On another occasion he in the inside, the beggar on a stool in the yard; and they observed, begging was in modern times scarcely the pro- played on the window-sill. The stake was a considerable fession of a gentleman; and that, if he had twenty sons, parcel of silver. The author expressing some surprise, he would not easily be induced to breed one of them up Dr. Douglas observed, that the laird was no doubt a in his own line. When or where this laudator temporis humourist or original; but that many decent persons in acti closed his wanderings, the author never heard with

12 Sir Walter Scott certainty; but most probably, as Burns says, maintain a son a student in the theological classes of the University, at the gate of which the father was a —he died a cadger-powny’s death, mendicant. The young man was modest and inclined to At some dike side. learning, so that a student of the same age, and whose parents where rather of the lower order, moved by see- The author may add another picture of the same kind ing him excluded from the society of other scholars when as Edie Ochiltree and Andrew Gemmells; considering the secret of his birth was suspected, endeavoured to these illustrations as a sort of gallery, open to the recep- console him by offering him some occasional civilities. tion of anything which may elucidate former manners, The old mendicant was grateful for this attention to his or amuse the reader. son, and one day, as the friendly student passed, he The author’s contemporaries at the university of stooped forward more than usual, as if to intercept his Edinburgh will probably remember the thin, wasted passage. The scholar drew out a halfpenny, which he form of a venerable old Bedesman, who stood by the concluded was the beggar’s object, when he was sur- Potterrow-Port, now demolished, and, without speak- prised to receive his thanks for the kindness he had shown ing a syllable, gently inclined his head, and offered his to Jemmie, and at the same time a cordial invitation to hat, but with the least possible degree of urgency, to- dine with them next Saturday, “on a shoulder of mut- wards each individual who passed. This man gained, by ton and potatoes,” adding, “ye’ll put on your clean sark, silence and the extenuated and wasted appearance of a as I have company.” The student was strongly tempted palmer from a remote country, the same tribute which to accept this hospitable proposal, as many in his place was yielded to Andrew Gemmells’ sarcastic humour and would probably have done; but, as the motive might have stately deportment. He was understood to be able to been capable of misrepresentation, he thought it most

13 The Antiquary prudent, considering the character and circumstances of the old man, to decline the invitation. Such are a few traits of Scottish mendicity, designed EDITOR’S INTRODUCTION to throw light on a Novel in which a character of that description plays a prominent part. We conclude, that TO we have vindicated Edie Ochiltree’s right to the importance assigned him; and have shown, that we have known THE ANTIQUARY. one beggar take a hand at cards with a person of distinction, and another give dinner parties. I know not if it be worth while to observe, that the “THE ANTIQUARY” was begun in 1815; the bargain for its Antiquary,* was not so well received on its first appear- publication by Constable was made in the October of ance as either of its predecessors, though in course of that year. On December 22 Scott wrote to Morritt: “I time it rose to equal, and, with some readers, superior shall set myself seriously to ‘The Antiquary,’ of which popularity. I have only a very general sketch at present; but when once I get my pen to the 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,—a hopeful prospect for the reader!’” It is amazing enough that he even constructed “a general sketch,” for to such sketches he confesses that * Note A. Mottoes. he never could keep constant. “I have generally written

14 Sir Walter Scott to the middle of one of these novels without having the about the last day of 1815. On December 29 Scott wrote least idea how it was to end,—in short, in the hab nab at to Ballantyne:— a venture style of composition” (Journal, Feb. 24, 1828). Yet it is almost impossible but that the plot of “The DEAR JAMES,— Antiquary” should have been duly considered. Scott must have known from the first who Lovel was to turn I’ve done, thank’God, with the long yarns out to be, and must have recognised in the hapless bride Of the most prosy of Apostles—Paul,1 of Lord Glenallan the object of the Antiquary’s soli- And now advance, sweet heathen of Monkbarns, tary and unfortunate passion. To introduce another Step out, old quizz, as fast as I can scrawl. Wandering Heir immediately after the Harry Bertram of “Guy Mannering” was rather audacious. But that In “The Antiquary” Scott had a subject thoroughly old favourite, the Lost Heir, is nearly certain to be popu- to his mind. He had been an antiquary from his child- lar. For the Antiquary’s immortal sorrow Scott had a hood. His earliest pence had been devoted to that col- model in his own experience. “What a romance to tell! lection of printed ballads which is still at Abbotsford. —and told, I fear, it will one day be. And then my three These he mentions in the unfinished fragment of his years of dreaming and my two years of wakening will “Reliquiae Trotcosienses,” in much the same words as be chronicled doubtless. But the dead will feel no pain.” in his manuscript note on one of the seven volumes. The dead, as Aristotle says, if they care for such things “This little collection of Stall tracts and ballads was at all, care no more than we do for what has passed in a formed by me, when a boy, from the baskets of the trav- dream. elling pedlars. Until put into its present decent binding The general sketch probably began to take full shape it had such charms for the servants that it was repeat-

15 The Antiquary edly, and with difficulty, recovered from their clutches. lauds,” was a fresh acquisition of an old book or of old It contains most of the pieces that were popular about armour. Yet, with all his enthusiasm, he did not please thirty years since, and, I dare say, many that could not the antiquaries of his own day. George Chalmers, in now be procured for any price (1810).” Constable’s “Life and Correspondence” (i. 431), sneers Nor did he collect only— at his want of learning. “His notes are loose and unlearned, as they generally are.” Charles Kirkpatrick “The rare melody of some old ditties Sharpe, his friend in life, disported himself in jealous That first were sung to please King Pepin’s cradle. and ribald mockery of Scott’s archaeological knowledge, when Scott was dead. In a letter of the enigmatic Tho- “Walter had soon begun to gather out-of-the-way mas Allen, or James Stuart Hay, father of John Sobieski things of all sorts. He had more books than shelves [sic]; and Charles Edward Stuart, this mysterious person avers a small painted cabinet with Scotch and Roman coins that he never knew Scott’s opinion to be held as of any in it, and so forth. A claymore and Lochaber axe, given value by antiquaries (1829). They probably missed in him by old Invernahyle, mounted guard on a little print him “a sort of pettifogging intimacy with dates, names, of Prince Charlie; and Broughton’s Saucer was hooked and trifling matters of fact,—a tiresome and frivolous up on the wall below it.” He had entered literature accuracy of memory” which Sir Arthur Wardour re- through the ruined gateway of archleology, in the “Bor- proves in Monkbarns. Scott, in brief, was not as Dry-as- der Minstrelsy,” and his last project was an edition of dust; all the dead bones that he touches come to life. He Perrault’s “Contes de Ma Mere l’Oie.” As pleasant to was as great an archeologist as a poet can be, and, with him as the purchase of new lands like Turn Again, Virgil, was the greatest antiquary among poets. Like bought dearly, as in Monkbarns’s case, from “bonnet Monkbarns, he was not incapable of being beguiled. As

16 Sir Walter Scott Oldbuck bought the bodle from the pedlar at the price has been more fortunate than any of them in the sale, of a rare coin, so Scott took Surtees’s “Barthram’s for six thousand went off in the first six days, and it is Dirge,” and his Latin legend of the tourney with the now at press again.” The Preface of the first edition spectre knight, for genuine antiquities. No Edie Ochiltree ends with the melancholy statement that the author ever revealed to him the truth about these forgeries, and “takes his respectful leave, as one who is not likely again the spectre knight, with the ballad of “Anthony to solicit favour.” Apparently Scott had already deter- Featherstonhaugh,” hold their own in “Marmion,” to mined not to announce his next novels (“The Black assure the world that this antiquary was gullible when Dwarf” and “Old Mortality”) as “by the Author of the sleight was practised by a friend. “Non est tanti,” Waverley.” Mr. Constable, in the biography of his fa- he would have said, had he learned the truth; for he was ther, says (iii. 84): “Even before the publication of ‘The ever conscious of the humorous side of the study of the Antiquary,’ John Ballantyne had been impowered by mouldering past. “I do not know anything which re- the Author to negotiate with Mr. Murray and Mr. lieves the mind so much from the sullens as a trifling Blackwood for the first series of the ‘Tales of my Land- discourse about antiquarian oldwomanries. It is like lord.’” The note of withdrawal from the stage, in the knitting a stocking,—diverting the mind without occu- first edition of “The Antiquary,” was probably only a pying it.” (“Journal,” March 9, 1828). part of another experiment on public sagacity. As Begun about Jan. 1, 1816, “The Antiquary” was pub- Lockhart says, Mr. Murray and Mr. Blackwood thought lished before May 16, 1816, when Scott writes to say that the consequent absence of the Author of that he has sent Mr. Morritt the novel “some time since.” “Waverley’s” name from the “Tales of my Landlord” “It is not so interesting as its predecessors; the period would “check very much the first success of the book;” does not admit of so much romantic situation. But it but they risked this, “to disturb Constable’s tenure.”

17 The Antiquary Scott’s temporary desertion of Constable in the “Tales and ‘Guy Mannering’ in the Scottish carnival, Gods! how of my Landlord” may have had various motives. There the boys and girls will admire me! ‘Here is a new won- was a slight grudge against Constable, born of some der!’ they will say. ‘Ah, this is something like! Here is complications of the Ballantynes’ affairs. Perhaps the Godwin beaten on his own ground … Here is for once a mere amusement of the experiment on public sagacity Scottish writer that they cannot say has anything of was one of the more powerful reasons for the change. In the Scotchman about him.’” our day Lord Lytton and Mr. Trollope made similar tri- However, Mr. Godwin did not don the mask and als of their popularity when anonymous, the former domino. “Mandeville” came out about the same time as author with the greater success. The idea of these mas- “Rob Roy;” but the “craziness of the public” for the querades and veils of the incognito appears to have be- Author of “Waverley” was not changed into a passion witched Constable. William Godwin was writing for him for the father-in-law of Shelley. his novel “Mandeville,” and Godwin had obviously been “‘The Antiquary,’ after a little pause of hesitation, counselled to try a disguise. He says (Jan. 30, 1816) “I attained popularity not inferior to ‘Guy Mannering,’ and have amused my imagination a thousand times since though the author appears for a moment to have shared last we parted with the masquerade you devised for me. the doubts which he read in the countenance of James The world is full of wonder. An old favourite is always Ballantyne, it certainly was, in the sequel, his chief reviewed with coldness. … ‘Pooh,’ they say; ‘Godwin favourite among all his novels.’” has worn his pen to the stump!’ … But let me once be As Scott said to Terry, “If a man will paint from na- equipped with a significant mask and an unknown char- ture, he will be likely to amuse those who are daily look- acter from your masquerade shop, and admitted to fig- ing at it.” The years which saw the first appearance of ure in with the ‘Last Minstrel,’ the ‘Lady of the Lake,’ “Guy Mannering” also witnessed that of “Emma.” By

18 Sir Walter Scott the singular chance, or law, which links great authors the mirth of Cuddie Headrigg. There was, however, this closely in time, giving us novelists in pairs, Miss Austen difficulty,—that Scott cared not to write a story of a was “drawing from nature” at the very moment when single class. “From the peer to the ploughman,” all so- Scott was wedding nature with romance. How gener- ciety mingles in each of his novels. A fiction of middle- ously and wisely he admired her is familiar, and it may, class life did not allure him, and he was not at the best, to some, seem curious that he never deliberately set him- but at his worst, as Sydney Smith observed, in the light self to a picture of ordinary life, free from the intrusion talk of society. He could admire Miss Austen, and read of the unusual, of the heroic. Once, looking down at her novels again and again; but had he attempted to the village which lies on the Tweed, opposite Melrose, follow her, by way of variety, then inevitably wild as he remarked that under its roofs tragedies and tales were well as disciplined humour would have kept breaking doubtless being lived. ‘I undertake to say there is some in, and his fancy would have wandered like the old real romance at this moment going on down there, that, knights of Arthur’s Court, “at adventure.” “St. Ronan’s if it could have justice done to it, would be well worth Well” proved the truth of all this. Thus it happens that, all the fiction that was ever spun out of human brains.’ in “The Antiquary,” with all his sympathy for the people, But the example he gave was terrible,—“anything more with all his knowledge of them, he does not confine him- dreadful was never conceived by Crabbe;” yet, adds self to their cottages. As Lockhart says, in his admi- Lockhart, “it would never have entered into his head to rable piece of criticism, he preferred to choose topics in elaborate such a tale.” He could not dwell in the unbro- which he could display “his highest art, that of skilful ken gloom dear to some modern malingerers. But he contrast.” could easily have made a tale of common Scotch life, Even the tragic romance of “Waverley” does not set dark with the sorrow of Mucklebackit, and bright with off its Macwheebles and Callum Begs better than the

19 The Antiquary oddities of Jonathan Oldbuck and his circle are relieved, its patriotic musters and volunteer drillings, are pictures on the one hand by the stately gloom of the Glenallans, out of that part in the author’s life which, with his early on the other by the stern affliction of the poor fisher- Highland wanderings (“Waverley”) and his Liddesdale man, who, when discovered repairing “the auld black raids (“Guy Mannering”), was most dear to him. In bitch of a boat,” in which his boy had been lost, and “Redgauntlet,” again, he makes, as Alan Fairford, a re- congratulated by his visitors on being capable of the turn on his youth and his home, and in “Rob Roy” he exertion, makes answer, “And what would you have me revives his Highland recollections, his Highland lairds to do, unless I wanted to see four children starve, be- of “the blawing, bleezing stories.” None of the rest of cause one is drowned? It ‘s weel with you gentles, that the tales are so intimate in their connection with Scott’s can sit in the house with handkerchers at your een, when own personal history. “The Antiquary” has always, ye lose a friend; but the like o’ us maun to our work therefore, been held in the very first rank of his novels. again, if our hearts were beating as hard as ony ham- As far as plot goes, though Godwin denied that it had mer.” And to his work again Scott had to go when he any story, “The Antiquary” may be placed among the lost the partner of his life. most careful. The underplot of the Glenallans, gloomy The simple unsought charm which Lockhart notes in almost beyond endurance, is very ingeniously made to “The Antiquary” may have passed away in later works, unravel the mystery of Lovel. The other side-narrative, when what had been the amusement of happy days be- that of Dousterswivel, is the weak point of the whole; came the task of sadness. But this magic “The Anti- but this Scott justifies by “very late instances of the quary” keeps perhaps beyond all its companions,—the force of superstitious credulity, to a much greater ex- magic of pleasant memories and friendly associations. tent.” Some occurrence of the hour may have suggested The sketches of the epoch of expected invasion, with the knavish adept with his divining-rod. But facts are

20 Sir Walter Scott never a real excuse for the morally incredible, or all but think that Elspeth of the Burnfoot is the Meg of the incredible, in fiction. On the wealth and vraisemblance romance. Few will agree with him that Meg Merrilies, and variety of character it were superfluous to dilate. in either of these cases, is “good, but good too often.” As in Shakspeare, there is not even a minor person but The supposed “originals” of certain persons in the tale lives and is of flesh and blood, if we except, perhaps, have been topics of discussion. The character of Dousterswivel and Sir Arthur Wardour. Sir Arthur is Oldbuck, like most characters in fiction, is a combina- only Sir Robert Hazlewood over again, with a slightly tion of traits observed in various persons. Scott says, in different folly and a somewhat more amiable nature. a note to the Ashiestiel fragment of Autobiography, that Lovel’s place, as usual, is among the shades of heroes, Mr. George Constable, an old friend of his father’s, “had and his love-affair is far less moving, far more summarily many of those peculiarities of character which long af- treated, than that of Jenny Caxon. The skilful contrasts terwards I tried to develop in the character of Jonathan are perhaps most remarkable when we compare Elspeth Oldbuck.” Sir Walter, when a child, made Mr. Constable’s of the Burnfoot with the gossiping old women in the acquaintance at Prestonpans in 1777, where he explored post-office at Fairport,—a town studied perhaps from the battle-field “under the learned guidance of Arbroath. It was the opinion of Sydney Smith that ev- Dalgetty.” Mr. Constable first introduced him to ery one of the novels, before “The Fortunes of Nigel,” Shakspeare’s plays, and gave him his first German dic- contained a Meg Merrilies and a Dominie Sampson. He tionary. Other traits may have been suggested by John may have recognized a male Meg in Edie Ochiltree,— Clerk of Eldin, whose grandfather was the hero of the the invaluable character who is always behind a wall, story “Praetorian here, Praetorian there, I made it wi’ always overhears everything, and holds the threads of a flaughter spade.” Lockhart is no doubt right in think- the plot. Or he may have been hypercritical enough to ing that Oldbuck is partly a caricature of Oldbuck’s cre-

21 The Antiquary ator,—Sir Walter indeed frankly accepted the kinship; Strathallan, and others at Inverpeffery.” Gordon votes and the book which he began on his own collection he for Strathern, “half a mile short of the Kirk of Comrie.” proposed to style “Reliquim Trotcosienses; or, the Ga- This spot is both at the foot of the Montes Grampii, bions of Jonathan Oldbuck.” “and boasts a Roman camp capable of holding an army Another person who added a few points to Oldbuck fit to encounter so formidable a number as thirty thou- was “Sandy Gordon,” author of the “Itinerarium sand Caledonians. … Here is the Porta Decumana, op- Septentrionale” (1726), the very folio which Monkbarns posite the Prcetoria, together with the dextra and carried in the dilatory coach to Queensferry. Gordon had sinistra gates,” all discovered by Sandy Gordon. “More- been a student in the University of Aberdeen; he was over, the situation of the ground is so very exact with an amateur in many arts, but antiquarianism was his the description given by Tacitus, that in all my travels favourite hobby. He was an acquaintance of Sir John through Britain I never beheld anything with more plea- Clerk of Eldin, the hero of the Praetorium. The words sure. … Nor is it difficult, in viewing this ground, to say of Gordon in his “Itinerarium,” where he describes the where the Covinarii, or Charioteers, stood. In fine, to an battle of the Grampians, have supplied, or suggested, Antiquary, this is a ravishing scene.” He adds the argu- the speech of Monkbarns at the Kaim of Kinprunes. ment “that Galgacus’s name still remains on this ground, The great question was, Where is the Mons Grampius for the moor on which the camp stood is called to this of Tacitus? Dismissing Camden’s Grantsbain, because day Galdachan, or Galgachan Rosmoor.” All this lore he does not know where it is, Gordon says, “As for our Gordon illustrates by an immense chart of a camp, and Scotch Antiquaries, they are so divided that some will a picture of very small Montes Grampii, about the size have it to be in the shire of Angus, or in the Mearns, and shape of buns. The plate is dedicated to his excel- some at the Blair of Athol in Perthshire, or Ardoch in lency General Wade.

22 Sir Walter Scott In another point Monkbapns borrows from Gordon. to have been suggested by Andrew Gemmells, pleasantly Sandy has a plate (page 20) of “The Roman Sacellum described in the Introduction. Mr. Chambers, in “Illus- of Mars Signifer, vulgarly called ‘Arthur’s Oon.’ With trations of the Author of ‘Waverley,” clears up a point regard to its shape, it is not unlike the famous Pantheon doubtful in Scott’s memory, by saying that Geimells re- at Rome before the noble Portico was added to it by ally was a Blue-Gown. He rode a horse of his own, and Marcus Agrippa.” Gordon agrees with Stukeley in at- at races was a bookmaker. He once dropped at Ruther- tributing Arthur’s Oon to Agricola, and here Monkbarns ford, in Teviotdale, a clue of yarn containing twenty and Lovel adopt almost his words. “Time has left Julius guineas. Like Edie Ochiltree, he had served at Fontenoy. Agricola’s very name on the place; … and if ever those He died at Roxburgh Newton in 1793, at the age of one initial letters J. A. M. P. M. P. T., mentioned by Sir Rob- hundred and five, according to his own reckoning. “His ert Sibbald, were engraven on a stone in this building, it wealth was the means of enriching a nephew in Ayr- may not be reckoned altogether absurd that they should shire, who is now (1825) a considerable landholder there, bear this reading, JULIUS AGRICOLA MAGNUS and belongs to a respectable class of society.” PIETATIS MONUMENTUM POSUIT TEMPLUM; An old Irus of similar character patrolled Teviotdale, but this my reader may either accept or reject as he while Andrew Gemmells was attached to Ettrick and pleases. However, I think it may be as probably received Yarrow. This was Blind Willie Craw. Willie was the Soci- as that inscription on Caligula’s Pharos in Holland, ety Journal of Hawick, and levied blackmail on the in- which having these following letters, C. C. P. F., is read habitants. He is thus described by Mr. Grieve, in the Caius Caligula Pharum Fecit.” “This,” Monkbarns adds, Diary already quoted: “He lived at Branxholme Town, “has ever been recorded as a sound exposition.” in a free house set apart for the gamekeeper, and for The character of Edie Ochiltree, Scott himself avers many a year carried all the bread from Hawick used in

23 The Antiquary my father’s family. He came in that way at breakfast- time, and got a wallet which he put it in, and returned In Scotland there lived a humble beggar, at dinner-time with the ‘bawbee rows’ and two loaves. He had nor house, nor hald, nor hame; He laid the town of Hawick under contribution for But he was well liked by ilk a body, bawbees, and he knew the history of every individual, And they gave him sunkets to rax his wame. and went rhyming through the town from door to door; and as he knew something against every one which they A sieve fu’ o’ meal, a handfu’ o’ groats, would rather wish should not be rehearsed, a bawbee A dad o’ a bannock, or pudding bree, put a stop to the paragraph which they wished sup- Cauld porridge, or the lickings o’ plates, pressed. Willie Craw was the son of a gamekeeper of Wad make him as blythe as a body could be. the duke’s, and enjoyed a free house at Branxholme Town as long as he lived.” The dress and trade of the beggar are said to have been Had Burns ever betaken himself to the gaberlunzie’s adopted by James V. in his adventures, and tradition life, which he speaks of in one of his poems as “the last attributes to him a song, “The Gaberlunzie Man.” o’t, the worst o’t,” he would have proved a much more One of Edie’s most charming traits is his readiness to formidable satirist than poor Willie Craw, the last of the “fight for his dish, like the laird for his land,” when a “blind crowders.” Burns wrote, of course, in a spirit of French invasion was expected. Scott places the date of reckless humour; but he could not, even in sport, have “The False Alarm,” when he himself rode a hundred alluded to the life as “suited to his habits and powers,” miles to join his regiment, on Feb. 2, 1804. had gaberlunzies been mere mendicants. In Herd’s col- Lockhart gives it as an event of 1805 (vol. ii. p. 275). lection of Ballads is one on the ancient Scottish beggar:— The occasion gave great pleasure to Scott, on account

24 Sir Walter Scott of the patriotism and courage displayed by all classes. The Editor cannot resist the temptation to add “Me no muckle to fight for?” says Edie. “Isna there the that the patriotic lady mentioned in Scott’s note, country to fight for, and the burns I gang dandering who “would rather have seen her son dead on beside, and the hearths o’ the gudewives that gie me my that hearth than hear that he had been a horse’s length behind his companions,” was bit bread, and the bits o’ weans that come toddling to his paternal great-grandmother, Mrs. John play wi’ me when I come about a landward town?” Edie Lang. Her husband, who died shortly afterwards, so that she was a widow when Scott had fought at Fontenoy, and was of the old school. Scott conversed with her, chanced to be chief mag- would have been less pleased with a recruit from St. istrate of Selkirk. His family was aroused late Boswells, on the Tweed. This man was a shoemaker, John one night by the sound of a carriage hurrying down the steep and narrow street. Lord Napier Younger, a very intelligent and worthy person, famous was bringing, probably from Hawick, the tid- as an angler and writer on angling, who has left an ac- ings that the beacons were ablaze. The town- count of the “False Alarm” in his memoirs. His view bell was instantly rung, the inhabitants met in the marketplace, where Scott’s statue now was that the people, unlike Edie, had nothing to fight stands, and the whole force, with one solitary for, that only the rich had any reason to be patriotic, exception, armed and marched to Dalkeith. Ac- that the French had no quarrel with the poor. In fact, cording to the gentleman whose horse and arms were sent on to meet him, it was intended, Mr. Younger was a cosmopolitan democrat, and sneered if the French proved victorious, that the popu- at the old Border glories of the warlike days. Probably, lation of the Border towns should abandon their homes and retire to the hills. however, he would have done his duty, had the enemy landed, and, like Edie, might have remembered the No characters in the “Antiquary,” except Monkbarns “burns he dandered beside,” always with a fishingrod and Edie Ochiltree, seem to have been borrowed from in his hand. notable originals. The frauds of Dousterswivel, Scott 25 The Antiquary says, are rendered plausible by “very late instances of established his position, at least till “The Monastery” the force of superstitious credulity to a much greater caused some murmurings. Even the “Quarterly Review” extent.” He can hardly be referring to the career of was infinitely more genial in its reception of “The Anti- Cagliostro, but he may have had in his memory some quary” than of “Guy Mannering.” The critic only unsuccessful mining speculations by Charles Earl of grumbled at Lovel’s feverish dreams, which, he thought, Traquair, who sought for lead and found little or none showed an intention to introduce the marvellous. He in Traquair hills. The old “Statistical Account of Scot- complained of “the dark dialect of Anglified Erse,” but land” (vol. xii. p. 370) says nothing about imposture, found comfort in the glossary appended. The and merely remarks that “the noble family of Traquair “Edinburgh Review” pronounced the chapter on the have made several attempts to discover lead mines, and escape from the tide to be “I the very best description have found quantities of the ore of that metal, though we have ever met, inverse or in prose, in ancient or in not adequate to indemnify the expenses of working, and modern writing.” No reviewer seems to have noticed that have therefore given up the attempt.” This was pub- the sun is made to set in the sea, on the east coast of lished in 1794, so twenty years had passed when “The Scotland. The “Edinburgh,” however, declared that the Antiquary” was written. If there was here an “instance Antiquary, “at least in so far as he is an Antiquary,” of superstitious credulity,” it was not “a very late in- was the chief blemish on the book. The “sweet heathen stance.” The divining, or “dowsing,” rod of of Monkbarns” has not suffered from this disparage- Dousterswivel still keeps its place in mining supersti- ment. The “British Critic” pledged its reputation that tion and in the search for wells. Scott was the author. If an argument were wanted, “it With “The Antiquary” most contemporary reviews would be that which has been applied to prove the au- of the novels lose their interest. Their author had firmly thenticity of the last book of the Iliad,—that Homer

26 Sir Walter Scott must have written it, because no one else could.” Alas! that argument does not convince German critics. ANDREW LANG. CHAPTER FIRST

Go call a coach, and let a coach be called, 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 on a fine summer’s day, near the end of the eighteenth century, when a young man, of genteel appearance, journeying towards the north-east of Scot- land, 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 27 The Antiquary way, and intrude upon those who were legally in posses- upon the appointed stand. It is true, only two tickets sion. The tickets, which conferred right to a seat in this had been taken out, and possibly the lady of the subter- vehicle, of little ease, were dispensed by a sharp-look- ranean mansion might have an understanding with her ing old dame, with a pair of spectacles on a very thin Automedon, that, in such cases, a little space was to be nose, who inhabited a “laigh shop,” anglice, a cellar, allowed for the chance of filling up the vacant places— opening to the High Street by a straight and steep stair, or the said Automedon might have been attending a fu- at the bottom of which she sold tape, thread, needles, neral, and be delayed by the necessity of stripping his skeins of worsted, coarse linen cloth, and such feminine vehicle of its lugubrious trappings—or he might have gear, to those who had the courage and skill to descend staid to take a half-mutchkin extraordinary with his to the profundity of her dwelling, without falling head- crony the hostler—or—in short, he did not make his long themselves, or throwing down any of the numer- appearance. ous articles which, piled on each side of the descent, The young gentleman, who began to grow somewhat indicated the profession of the trader below. impatient, was now joined by a companion in this petty The written hand-bill, which, pasted on a projecting misery of human life—the person who had taken out board, announced that the Queensferry Diligence, or the other place. He who is bent upon a journey is usu- Hawes Fly, departed precisely at twelve o’clock on Tues- ally easily to be distinguished from his fellow-citizens. day, the fifteenth July 17—, in order to secure for trav- The boots, the great-coat, the umbrella, the little bundle ellers the opportunity of passing the Firth with the in his hand, the hat pulled over his resolved brows, the flood-tide, lied on the present occasion like a bulletin; determined importance of his pace, his brief answers to for although that hour was pealed from Saint Giles’s the salutations of lounging acquaintances, are all marks steeple, and repeated by the Tron, no coach appeared by which the experienced traveller in mail-coach or dili-

28 Sir Walter Scott gence can distinguish, at a distance, the companion of dered, surmounted by a slouched hat, had something his future journey, as he pushes onward to the place of of a professional air. He might be a clergyman, yet his rendezvous. It is then that, with worldly wisdom, the appearance was more that of a man of the world than first comer hastens to secure the best berth in the coach usually belongs to the kirk of Scotland, and his first for himself, and to make the most convenient arrange- ejaculation put the matter beyond question. ment for his baggage before the arrival of his competi- He arrived with a hurried pace, and, casting an tors. Our youth, who was gifted with little prudence, of alarmed glance towards the dial-plate of the church, any sort, and who was, moreover, by the absence of the then looking at the place where the coach should have coach, deprived of the power of availing himself of his been, exclaimed, “Deil’s in it—I am too late after all!” priority of choice, amused himself, instead, by specu- The young man relieved his anxiety, by telling him lating upon the occupation and character of the per- the coach had not yet appeared. The old gentleman, ap- sonage who was now come to the coach office. parently conscious of his own want of punctuality, did He was a good-looking man of the age of sixty, per- not at first feel courageous enough to censure that of haps older,—but his hale complexion and firm step an- the coachman. He took a parcel, containing apparently nounced that years had not impaired his strength or a large folio, from a little boy who followed him, and, health. His countenance was of the true Scottish cast, patting him on the head, bid him go back and tell Mr. strongly marked, and rather harsh in features, with a B——, that if he had known he was to have had so much shrewd and penetrating eye, and a countenance in which time, he would have put another word or two to their habitual gravity was enlivened by a cast of ironical bargain,—then told the boy to mind his business, and humour. His dress was uniform, and of a colour becom- he would be as thriving a lad as ever dusted a duodecimo. ing his age and gravity; a wig, well dressed and pow- The boy lingered, perhaps in hopes of a penny to buy

29 The Antiquary marbles; but none was forthcoming. Our senior leaned “Woman,” reiterated the traveller, “do you think we his little bundle upon one of the posts at the head of can stand here all day till you have cheated that poor the staircase, and, facing the traveller who had first ar- servant wench out of her half-year’s fee and bountith?” rived, waited in silence for about five minutes the ar- “Cheated!” retorted Mrs. Macleuchar, eager to take rival of the expected diligence. up the quarrel upon a defensible ground; “I scorn your At length, after one or two impatient glances at the words, sir: you are an uncivil person, and I desire you progress of the minute-hand of the clock, having com- will not stand there, to slander me at my ain stair-head.” pared it with his own watch, a huge and antique gold “The woman,” said the senior, looking with an arch repeater, and having twitched about his features to give glance at his destined travelling companion, “does not due emphasis to one or two peevish pshaws, he hailed understand the words of action.—Woman,” again turn- the old lady of the cavern. ing to the vault, “I arraign not thy character, but I de- “Good woman,—what the d—l is her name?—Mrs. sire to know what is become of thy coach?” Macleuchar!” “What’s your wull?” answered Mrs. Macleuchar, re- Mrs. Macleuchar, aware that she had a defensive part to lapsing into deafness. sustain in the encounter which was to follow, was in no hurry “We have taken places, ma’am,” said the younger to hasten the discussion by returning a ready answer. stranger, “in your diligence for Queensferry”—“Which “Mrs. Macleuchar,—Good woman” (with an elevated should have been half-way on the road before now,” con- voice)—then apart, “Old doited hag, she’s as deaf as a tinued the elder and more impatient traveller, rising in post—I say, Mrs. Macleuchar!” wrath as he spoke: “and now in all likelihood we shall “I am just serving a customer.—Indeed, hinny, it will miss the tide, and I have business of importance on the no be a bodle cheaper than I tell ye.” other side—and your cursed coach”—

30 Sir Walter Scott “The coach?—Gude guide us, gentlemen, is it no on proaches, on the embarrassed Mrs. Macleuchar. He the stand yet?” answered the old lady, her shrill tone of would take a post-chaise—he would call a hackney coach expostulation sinking into a kind of apologetic whine. —he would take four horses—he must—he would be on “Is it the coach ye hae been waiting for?” the north side, to-day—and all the expense of his jour- “What else could have kept us broiling in the sun by ney, besides damages, direct and consequential, arising the side of the gutter here, you—you faithless woman, from delay, should be accumulated on the devoted head eh?” of Mrs. Macleuchar. Mrs. Macleuchar now ascended her trap stair (for such There, was something so comic in his pettish resent- it might be called, though constructed of stone), until ment, that the younger traveller, who was in no such her nose came upon a level with the pavement; then, pressing hurry to depart, could not help being amused after wiping her spectacles to look for that which she with it, especially as it was obvious, that every now and well knew was not to be found, she exclaimed, with well- then the old gentleman, though very angry, could not feigned astonishment, “Gude guide us—saw ever help laughing at his own vehemence. But when Mrs. onybody the like o’ that?” Macleuchar began also to join in the laughter, he quickly “Yes, you abominable woman,” vociferated the trav- put a stop to her ill-timed merriment. eller, “many have seen the like of it, and all will see the “Woman,” said he, “is that advertisement thine?” like of it that have anything to do with your trolloping showing a bit of crumpled printed paper: “Does it not sex;” then pacing with great indignation before the door set forth, that, God willing, as you hypocritically ex- of the shop, still as he passed and repassed, like a vessel press it, the Hawes Fly, or Queensferry Diligence, would who gives her broadside as she comes abreast of a hos- set forth to-day at twelve o’clock; and is it not, thou tile fortress, he shot down complaints, threats, and re- falsest of creatures, now a quarter past twelve, and no

31 The Antiquary such fly or diligence to be seen?—Dost thou know the ous program?—or will it requite the damage I may sus- consequence of seducing the lieges by false reports?— tain by leaving my business undone, or repay the ex- dost thou know it might be brought under the statute penses which I must disburse if I am obliged to tarry a of leasing-making? Answer—and for once in thy long, day at the South Ferry for lack of tide?—Will it hire, I useless, and evil life, let it be in the words of truth and say, a pinnace, for which alone the regular price is five sincerity,—hast thou such a coach? —is it in rerum shillings?” natura?—or is this base annunciation a mere swindle on Here his argument was cut short by a lumbering noise, the incautious to beguile them of their time, their pa- which proved to be the advance of the expected vehicle, tience, and three shillings of sterling money of this pressing forward with all the dispatch to which the bro- realm?—Hast thou, I say, such a coach? ay or no?” ken-winded jades that drew it could possibly be urged. “O dear, yes, sir; the neighbours ken the diligence weel, With ineffable pleasure, Mrs. Macleuchar saw her tor- green picked oat wi’ red—three yellow wheels and a black mentor deposited in the leathern convenience; but still, ane.” as it was driving off, his head thrust out of the window “Woman, thy special description will not serve—it may reminded her, in words drowned amid the rumbling of be only a lie with a circumstance.” the wheels, that, if the diligence did not attain the Ferry “O, man, man!” said the overwhelmed Mrs. in time to save the flood-tide, she, Mrs. Macleuchar, Macleuchar, totally exhausted at having been so long should be held responsible for all the consequences that the butt of his rhetoric, “take back your three shillings, might ensue. and make me quit o’ ye.” The coach had continued in motion for a mile or two “Not so fast, not so fast, woman—Will three shillings before the stranger had completely repossessed himself transport me to Queensferry, agreeably to thy treacher- of his equanimity, as was manifested by the doleful

32 Sir Walter Scott ejaculations, which he made from time to time, on the tiquities, had yet acquaintance enough with the clas- too great probability, or even certainty, of their missing sics to render him an interested and intelligent auditor the flood-tide. By degrees, however, his wrath subsided; when they were enlarged upon. The elder traveller, ob- he wiped his brows, relaxed his frown, and, undoing the serving with pleasure the capacity of his temporary parcel in his hand, produced his folio, on which he gazed companion to understand and answer him, plunged, from time to time with the knowing look of an ama- nothing loath, into a sea of discussion concerning urns, teur, admiring its height and condition, and ascertain- vases, votive, altars, Roman camps, and the rules of ing, by a minute and individual inspection of each leaf, castrametation. that the volume was uninjured and entire from title- The pleasure of this discourse had such a dulcifying page to colophon. His fellow-traveller took the liberty tendency, that, although two causes of delay occurred, of inquiring the subject of his studies. He lifted up his each of much more serious duration than that which eyes with something of a sarcastic glance, as if he sup- had drawn down his wrath upon the unlucky Mrs. posed the young querist would not relish, or perhaps Macleuchar, our =Antiquary= only bestowed on the understand, his answer, and pronounced the book to be delay the honour of a few episodical poohs and pshaws, Sandy Gordon’s Itinerarium Septentrionale,* a book il- which rather seemed to regard the interruption of his lustrative of the Roman remains in Scotland. disquisition than the retardation of his journey. The querist, unappalled by this learned title, proceeded The first of these stops was occasioned by the break- to put several questions, which indicated that he had ing of a spring, which half an hour’s labour hardly re- made good use of a good education, and, although not paired. To the second, the Antiquary was himself ac- possessed of minute information on the subject of an- cessory, if not the principal cause of it; for, observing that one of the horses had cast a fore-foot shoe, he ap- * Note B. Sandy Gordon’s Itinerarium. 33 The Antiquary prized the coachman of this important deficiency. “It’s happened to exist about a hundred yards distant from Jamie Martingale that furnishes the naigs on contract, the spot where this interruption took place. But were I and uphauds them,” answered John, “and I am not en- compelled to decompose the motives of my worthy titled to make any stop, or to suffer prejudice by the friend (for such was the gentleman in the sober suit, with like of these accidents.” powdered wig and slouched hat), I should say, that, al- “And when you go to—I mean to the place you de- though he certainly would not in any case have suffered serve to go to, you scoundrel,—who do you think will the coachman to proceed while the horse was unfit for uphold you on contract? If you don’t stop directly and service, and likely to suffer by being urged forward, yet carry the poor brute, to the next smithy, I’ll have you the man of whipcord escaped some severe abuse and punished, if there’s a justice of peace in Mid-Lothian;” reproach by the agreeable mode which the traveller and, opening the coach-door, out he jumped, while the found out to pass the interval of delay. coachman obeyed his orders, muttering, that “if the So much time was consumed by these interruptions gentlemen lost the tide now, they could not say but it of their journey, that when they descended the hill above was their ain fault, since he was willing to get on.” the Hawes (for so the inn on the southern side of the I like so little to analyze the complication of the causes Queensferry is denominated), the experienced eye of the which influence actions, that I will not venture to ascer- Antiquary at once discerned, from the extent of wet tain whether our Antiquary’s humanity to the poor sand, and the number of black stones and rocks, cov- horse was not in some degree aided by his desire of show- ered with sea-weed, which were visible along the skirts ing his companion a Pict’s camp, or Round-about, a of the shore, that the hour of tide was past. The young subject which he had been elaborately discussing, and traveller expected a burst of indignation; but whether, of which a specimen, “very curious and perfect indeed,” as Croaker says in “The Good-natured Man,” our hero

34 Sir Walter Scott had exhausted himself in fretting away his misfortunes In this Christian temper of making the best of all oc- beforehand, so that he did not feel them when they ac- currences, our travellers alighted at the Hawes. tually arrived, or whether he found the company in which he was placed too congenial to lead him to repine at anything 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!—Diligence, quoth I? Thou shouldst have called it the Sloth—Fly, quoth she? why, it moves 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, we’ll have a snack here at the Hawes, which is a very decent sort of a place, and I’ll be very happy to finish the account I was giving you of the difference between the mode of entrench- ing castra stativa and castra costiva, 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 guidance!—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.”

35 The Antiquary of a Scottish proprietor), is this you? I little thought to have seen your honour here till the summer session was CHAPTER SECOND ower.” “Ye donnard auld deevil,” answered his guest, his Scot- tish accent predominating when in anger though other- Sir, they do scandal me upon the road here! wise not particularly remarkable,—“ye donnard auld A poor quotidian rack of mutton roasted Dry to be grated! and that driven down crippled idiot, what have I to do with the session, or the With beer and butter-milk, mingled together. geese that flock to it, or the hawks that pick their pin- It is against my freehold, my inheritance. ions for them?” Wine is the word that glads the heart of man, And mine’s the house of wine. Sack, says my bush, “Troth, and that’s true,” said mine host, who, in fact, Be merry and drink Sherry, that’s my posie. only spoke upon a very general recollection of the stranger’s original education, yet would have been sorry Ben Jonson’s New Inn. 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 some law af- AS THE SENIOR TRAVELLER descended the crazy steps of the diligence at the inn, he was greeted by the fat, gouty, fair of your ain to look after—I have ane mysell—a pursy landlord, with that mixture of familiarity and ganging plea that my father left me, and his father afore respect which the Scotch innkeepers of the old school left to him. It’s about our back-yard—ye’ll maybe hae used to assume towards their more valued customers. heard of it in the Parliament-house, Hutchison against “Have a care o’ us, Monkbarns (distinguishing him by Mackitchinson—it’s a weel-kenn’d plea—its been four his territorial epithet, always most agreeable to the ear times in afore the fifteen, and deil ony thing the wisest

36 Sir Walter Scott o’ them could make o’t, but just to send it out again to peremptorie.” And with the flattering laugh of a prom- the outer-house.—O it’s a beautiful thing to see how ising host, he left them in his sanded parlour, hung with lang and how carefully justice is considered in this coun- prints of the Four Seasons. try!” As, notwithstanding his pledge to the contrary, the “Hold your tongue, you fool,” said the traveller, but glorious delays of the law were not without their paral- in great good-humour, “and tell us what you can give lel in the kitchen of the inn, our younger traveller had this young gentleman and me for dinner.” an opportunity to step out and make some inquiry of “Ou, there’s fish, nae doubt,—that’s sea-trout and the people of the house concerning the rank and station caller haddocks,” said Mackitchinson, twisting his nap- of his companion. The information which he received kin; “and ye’ll be for a mutton-chop, and there’s cran- was of a general and less authentic nature, but quite berry tarts, very weel preserved, and—and there’s just sufficient to make him acquainted with the name, his- ony thing else ye like.” tory, and circumstances of the gentleman, whom we “Which is to say, there is nothing else whatever? Well, shall endeavour, in a few words, to introduce more accu- well, the fish and the chop, and the tarts, will do very rately to our readers. well. But don’t imitate the cautious delay that you praise Jonathan Oldenbuck, or Oldinbuck, by popular con- in the courts of justice. Let there be no remits from the traction Oldbuck, of Monkbarns, was the second son of inner to the outer house, hear ye me?” a gentleman possessed of a small property in the “Na, na,” said Mackitchinson, whose long and heed- neighbourhood of a thriving seaport town on the north- ful perusal of volumes of printed session papers had eastern coast of Scotland, which, for various reasons, made him acquainted with some law phrases—“the we shall denominate Fairport. They had been established denner shall be served quam primum and that for several generations, as landowners in the county, and

37 The Antiquary in most shires of England would have been accounted a laird, to whose father it had been gifted, with other family of some standing But the shire of —— was filled church lands, on the dissolution of the great and wealthy with gentlemen of more ancient descent and larger for- monastery to which it had belonged. The Oldenbucks tune. In the last generation, also, the neighbouring gen- were therefore, loyal subjects on all occasions of insur- try had been almost uniformly Jacobites, while the pro- rection; and, as they kept up a good intelligence with prietors of Monkbarns, like the burghers of the town the borough, it chanced that the Laird of Monkbarns, near which they were settled, were steady assertors of who flourished in 1745, was provost of the town during the Protestant succession. The latter had, however, a that ill-fated year, and had exerted himself with much pedigree of their own, on which they prided themselves spirit in favour of King George, and even been put to as much as those who despised them valued their re- expenses on that score, which, according to the liberal spective Saxon, Norman, or Celtic genealogies. The first conduct of the existing government towards their Oldenbuck, who had settled in their family mansion friends, had never been repaid him. By dint of solicita- shortly after the Reformation, was, they asserted, de- tion, however, and borough interest, he contrived to gain scended from one of the original printers of Germany, a place in the customs, and, being a frugal, careful man, and had left his country in consequence of the persecu- had found himself enabled to add considerably to his tions directed against the professors of the Reformed paternal fortune. He had only two sons, of whom, as religion. He had found a refuge in the town near which we have hinted, the present laird was the younger, and his posterity dwelt, the more readily that he was a suf- two daughters, one of whom still flourished in single ferer in the Protestant cause, and certainly not the less blessedness, and the other, who was greatly more juve- so, that he brought with him money enough to purchase nile, made a love-match with a captain in the Forty-twa, the small estate of Monkbarns, then sold by a dissipated who had no other fortune but his commission and a

38 Sir Walter Scott Highland pedigree. Poverty disturbed a union which love investitures, and showed such pleasure in reconciling would otherwise have made happy, and Captain their incongruities, and tracing their origin, that his M’Intyre, in justice to his wife and two children, a boy master had great hope he would one day be an able con- and girl, had found himself obliged to seek his fortune veyancer. But he halted upon the threshold, and, though in the East Indies. Being ordered upon an expedition he acquired some knowledge of the origin and system against Hyder Ally, the detachment to which he belonged of the law of his country, he could never be persuaded was cut off, and no news ever reached his unfortunate to apply it to lucrative and practical purposes. It was wife, whether he fell in battle, or was murdered in prison, not from any inconsiderate neglect of the advantages or survived in what the habits of the Indian tyrant ren- attending the possession of money that he thus deceived dered a hopeless captivity. She sunk under the accumu- the hopes of his master. “Were he thoughtless or light- lated load of grief and uncertainty, and left a son and headed, or rei suae prodigus,” said his instructor, “I would daughter to the charge of her brother, the existing Laird know what to make of him. But he never pays away a of Monkbarns. shilling without looking anxiously after the change, The history of that proprietor himself is soon told. makes his sixpence go farther than another lad’s half- Being, as we have said, a second son, his father destined crown, and wilt ponder over an old black-letter copy of him to a share in a substantial mercantile concern, car- the acts of parliament for days, rather than go to the ried on by some of his maternal relations. From this golf or the change-house; and yet he will not bestow Jonathan’s mind revolted in the most irreconcilable one of these days on a little business of routine, that manner. He was then put apprentice to the profession would put twenty shillings in his pocket—a strange of a writer, or attorney, in which he profited so far, that mixture of frugality and industry, and negligent indo- he made himself master of the whole forms of feudal lence—I don’t know what to make of him.”

39 The Antiquary But in process of time his pupil gained the means of knowledge of his being a ready-money man, kept up his making what he pleased of himself; for his father hav- consequence with this class of his neighbours. The coun- ing died, was not long survived by his eldest son, an ar- try gentlemen were generally above him in fortune, and rant fisher and fowler, who departed this life, in conse- beneath him in intellect, and, excepting one with whom quence of a cold caught in his vocation, while shooting he lived in habits of intimacy, had little intercourse with ducks in the swamp called Kittlefittingmoss, notwith- Mr. Oldbuck of Monkbarns. He, had, however, the usual standing his having drunk a bottle of brandy that very resources, the company of the clergyman, and of the night to keep the cold out of his stomach. Jonathan, doctor, when he chose to request it, and also his own therefore, succeeded to the estate, and with it to the pursuits and pleasures, being in correspondence with means of subsisting without the hated drudgery of the most of the virtuosi of his time, who, like himself, mea- law. His wishes were very moderate; and as the rent of sured decayed entrenchments, made plans of ruined his small property rose with the improvement of the castles, read illegible inscriptions, and wrote essays on country, it soon greatly exceeded his wants and expen- medals in the proportion of twelve pages to each letter diture; and though too indolent to make money, he was of the legend. Some habits of hasty irritation he had by no means insensible to the pleasure of beholding it contracted, partly, it was said in the borough of Fairport, accumulate. The burghers of the town near which he from an early disappointment in love in virtue of which lived regarded him with a sort of envy, as one who af- he had commenced misogynist, as he called it, but yet fected to divide himself from their rank in society, and more by the obsequious attention paid to him by his whose studies and pleasures seemed to them alike in- maiden sister and his orphan niece, whom he had trained comprehensible. Still, however, a sort of hereditary re- to consider him as the greatest man upon earth, and spect for the Laird of Monkbarns, augmented by the whom he used to boast of as the only women he had

40 Sir Walter Scott ever seen who were well broke in and bitted to obedi- “Was Mr. Lovel’s excursion solely for pleasure?” ence; though, it must be owned, Miss Grizzy Oldbuck “Not entirely.” was sometimes apt to jibb when he pulled the reins too “Perhaps on business with some of the commercial tight. The rest of his character must be gathered from people of Fairport?” the story, and we dismiss with pleasure the tiresome task “It was partly on business, but had no reference to of recapitulation. commerce.” During the time of dinner, Mr. Oldbuck, actuated by Here he paused; and Mr. Oldbuck, having pushed his the same curiosity which his fellow-traveller had enter- inquiries as far as good manners permitted, was obliged tained on his account, made some advances, which his to change the conversation. The Antiquary, though by aye and station entitled him to do in a more direct man- no means an enemy to good cheer, was a determined foe ner, towards ascertaining the name, destination, and to all unnecessary expense on a journey; and upon his quality of his young companion. companion giving a hint concerning a bottle of port wine, His name, the young gentleman said, was Lovel. he drew a direful picture of the mixture, which, he said, “What! the cat, the rat, and Lovel our dog? Was he was usually sold under that denomination, and affirming descended from King Richard’s favourite?” that a little punch was more genuine and better suited “He had no pretensions,” he said, “to call himself a for the season, he laid his hand upon the bell to order the whelp of that litter; his father was a north-of-England materials. But Mackitchinson had, in his own mind, gentleman. He was at present travelling to Fairport (the settled their beverage otherwise, and appeared bearing in town near to which Monkbarns was situated), and, if his hand an immense double quart bottle, or magnum, as he found the place agreeable, might perhaps remain there it is called in Scotland, covered with saw-dust and cob- for some weeks.” webs, the warrants of its antiquity.

41 The Antiquary “Punch!” said he, catching that generous sound as he as well as e’er a souter on this side Solway; “well, well, entered the parlour, “the deil a drap punch ye’se get here you may send us in a bottle of port.” the day, Monkbarns, and that ye may lay your account “Port! na, na! ye maun leave port and punch to the wi’.” like o’ us, it’s claret that’s fit for you lairds; and, I dare “What do you mean, you impudent rascal?” say, nane of the folk ye speak so much o’ ever drank “Ay, ay, it’s nae matter for that—but do you mind the either of the twa.” trick ye served me the last time ye were here!” “Do you hear how absolute the knave is? Well, my “I trick you!” young friend, we must for once prefer the Falernian to “Ay, just yoursell, Monkbarns. The Laird o’ Tamlowrie the vile Sabinum.” and Sir Gilbert Grizzlecleuch, and Auld Rossballoh, and The ready landlord had the cork instantly extracted, the Bailie, were just setting in to make an afternoon o’t, decanted the wine into a vessel of suitable capacious- and you, wi’ some o’ your auld-warld stories, that the ness, and, declaring it parfumed the very room, left his mind o’ man canna resist, whirl’d them to the back o’ guests to make the most of it. beyont to look at the auld Roman camp—Ah, sir!” turn- Mackitchinson’s wine was really good, and had its ef- ing to Lovel, “he wad wile the bird aff the tree wi’ the fect upon the spirits of the elder guest, who told some tales he tells about folk lang syne—and did not I lose good stories, cut some sly jokes, and at length entered the drinking o’ sax pints o’ gude claret, for the deil ane into a learned discussion concerning the ancient drama- wad hae stirred till he had seen that out at the least?” tists; a ground on which he found his new acquaintance “D’ye hear the impudent scoundrel!” said Monkbarns, so strong, that at length he began to suspect he had made but laughing at the same time; for the worthy landlord, them his professional study. “A traveller partly for busi- as he used to boast, know the measure of a guest’s foot ness and partly for pleasure?—why, the stage partakes

42 Sir Walter Scott of both; it is a labour to the performers, and affords, or to the end of their journey. Mr. Oldbuck intimated a is meant to afford, pleasure to the spectators. He seems, wish to pay two-thirds of the hire of a post-chaise, say- in manner and rank, above the class of young men who ing, that a proportional quantity of room was neces- take that turn; but I remember hearing them say, that sary to his accommodation; but this Mr. Lovel resolutely the little theatre at Fairport was to open with the per- declined. Their expense then was mutual, unless when formance of a young gentleman, being his first appear- Lovel occasionally slipt a shilling into the hand of a ance on any stage.—If this should be thee, Lovel!— growling postilion; for Oldbuck, tenacious of ancient Lovel? yes, Lovel or Belville are just the names which customs, never extended his guerdon beyond eighteen- youngsters are apt to assume on such occasions—on my pence a stage. In this manner they travelled, until they life, I am sorry for the lad.” arrived at Fairport* about two o’clock on the following Mr. Oldbuck was habitually parsimonious, but in no day. respects mean; his first thought was to save his fellow- Lovel probably expected that his travelling compan- traveller any part of the expense of the entertainment, ion would have invited him to dinner on his arrival; but which he supposed must be in his situation more or less his consciousness of a want of ready preparation for inconvenient. He therefore took an opportunity of set- unexpected guests, and perhaps some other reasons, pre- tling privately with Mr. Mackitchinson. The young trav- vented Oldbuck from paying him that attention. He only eller remonstrated against his liberality, and only ac- begged to see him as early as he could make it conve- quiesced in deference to his years and respectability. nient to call in a forenoon, recommended him to a widow The mutual satisfaction which they found in each who had apartments to let, and to a person who kept a other’s society induced Mr. Oldbuck to propose, and *The “Fairport” of this novel is supposed to refer to the town Lovel willingly to accept, a scheme for travelling together of Arbroath, in Forfarshire, and “Musselcrag,” post, to the fishing village of * Auchmithie, in the same county. 43 The Antiquary decent ordinary; cautioning both of them apart, that he only knew Mr. Lovel as a pleasant companion in a post-chaise, and did not mean to guarantee any bills CHAPTER THIRD which he might contract while residing at Fairport. The young gentleman’s figure and manners; not to mention a well-furnished trunk, which soon arrived by sea, to He had a routh o’ auld nick-nackets, Rusty airn caps, and jinglin-jackets, his address at Fairport, probably went as far in his favour Would held the Loudons three in tackets, as the limited recommendation of his fellow-traveller. A towmond gude; And parritch-pats, and auld sayt-backets, Afore the flude.

Burns.

AFTER HE HAD settled himself in his new apartments at Fairport, Mr. Lovel bethought him of paying the requested visit to his fellow-traveller. 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 manner 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

44 Sir Walter Scott Edinburgh, that he might arrange his dress according conventional revenues were made payable in kind, and to the fashion of the day, and make his exterior corre- hence, as the present proprietor loved to tell, came the sponding to the rank in society which he supposed or name of Monkbarns. To the remains of the bailiff’s felt himself entitled to hold. house, the succeeding lay inhabitants had made various It was the fifth day after his arrival, that, having made additions in proportion to the accommodation required the necessary inquiries concerning the road, he went by their families; and, as this was done with an equal forth to pay his respects at Monkbarns. A footpath lead- contempt of convenience within and architectural regu- ing over a heathy hill, and through two or three mead- larity without, the whole bore the appearance of a ham- ows, conducted him to this mansion, which stood on the let which had suddenly stood still when in the act of opposite side of the hill aforesaid, and commanded a leading down one of Amphion’s, or Orpheus’s, country fine prospect of the bay and shipping. Secluded from dances. It was surrounded by tall clipped hedges of yew the town by the rising ground, which also screened it and holly, some of which still exhibited the skill of the from the north-west wind, the house had a solitary, and topiarian artist,* and presented curious arm-chairs, tow- sheltered appearance. The exterior had little to recom- ers, and the figures of Saint George and the Dragon. mend it. It was an irregular old-fashioned building, some The taste of Mr. Oldbuck did not disturb these monu- part of which had belonged to a grange, or solitary farm- ments of an art now unknown, and he was the less house, inhabited by the bailiff, or steward, of the mon- tempted so to do, as it must necessarily have broken the astery, when the place was in possession of the monks. heart of the old gardener. One tall embowering holly It was here that the community stored up the grain, was, however, sacred from the shears; and, on a garden which they received as ground-rent from their vassals; *Ars Topiaria, the art of clipping yew-hedges into fantastic for, with the prudence belonging to their order, all their figures. A Latin poem, entitled Ars Topiaria, contains a curious account of the process. 45 The Antiquary seat beneath its shade, Lovel beheld his old friend with phrase, borrowed from his brother-antiquary, the cynic spectacles on nose, and pouch on side, busily employed Anthony a-Wood, Mr. Oldbuck was used to denote the in perusing the London Chronicle, soothed by the sum- fair sex in general, and his sister and niece in particu- mer breeze through the rustling leaves, and the distant lar), “that, on some idle pretext of relationship, have dash of the waves as they rippled upon the sand. established themselves in my premises, I live here as Mr. Oldbuck immediately rose, and advanced to greet much a Coenobite as my predecessor, John o’ the Girnell, his travelling acquaintance with a hearty shake of the whose grave I will show you by and by.” hand. “By my faith,” said he, “I began to think you Thus speaking the old gentleman led the way through had changed your mind, and found the stupid people of a low door; but before entrance, suddenly stopped short Fairport so tiresome, that you judged them unworthy to point out some vestiges of what he called an inscrip- of your talents, and had taken French leave, as my old tion, and, shaking his head as he pronounced it totally friend and brother-antiquary Mac-Cribb did, when he illegible, “Ah! if you but knew, Mr. Lovel, the time and went off with one of my Syrian medals.” trouble that these mouldering traces of letters have cost “I hope, my good sir, I should have fallen under no me! No mother ever travailed so for a child—and all to such imputation.” no purpose—although I am almost positive that these “Quite as bad, let me tell you, if you had stolen your- two last marks imply the figures, or letters, LV, and may self away without giving me the pleasure of seeing you give us a good guess at the real date of the building, again. I had rather you had taken my copper Otho him- since we know, aliunde, that it was founded by Abbot self.—But come, let me show you the way into my sanc- Waldimir about the middle of the fourteenth century— tum sanctorum—my cell I may call it, for, except two and, I profess, I think that centre ornament might be idle hussies of womankind,” (by this contemptuous made out by better eyes than mine.”

46 Sir Walter Scott “I think,” answered Lovel, willing to humour the old corner—ascend twelve steps, and ye are safe!” man, “it has something the appearance of a mitre.” Mr. Oldbuck had by this time attained the top of the “I protest you are right! you are right! it never struck winding stair which led to his own apartment, and open- me before—see what it is to have younger eyes—A mi- ing a door, and pushing aside a piece of tapestry with tre—a mitre—it corresponds in every respect.” which it was covered, his first exclamation was, “What The resemblance was not much nearer than that of are you about here, you sluts?” A dirty barefooted cham- Polonius’s cloud to a whale, or an owzel; it was suffi- bermaid threw down her duster, detected in the heinous cient, however, to set the Antiquary’s brains to work. fact of arranging the sanctum sanctorum, and fled out “A mitre, my dear sir,” continued he, as he led the way of an opposite door from the face of her incensed mas- through a labyrinth of inconvenient and dark passages, ter. A genteel-looking young woman, who was superin- and accompanied his disquisition with certain necessary tending the operation, stood her ground, but with some cautions to his guest—“A mitre, my dear sir, will suit timidity. our abbot as well as a bishop—he was a mitred abbot, “Indeed, uncle, your room was not fit to be seen, and and at the very top of the roll—take care of these three I just came to see that Jenny laid everything down where steps—I know Mac-Cribb denies this, but it is as certain she took it up.” as that he took away my Antigonus, no leave asked— “And how dare you, or Jenny either, presume to meddle you’ll see the name of the Abbot of Trotcosey, Abbas with my private matters?” (Mr. Oldbuck hated puttting Trottocosiensis, at the head of the rolls of parliament in to rights as much as Dr. Orkborne, or any other professed the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries—there is very student.) “Go, sew your sampler, you monkey, and do little light here, and these cursed womankind always not let me find you here again, as you value your ears.— leave their tubs in the passage—now take, care of the I assure you, Mr. Lovel, that the last inroad of these

47 The Antiquary pretended friends to cleanliness was almost as fatal to the thick atmosphere, perceive in what sort of den his my collection as Hudibras’s visit to that of Sidrophel; friend had constructed his retreat. It was a lofty room of and I have ever since missed middling size, obscurely lighted by high narrow latticed windows. One end was entirely occupied by book-shelves, My copperplate, with almanacks greatly too limited in space for the number of volumes Engraved upon’t and other knacks placed upon them, which were, therefore, drawn up in My moon-dial, with Napier’s bones, ranks of two or three files deep, while numberless others And several constellation Stones; littered the floor and the tables, amid a chaos of maps, My flea, my morpeon, and punaise, engraving, scraps of parchment, bundles of papers, pieces I purchased for my proper ease. of old armour, swords, dirks, helmets, and Highland tar- gets. Behind Mr. Oldbuck’s seat (which was an ancient And so forth, as old Butler has it.” leathern-covered easy-chair, worn smooth by constant The young lady, after courtesying to Lovel, had taken use) was a huge oaken cabinet, decorated at each corner the opportunity to make her escape during this enumera- with Dutch cherubs, having their little duck-wings dis- tion of losses. “You’ll be poisoned here with the vol- played, and great jolter-headed visages placed between umes of dust they have raised,” continued the Anti- them. The top of this cabinet was covered with busts, quary; “but I assure you the dust was very ancient, and Roman lamps and paterae, intermingled with one or peaceful, quiet dust, about an hour ago, and would have two bronze figures. The walls of the apartment were remained so for a hundred years, had not these gipsies partly clothed with grim old tapestry, representing the disturbed it, as they do everything else in the world.” memorable story of Sir Gawaine’s wedding, in which full It was indeed some time before Lovel could, through justice was done to the ugliness of the Lothely Lady; al-

48 Sir Walter Scott though, to judge from his own looks, the gentle knight Amid this medley, it was no easy matter to find one’s had less reason to be disgusted with the match on ac- way to a chair, without stumbling over a prostrate folio, count of disparity of outward favour, than the romancer or the still more awkward mischance of overturning has given us to understand. The rest of the room was some piece of Roman or ancient British pottery. And, panelled, or wainscotted, with black oak, against which when the chair was attained, it had to be disencumbered, hung two or three portraits in armour, being characters with a careful hand, of engravings which might have in Scottish history, favourites of Mr. Oldbuck, and as received damage, and of antique spurs and buckles, many in tie-wigs and laced coats, staring representatives which would certainly have occasioned it to any sudden of his own ancestors. A large old-fashioned oaken table occupant. Of this the Antiquary made Lovel particu- was covered with a profusion of papers, parchments, larly aware, adding, that his friend, the Rev. Doctor books, and nondescript trinkets and gewgaws, which Heavysterne from the Low Countries, had sustained seemed to have little to recommend them, besides rust much injury by sitting down suddenly and incautiously and the antiquity which it indicates. In the midst of this on three ancient calthrops, or craw-taes, which had been wreck of ancient books and utensils, with a gravity equal lately dug up in the bog near Bannockburn, and which, to Marius among the ruins of Carthage, sat a large black dispersed by Robert Bruce to lacerate the feet of the cat, which, to a superstitious eye, might have presented English chargers, came thus in process of time to en- the genius loci, the tutelar demon of the apartment. The damage the sitting part of a learned professor of floor, as well as the table and chairs, was overflowed by Utrecht. the same mare magnum of miscellaneous trumpery, where Having at length fairly settled himself, and being noth- it would have been as impossible to find any individual ing loath to make inquiry concerning the strange ob- article wanted, as to put it to any use when discovered. jects around him, which his host was equally ready, as

49 The Antiquary far as possible, to explain, Lovel was introduced to a ern Scottish punishment, which, as Oldbuck said, sends large club, or bludgeon, with an iron spike at the end of such culprits to enrich England by their labour, and it, which, it seems, had been lately found in a field on themselves by their dexterity. Many and various were the Monkbarns property, adjacent to an old burying- the other curiosities which he showed;—but it was chiefly ground. It had mightily the air of such a stick as the upon his books that he prided himself, repeating, with a Highland reapers use to walk with on their annual per- complacent air, as he led the way to the crowded and egrinations from their mountains; but Mr. Oldbuck was dusty shelves, the verses of old Chaucer— strongly tempted to believe, that, as its shape was singular, it might have been one of the clubs with which For he would rather have, at his bed-head, the monks armed their peasants in lieu of more martial A twenty books, clothed in black or red, weapons,—whence, he observed, the villains were called Of Aristotle, or his philosophy, Colve-carles, or Kolb-kerls, that is, Clavigeri, or club-bear- Than robes rich, rebeck, or saltery. ers. For the truth of this custom, he quoted the chronicle of Antwerp and that of St. Martin; against which au- This pithy motto he delivered, shaking his head, and thorities Lovel had nothing to oppose, having never giving each guttural the true Anglo-Saxon enunciation, heard of them till that moment. which is now forgotten in the southern parts of this Mr. Oldbuck next exhibited thumb-screws, which had realm. given the Covenanters of former days the cramp in their The collection was indeed a curious one, and might joints, and a collar with the name of a fellow convicted well be envied by an amateur. Yet it was not collected at of theft, whose services, as the inscription bore, had been the enormous prices of modern times, which are suffi- adjudged to a neighbouring baron, in lieu of the mod- cient to have appalled the most determined as well as

50 Sir Walter Scott earliest bibliomaniac upon record, whom we take to have tell his favourite story of Snuffy Davie and Caxton’s been none else than the renowned Don Quixote de la Game at Chess.—“Davy Wilson,” he said, “commonly Mancha, as, among other slight indications of an in- called Snuffy Davy, from his inveterate addiction to firm understanding, he is stated, by his veracious histo- black rappee, was the very prince of scouts for search- rian, Cid Hamet Benengeli, to have exchanged fields and ing blind alleys, cellars, and stalls for rare volumes. He farms for folios and quartos of chivalry. In this species had the scent of a slow-hound, sir, and the snap of a of exploit, the good knight-errant has been imitated by bull-dog. He would detect you an old black-letter ballad lords, knights, and squires of our own day, though we among the leaves of a law-paper, and find an editio prin- have not yet heard of any that has mistaken an inn for ceps under the mask of a school Corderius. Snuffy Davy a castle, or laid his lance in rest against a windmill. Mr. bought the Game of Chess, 1474, the first book ever Oldbuck did not follow these collectors in such excess printed in England, from a stall in Holland, for about of expenditure; but, taking a pleasure in the personal two groschen, or twopence of our money. He sold it to labour of forming his library, saved his purse at the ex- Osborne for twenty pounds, and as many books as came pense of his time and toil, He was no encourager of that to twenty pounds more. Osborne resold this inimitable ingenious race of peripatetic middle-men, who, traffick- windfall to Dr. Askew for sixty guineas. At Dr. Askew’s ing between the obscure keeper of a stall and the eager sale,” continued the old gentleman, kindling as he spoke, amateur, make their profit at once of the ignorance of “this inestimable treasure blazed forth in its full value, the former, and the dear-bought skill and taste of the and was purchased by Royalty itself for one hundred latter. When such were mentioned in his hearing, he sel- and seventy pounds!—Could a copy now occur, Lord dom failed to point out how necessary it was to arrest only knows,” he ejaculated, with a deep sigh and lifted- the object of your curiosity in its first transit, and to up hands—“Lord only knows what would be its ran-

51 The Antiquary som; and yet it was originally secured, by skill and re- etor, who, in gratitude, bequeathed it to me by his last search, for the easy equivalent of two-pence sterling.* will. These little Elzevirs are the memoranda and tro- Happy, thrice happy, Snuffy Davie!—and blessed were phies of many a walk by night and morning through the times when thy industry could be so rewarded! the Cowgate, the Canongate, the Bow, St. Mary’s “Even I, sir,” he went on, “though far inferior in in- Wynd,—wherever, in fine, there were to be found bro- dustry and discernment and presence of mind, to that kers and trokers, those miscellaneous dealers in things great man, can show you a few —a very few things, rare and curious. How often have I stood haggling on a which I have collected, not by force of money, as any halfpenny, lest, by a too ready acquiescence in the wealthy man might,—although, as my friend Lucian dealer’s first price, he should be led to suspect the value says, he might chance to throw away his coin only to I set upon the article!—how have I trembled, lest some illustrate his ignorance,—but gained in a manner that passing stranger should chop in between me and the shows I know something of the matter. See this bundle prize, and regarded each poor student of divinity that of ballads, not one of them later than 1700, and some stopped to turn over the books at the stall, as a rival of them an hundred years older. I wheedled an old amateur, or prowling bookseller in disguise!—And then, woman out of these, who loved them better than her Mr. Lovel, the sly satisfaction with which one pays the psalm-book. Tobacco, sir, snuff, and the Complete Syren, consideration, and pockets the article, affecting a cold were the equivalent! For that, mutilated copy of the indifference, while the hand is trembling with plea- Complaynt of Scotland, I sat out the drinking of two sure!—Then to dazzle the eyes of our wealthier and dozen bottles of strong ale with the late learned propri- emulous rivals by showing them such a treasure as this” (displaying a little black smoked book about the size of *This bibliomaniacal anecdote is literally true; and David Wilson, the author need not tell his brethren of the a primer); “to enjoy their surprise and envy, shrouding Roxburghe and Bannatyne Clubs, was a real personage. 52 Sir Walter Scott meanwhile, under a veil of mysterious consciousness, volume, providing the indispensable quality of scarcity, our own superior knowledge and dexterity these, my or rare occurrence, was attached to it. young friend, these are the white moments of life, that Not the least fascinating was the original broadside,— repay the toil, and pains, and sedulous attention, which the Dying Speech, Bloody Murder, or Wonderful Won- our profession, above all others, so peculiarly demands!” der of Wonders,—in its primary tattered guise, as it was Lovel was not a little amused at hearing the old gentle- hawked through the streets, and sold for the cheap and man run on in this manner, and, however incapable of easy price of one penny, though now worth the weight entering into the full merits of what he beheld, he ad- of that penny in gold. On these the Antiquary dilated mired, as much as could have been expected, the vari- with transport, and read, with a rapturous voice, the ous treasures which Oldbuck exhibited. Here were edi- elaborate titles, which bore the same proportion to the tions esteemed as being the first, and there stood those contents that the painted signs without a showman’s scarcely less regarded as being the last and best; here booth do to the animals within. Mr. Oldbuck, for ex- was a book valued because it had the author’s final im- ample, piqued himself especially in possessing an unique provements, and there another which (strange to tell!) broadside, entitled and called “Strange and Wonderful was in request because it had them not. One was pre- News from Chipping-Norton, in the County of Oxon, cious because it was a folio, another because it was a of certain dreadful Apparitions which were seen in the duodecimo; some because they were tall, some because Air on the 26th of July 1610, at Half an Hour after they were short; the merit of this lay in the title-page— Nine o’Clock at Noon, and continued till Eleven, in of that in the arrangement of the letters in the word which Time was seen Appearances of several flaming Finis. There was, it seemed, no peculiar distinction, how- Swords, strange Motions of the superior Orbs; with the ever trifling or minute, which might not give value to a unusual Sparkling of the Stars, with their dreadful Con-

53 The Antiquary tinuations; With the Account of the Opening of the out a bundle of keys, then pulled aside a piece of the Heavens, and strange Appearances therein disclosing tapestry which concealed the door of a small closet, into themselves, with several other prodigious Circumstances which he descended by four stone steps, and, after some not heard of in any Age, to the great Amazement of tinkling among bottles and cans, produced two long- the Beholders, as it was communicated in a Letter to stalked wine-glasses with bell mouths, such as are seen in one Mr. Colley, living in West Smithfield, and attested Teniers’ pieces, and a small bottle of what he called rich by Thomas Brown, Elizabeth Greenaway, and Anne racy canary, with a little bit of diet cake, on a small silver Gutheridge, who were Spectators of the dreadful Appa- server of exquisite old workmanship. “I will say nothing ritions: And if any one would be further satisfied of the of the server,” he remarked, “though it is said to have Truth of this Relation, let them repair to Mr. been wrought by the old mad Florentine, Benvenuto Nightingale’s at the Bear Inn, in West Smithfield, and Cellini. But, Mr. Lovel, our ancestors drank sack—you, they may be satisfied.”* who admire the drama, know where that’s to be found.— “You laugh at this,” said the proprietor of the collec- Here’s success to your exertions at Fairport, sir!” tion, “and I forgive you. I do acknowledge that the “And to you, sir, and an ample increase to your trea- charms on which we doat are not so obvious to the eyes sure, with no more trouble on your part than is just nec- of youth as those of a fair lady; but you will grow wiser, essary to make the acquisitions valuable.” and see more justly, when you come to wear spectacles.— After a libation so suitable to the amusement in which Yet stay, I have one piece of antiquity, which you, per- they had been engaged, Lovel rose to take his leave, and haps, will prize more highly.” Mr. Oldbuck prepared to give him his company a part So saying, Mr. Oldbuck unlocked a drawer, and took of the way, and show him something worthy of his cu- *Of this thrice and four times rare broadside, the author riosity on his return to Fairport. possesses an exemplar. 54 Sir Walter Scott and the subsoil. “This old fellow,” he said, “which was blown down last summer, and still, though half reclined CHAPTER FOURTH on the ground, is covered with fruit, has been, as you may see, accommodated with such a barrier between his roots The pawkie auld carle cam ower the lea, and the unkindly till. That other tree has a story:—the Wi’ mony good-e’ens and good-morrows to me, Saying, Kind Sir, for your courtesy, fruit is called the Abbot’s Apple; the lady of a Will ye lodge a silly puir man? neighbouring baron was so fond of it, that she would often pay a visit to Monkbarns, to have the pleasure of The Gaberlunzie Man. 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 OUR TWO FRIENDS moved through a little orchard, where of a noble family is concerned, I will say no more on the the aged apple-trees, well loaded with fruit, showed, as is subject, only that the lands of Lochard and Cringlecut usual in the neighbourhood of monastic buildings, that still pay a fine of six bolls of barley annually, to atone the days of the monks had not always been spent in in- the guilt of their audacious owner, who intruded himself dolence, but often dedicated to horticulture and garden- and his worldly suspicions upon the seclusion of the Ab- ing. Mr. Oldbuck failed not to make Lovel remark, that bot and his penitent.—Admire the little belfry rising the planters of those days were possessed of the modern above the ivy-mantled porch—there was here a hospi- secret of preventing the roots of the fruit-trees from pen- tium, hospitals, or hospitamentum (for it is written all these etrating the till, and compelling them to spread in a lat- various ways in the old writings and evidents), in which eral direction, by placing paving-stones beneath the trees the monks received pilgrims. I know our minister has said, when first planted, so as to interpose between their fibres

55 The Antiquary in the Statistical Account, that the hospitium was situ- “Why, yes; I do see something like a ditch, indistinctly ated either in the lands of Haltweary or upon those of marked.” Half-starvet; but he is incorrect, Mr. Lovel—that is the “Indistinctly!—pardon me, sir, but the indistinctness gate called still the Palmer’s Port, and my gardener found must be in your powers of vision. Nothing can be more many hewn stones, when he was trenching the ground plainly traced—a proper agger or vallum, with its corre- for winter celery, several of which I have sent as speci- sponding ditch or fossa. Indistinctly! why, Heaven help mens to my learned friends, and to the various antiquar- you, the lassie, my niece, as light-headed a goose as wom- ian societies of which I am an unworthy member. But I ankind affords, saw the traces of the ditch at once. In- will say no more at present; I reserve something for an- distinct!—why, the great station at Ardoch, or that at other visit, and we have an object of real curiosity before Burnswark in Annandale, may be clearer, doubtless, us.” because they are stative forts, whereas this was only an While he was thus speaking, he led the way briskly occasional encampment. Indistinct!—why, you must through one or two rich pasture-meadows, to an open suppose that fools, boors, and idiots, have ploughed up heath or common, and so to the top of a gentle emi- the land, and, like beasts and ignorant savages, have nence. “Here,” he said, “Mr. Lovel, is a truly remark- thereby obliterated two sides of the square, and greatly able spot.” injured the third; but you see, yourself, the fourth side “It commands a fine view,” said his companion, look- is quite entire!” ing around him. Lovel endeavoured to apologize, and to explain away “True: but it is not for the prospect I brought you his ill-timed phrase, and pleaded his inexperience. But hither; do you see nothing else remarkable?—nothing he was not at once quite successful. His first expression on the surface of the ground?” had come too frankly and naturally not to alarm the

56 Sir Walter Scott Antiquary, and he could not easily get over the shock it flict should happen to be on the very spot called the had given him. Kaim of Kinprunes, the property of the obscure and “My dear sir,” continued the senior, “your eyes are not humble individual who now speaks to you?” Then, hav- inexperienced: you know a ditch from level ground, I ing paused a little, to suffer his guest to digest a com- presume, when you see them? Indistinct! why, the very munication so important, he resumed his disquisition common people, the very least boy that can herd a cow, in a higher tone. “Yes, my good friend, I am indeed calls it the Kaim of Kinprunes; and if that does not greatly deceived if this place does not correspond with imply an ancient camp, I am ignorant what does.” all the marks of that celebrated place of action. It was Lovel having again acquiesced, and at length lulled to near to the Grampian mountains—lo! yonder they are, sleep the irritated and suspicious vanity of the Anti- mixing and contending with the sky on the skirts of the quary, he proceeded in his task of cicerone. “You must horizon! It was in conspectu classis—in sight of the Ro- know,” he said, “our Scottish antiquaries have been man fleet; and would any admiral, Roman or British, greatly divided about the local situation of the final wish a fairer bay to ride in than that on your right hand? conflict between Agricola and the Caledonians; some It is astonishing how blind we professed antiquaries contend for Ardoch in Strathallan, some for Innerpeffry, sometimes are! Sir Robert Sibbald, Saunders Gordon, some for the Raedykes in the Mearns, and some are for General Roy, Dr. Stokely,—why, it escaped all of them. carrying the scene of action as far north as Blair in I was unwilling to say a word about it till I had secured Athole. Now, after all this discussion,” continued the the ground, for it belonged to auld Johnnie Howie, a old gentleman, with one of his slyest and most compla- bonnet-laird* hard by, and many a communing we had cent looks, “what would you think, Mr. Lovel,—I say, before he and I could agree. what would you think,—if the memorable scene of con- *A bonnet-laird signifies a petty proprietor, wearing the dress, along with the habits of a yeoman. 57 The Antiquary At length—I am almost ashamed to say it—but I even “In time, sir, and by good instruction”— brought my mind to give acre for acre of my good corn- “—You will become more apt—I doubt it not. You land for this barren spot. But then it was a national shall peruse, upon your next visit to Monkbarns, my concern; and when the scene of so celebrated an event trivial Essay upon Castrametation, with some particu- became my own, I was overpaid.—Whose patriotism lar Remarks upon the Vestiges of Ancient Fortifications would not grow warmer, as old Johnson says, on the lately discovered by the Author at the Kaim of plains of Marathon? I began to trench the ground, to Kinprunes. I think I have pointed out the infallible see what might be discovered; and the third day, sir, we touchstone of supposed antiquity. I premise a few gen- found a stone, which I have transported to Monkbarns, eral rules on that point, on the nature, namely, of the in order to have the sculpture taken off with plaster of evidence to be received in such cases. Meanwhile be Paris; it bears a sacrificing vessel, and the letters A. D. pleased to observe, for example, that I could press into L. L. which may stand, without much violence, for my service Claudian’s famous line, Agricola Dicavit Libens Lubens.” “Certainly, sir; for the Dutch Antiquaries claim Ille Caledoniis posuit qui castra pruinis. Caligula as the founder of a light-house, on the sole authority of the letters C. C. P. F., which they interpret For pruinis, though interpreted to mean hoar frosts, to Caius Caligula Pharum Fecit.” which I own we are somewhat subject in this north-east- “True, and it has ever been recorded as a sound exposi- ern sea-coast, may also signify a locality, namely, Prunes; tion. I see we shall make something of you even before you the Castra Pruinis posita would therefore be the Kaim wear spectacles, notwithstanding you thought the traces of of Kinprunes. But I waive this, for I am sensible it might this beautiful camp indistinct when you first observed them.” be laid hold of by cavillers as carrying down my Castra

58 Sir Walter Scott to the time of Theodosius, sent by Valentinian into Brit- ain as late as the year 367, or thereabout. No, my good —See, then, Lovel—See— friend, I appeal to people’s eye-sight. Is not here the See that huge battle moving from the mountains! Decuman gate? and there, but for the ravage of the hor- Their gilt coats shine like dragon scales;—their march rid plough, as a learned friend calls it, would be the Like a rough tumbling storm.—See them, and view them, Praetorian gate. On the left hand you may see some And then see Rome no more!— slight vestiges of the porta sinistra, and on the right, one side of the porta dextra wellnigh entire. Here, then, Yes, my dear friend, from this stance it is probable— let us take our stand, on this tumulus, exhibiting the nay, it is nearly certain, that Julius Agricola beheld what foundation of ruined buildings,—the central point—the our Beaumont has so admirably described!—From this praetorium, doubtless, of the camp. From this place, now very Praetorium”— scarce to be distinguished but by its slight elevation and A voice from behind interrupted his ecstatic descrip- its greener turf from the rest of the fortification, we tion—“Praetorian here, Praetorian there, I mind the may suppose Agricola to have looked forth on the im- bigging o’t.” mense army of Caledonians, occupying the declivities Both at once turned round, Lovel with surprise, and of yon opposite hill,—the infantry rising rank over rank, Oldbuck with mingled surprise and indignation, at so as the form of ground displayed their array to its ut- uncivil an interruption. An auditor had stolen upon most advantage,—the cavalry and covinarii, by which I them, unseen and unheard, amid the energy of the understand the charioteers—another guise of folks from Antiquary’s enthusiastic declamation, and the attentive your Bond-street four-in-hand men, I trow—scouring civility of Lovel. He had the exterior appearance of a the more level space below— mendicant. A slouched hat of huge dimensions; a long

59 The Antiquary white beard which mingled with his grizzled hair; an “You—you—you—,” said the Antiquary, stammer- aged but strongly marked and expressive countenance, ing between confusion and anger, “you strolling old vaga- hardened, by climate and exposure, to a right brick-dust bond, what the devil do you know about it?” complexion; a long blue gown, with a pewter badge on “Ou, I ken this about it, Monkbarns—and what profit the right arm; two or three wallets, or bags, slung across have I for telling ye a lie?—l just ken this about it, that his shoulder, for holding the different kinds of meal, about twenty years syne, I, and a wheen hallenshakers when he received his charity in kind from those who like mysell, and the mason-lads that built the lang dike were but a degree richer than himself:—all these marked that gaes down the loaning, and twa or three herds at once a beggar by profession, and one of that privi- maybe, just set to wark, and built this bit thing here leged class which are called in Scotland the King’s that ye ca’ the—the—Praetorian, and a’ just for a bield Bedesmen, or, vulgarly, Blue-Gowns. at auld Aiken Drum’s bridal, and a bit blithe gae-down “What is that you say, Edie?” said Oldbuck, hoping, wi’ had in’t, some sair rainy weather. Mair by token, perhaps, that his ears had betrayed their duty—“what Monkbarns, if ye howk up the bourock, as ye seem to were you speaking about!” have began, yell find, if ye hae not fund it already, a “About this bit bourock, your honour,” answered the stane that ane o’ the mason-callants cut a ladle on to undaunted Edie; “I mind the bigging o’t.” have a bourd at the bridegroom, and he put four letters “The devil you do! Why, you old fool, it was here be- on’t, that’s A. D. L. L.—Aiken Drum’s Lang Ladle— fore you were born, and will be after you are hanged, for Aiken was ane o’ the kale-suppers o’ Fife.” man!” “This,” thought Lovel to himself, “is a famous coun- “Hanged or drowned, here or awa, dead or alive, I mind terpart to the story of Keip on this syde.” He then ven- the bigging o’t.” tured to steal a glance at our Antiquary, but quickly

60 Sir Walter Scott withdrew it in sheer compassion. For, gentle reader, if they are only prejudiced fools and coxcombs that do so. thou hast ever beheld the visage of a damsel of sixteen, You remember what old Tully says in his oration, pro whose romance of true love has been blown up by an Archia poeta, concerning one of your confraternity— untimely discovery, or of a child of ten years, whose quis nostrum tam anino agresti ac duro fuit—ut—ut—I castle of cards has been blown down by a malicious com- forget the Latin—the meaning is, which of us was so panion, I can safely aver to you, that Jonathan Oldbuck rude and barbarous as to remain unmoved at the death of Monkbarns looked neither more wise nor less discon- of the great Roscius, whose advanced age was so far certed. from preparing us for his death, that we rather hoped “There is some mistake about this,” he said, abruptly one so graceful, so excellent in his art, ought to be ex- turning away from the mendicant. empted from the common lot of mortality? So the Prince “Deil a bit on my side o’ the wa’,” answered the sturdy of Orators spoke of the stage and its professor.” beggar; “I never deal in mistakes, they aye bring mis- The words of the old man fell upon Lovel’s ears, but chances.—Now, Monkbarns, that young gentleman, without conveying any precise idea to his mind, which that’s wi’ your honour, thinks little of a carle like me; was then occupied in thinking by what means the old and yet, I’ll wager I’ll tell him whar he was yestreen at beggar, who still continued to regard him with a coun- the gloamin, only he maybe wadna like to hae’t spoken tenance provokingly sly and intelligent, had contrived o’ in company.” to thrust himself into any knowledge of his affairs. He Lovel’s soul rushed to his cheeks, with the vivid blush put his hand in his pocket as the readiest mode of inti- of two-and-twenty. mating his desire of secrecy, and securing the concur- “Never mind the old rogue,” said Mr. Oldbuck; “don’t rence of the person whom he addressed; and while he suppose I think the worse of you for your profession; bestowed on him an alms, the amount of which rather

61 The Antiquary bore proportion to his fears than to his charity, looked But, Lord, they tell me your honour has gien Johnnie at him with a marked expression, which the mendicant, Howie acre for acre of the laigh crofts for this heathery a physiognomist by profession, seemed perfectly to un- knowe! Now, if he has really imposed the bourock on ye derstand.—“Never mind me, sir—I am no tale-pyet; but for an ancient wark, it’s my real opinion the bargain there are mair een in the warld than mine,” answered will never haud gude, if you would just bring down your he as he pocketed Lovel’s bounty, but in a tone to be heart to try it at the law, and say that he beguiled ye.” heard by him alone, and with an expression which am- “Provoking scoundrel!” muttered the indignant Anti- ply filled up what was left unspoken. Then turning to quary between his teeths—“I’ll have the hangman’s lash Oldbuck—“I am awa’ to the manse, your honour. Has and his back acquainted for this.” And then, in a louder your honour ony word there, or to Sir Arthur, for I’ll tone,—“Never mind, Edie—it is all a mistake.” come in by Knockwinnock Castle again e’en?” “Troth, I am thinking sae,” continued his tormentor, Oldbuck started as from a dream; and, in a hurried who seemed to have pleasure in rubbing the galled tone, where vexation strove with a wish to conceal it, wound, “troth, I aye thought sae; and it’s no sae lang paying, at the same time, a tribute to Edie’s smooth, since I said to Luckie Gemmers, Never think you, luckie’ greasy, unlined hat, he said, “Go down, go down to said I, that his honour Monkbarns would hae done sic a Monkbarns—let them give you some dinner—Or stay; daft-like thing as to gie grund weel worth fifty shillings if you do go to the manse, or to Knockwinnock, ye need an acre, for a mailing that would be dear o’a pund Scots. say nothing about that foolish story of yours.” Na, na,’ quo’ I, depend upon’t the lard’s been imposed “Who, I?” said the mendicant—“Lord bless your upon wi that wily do-little deevil, Johnnie Howie.’ But honour, naebody sall ken a word about it frae me, mair Lord haud a care o’ us, sirs, how can that be,’ quo’ she than if the bit bourock had been there since Noah’s flood. again, when the laird’s sae book-learned, there’s no the

62 Sir Walter Scott like o’ him in the country side, and Johnnie Howie has Oldbuck of recollections which were anything rather hardly sense eneugh to ca’ the cows out o’ his kale-yard?’ than agreeable. Aweel, aweel,’ quo’ I, but ye’ll hear he’s circumvented “Who is this familiar old gentleman?” said Lovel, when him with some of his auld-warld stories,’—for ye ken, the mendicant was out of hearing. laird, yon other time about the bodle that ye thought “O, one of the plagues of the country—I have been was an auld coin”— always against poor’s-rates and a work-house—I think “Go to the devil!” said Oldbuck; and then in a more I’ll vote for them now, to have that scoundrel shut up. mild tone, as one that was conscious his reputation lay O, your old-remembered guest of a beggar becomes as at the mercy of his antagonist, he added—“Away with well acquainted with you as he is with his dish—as inti- you down to Monkbarns, and when I come back, I’ll mate as one of the beasts familiar to man which signify send ye a bottle of ale to the kitchen.” love, and with which his own trade is especially conver- “Heaven reward your honour!” This was uttered with sant. Who is he?—why, he has gone the vole—has been the true mendicant whine, as, setting his pike-staff be- soldier, ballad-singer, travelling tinker, and is now a beg- fore him, he began to move in the direction of gar. He is spoiled by our foolish gentry, who laugh at his Monkbarns.—“But did your honour,” turning round, jokes, and rehearse Edie Ochiltree’s good thing’s as regu- “ever get back the siller ye gae to the travelling packman larly as Joe Miller’s.” for the bodle?” “Why, he uses freedom apparently, which is the soul “Curse thee, go about thy business!” of wit,” answered Lovel. “Aweel, aweel, sir, God bless your honour! I hope ye’ll “O ay, freedom enough,” said the Antiquary; “he gen- ding Johnnie Howie yet, and that I’ll live to see it.” And erally invents some damned improbable lie or another so saying, the old beggar moved off, relieving Mr. to provoke you, like that nonsense he talked just now—

63 The Antiquary not that I’ll publish my tract till I have examined the So saying our heroes parted, Mr. Oldbuck to return to thing to the bottom.” his hospitium at Monkbarns, and Lovel to pursue his “In England,” said Lovel, “such a mendicant would way to Fairport, where he arrived without farther ad- get a speedy cheek.” venture. “Yes, your churchwardens and dog-whips would make slender 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 fashioned Scottish mendicant, who kept his rounds within a particular space, and was the news- carrier, the minstrel, and sometimes the historian of the district. That rascal, now, knows more old ballads and 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 good 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 folk 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.”*

* Note C. Praetorium. 64 Sir Walter Scott personage concerning the news of the little theatre at Fairport, expecting every day to hear of Mr. Lovel’s ap- CHAPTER FIFTH pearance; on which occasion the old gentleman had determined to put himself to charges in honour of his young friend, and not only to go to the play himself, but to carry Launcelot Gobbo. Mark me now: his womankind along with him. But old Jacob Caxon con- Now will I raise the waters. veyed no information which warranted his taking so deci- Merchant of Venice. sive 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 THE THEATRE at Fairport had opened, but no Mr. Lovel (by which he meant all the gossips, who, having no busi- appeared on the boards, nor was there anything in the hab- ness of their own, fill up their leisure moments by at- its or deportment of the young gentleman so named, which tending to that of other people) could make nothing. authorised Mr. Oldbuck’s conjecture that his fellow-trav- He sought no society, but rather avoided that which the eller was a candidate for the public favour. Regular were apparent gentleness of his manners, and some degree the Antiquary’s inquiries at an old-fashioned barber who of curiosity, induced many to offer him. Nothing could dressed the only three wigs in the parish which, in defiance be more regular, or less resembling an adventurer, than of taxes and times, were still subjected to the operation of his mode of living, which was simple, but so completely powdering and frizzling, and who for that purpose divided well arranged, that all who had any transactions with his time among the three employers whom fashion had yet him were loud in their approbation. left him; regular, I say, were Mr. Oldbuck’s inquiries at this “These are not the virtues of a stage-struck hero,”

65 The Antiquary thought Oldbuck to himself; and, however habitually borough had also the happiness of possessing. A coffee- pertinacious in his opinions, he must have been com- room was his detestation; and, I grieve to say it, he had pelled to abandon that which he had formed in the as few sympathies with the tea-table.—In short, since present instance, but for a part of Caxon’s communica- the name was fashionable in novel-writing, and that is a tion. “The young gentleman,” he said, “was sometimes great while agone, there was never a Master Lovel of heard speaking to himsell, and rampauging about in his whom so little positive was known, and who was so uni- room, just as if he was ane o’ the player folk.” versally described by negatives. Nothing, however, excepting this single circumstance, One negative, however, was important—nobody knew occurred to confirm Mr. Oldbuck’s supposition; and it any harm of Lovel. Indeed, had such existed, it would remained a high and doubtful question, what a well- have been speedily made public; for the natural desire informed young man, without friends, connections, or of speaking evil of our neighbour could in his case have employment of any kind, could have to do as a resident been checked by no feelings of sympathy for a being so at Fairport. Neither port wine nor whist had apparently unsocial. On one account alone he fell somewhat under any charms for him. He declined dining with the mess suspicion. As he made free use of his pencil in his soli- of the volunteer cohort which had been lately embod- tary walks, and had drawn several views of the harbour, ied, and shunned joining the convivialities of either of in which the signal tower, and even the four-gun bat- the two parties which then divided Fairport, as they tery, were introduced, some zealous friends of the pub- did more important places. He was too little of an aris- lic sent abroad a whisper, that this mysterious stranger tocrat to join the club of Royal True Blues, and too must certainly be a French spy. The Sheriff paid his re- little of a democrat to fraternise with an affiliated soci- spects to Mr. Lovel accordingly; but in the interview ety of the soi-disant Friends of the People, which the which followed, it would seem that he had entirely re-

66 Sir Walter Scott moved that magistrate’s suspicions, since he not only Knockwinnock Castle with a letter, “For the honoured suffered him to remain undisturbed in his retirement, Sir Arthur Wardour, of Knockwinnock, Bart.” The con- but it was credibly reported, sent him two invitations tents ran thus: to dinner-parties, both which were civilly declined. But “Dear Sir Arthur, what the nature of the explanation was, the magistrate “On Tuesday the 17th curt.stilo novo, I hold a kept a profound secret, not only from the public at large, coenobitical symposion at Monkbarns, and pray you to but from his substitute, his clerk, his wife and his two assist thereat, at four o’clock precisely. If my fair en- daughters, who formed his privy council on all ques- emy, Miss Isabel, can and will honour us by accompa- tions of official duty. nying you, my womankind will be but too proud to have All these particulars being faithfully reported by Mr. the aid of such an auxiliary in the cause of resistance to Caxon to his patron at Monkbarns, tended much to raise awful rule and right supremacy. If not, I will send the Lovel in the opinion of his former fellow-traveller. “A womankind to the manse for the day. I have a young decent sensible lad,” said he to himself, “who scorns to acquaintance to make known to you, who is touched enter into the fooleries and nonsense of these idiot people with some strain of a better spirit than belongs to these at Fairport—I must do something for him—I must give giddy-paced times—reveres his elders, and has a pretty him a dinner;—and I will write Sir Arthur to come to notion of the classics—and, as such a youth must have Monkbarns to meet him. I must consult my woman- a natural contempt for the people about Fairport, I wish kind.” to show him some rational as well as worshipful soci- Accordingly, such consultation having been previously ety.—I am, Dear Sir Arthur, etc. etc. etc.” held, a special messenger, being no other than Caxon “Fly with this letter, Caxon,” said the senior, holding out himself, was ordered to prepare for a walk to his missive, signatum atque sigillatum, “fly to Knockwinnock,

67 The Antiquary and bring me back an answer. Go as fast as if the town- And off went Caxon upon his walk of three miles— council were met and waiting for the provost, and the provost was waiting for his new-powdered wig.” He hobbled—but his heart was good! “Ah sir,” answered the messenger, with a deep sigh, Could he go faster than he could?— “thae days hae lang gane by. Deil a wig has a provost of Fairport worn sin’ auld Provost Jervie’s time—and he While he is engaged in his journey and return, it may had a quean of a servant-lass that dressed it herself, wi’ not be impertinent to inform the reader to whose man- the doup o’ a candle and a drudging-box. But I hae seen sion he was bearing his embassy. the day, Monkbarns, when the town-council of Fairport We have said that Mr. Oldbuck kept little company wad hae as soon wanted their town-clerk, or their gill of with the surrounding gentlemen, excepting with one brandy ower-head after the haddies, as they wad hae person only. This was Sir Arthur Wardour, a baronet of wanted ilk ane a weel-favoured, sonsy, decent periwig ancient descent, and of a large but embarrassed fortune. on his pow. Hegh, sirs! nae wonder the commons will be His father, Sir Anthony, had been a Jacobite, and had discontent and rise against the law, when they see mag- displayed all the enthusiasm of that party, while it could istrates and bailies, and deacons, and the provost himsell, be served with words only. No man squeezed the orange wi’ heads as bald and as bare as ane o’ my blocks!” with more significant gesture; no one could more dex- “And as well furnished within, Caxon. But away with terously intimate a dangerous health without coming you!—you have an excellent view of public affairs, and, under the penal statutes; and, above all, none drank I dare say, have touched the cause of our popular dis- success to the cause more deeply and devoutly. But, on content as closely as the provost could have done him- the approach of the Highland army in 1745, it would self. But away with you, Caxon!” appear that the worthy baronet’s zeal became a little

68 Sir Walter Scott more moderate just when its warmth was of most con- drink healths five fathoms deep, and talk of their suf- sequence. He talked much, indeed, of taking the field ferings in the royal cause. This became so much a mat- for the rights of Scotland and Charles Stuart; but his ter of habit with Sir Arthur, that, even after his father’s demi-pique saddle would suit only one of his horses; and death, the non-juring chaplain used to pray regularly that horse could by no means be brought to stand fire. for the restoration of the rightful sovereign, for the down- Perhaps the worshipful owner sympathized in the fall of the usurper, and for deliverance from their cruel scruples of this sagacious quadruped, and began to and bloodthirsty enemies; although all idea of serious think, that what was so much dreaded by the horse could opposition to the House of Hanover had long mouldered not be very wholesome for the rider. At any rate, while away, and this treasonable liturgy was kept up rather as Sir Anthony Wardour talked, and drank, and hesitated, a matter of form than as conveying any distinct mean- the Sturdy provost of Fairport (who, as we before no- ing. So much was this the case, that, about the year 1770, ticed, was the father of our Antiquary) sallied from his upon a disputed election occurring in the county, the ancient burgh, heading a body of whig-burghers, and worthy knight fairly gulped down the oaths of abjura- seized at once, in the name of George II., upon the Castle tion and allegiance, in order to serve a candidate in whom of Knockwinnock, and on the four carriage-horses, and he was interested;—thus renouncing the heir for whose person of the proprietor. Sir Anthony was shortly after restoration he weekly petitioned Heaven, and acknowl- sent off to the Tower of London by a secretary of state’s edging the usurper whose dethronement he had never warrant, and with him went his son, Arthur, then a ceased to pray for. And to add to this melancholy in- youth. But as nothing appeared like an overt act of trea- stance of human inconsistency, Sir Arthur continued to son, both father and son were soon set at liberty, and pray for the House of Stuart even after the family had returned to their own mansion of Knockwinnock, to been extinct, and when, in truth, though in his theo-

69 The Antiquary retical loyalty he was pleased to regard them as alive, self guilty of the crime of leze-majesty had he doubted yet, in all actual service and practical exertion, he was a the existence of any single individual of that formidable most zealous and devoted subject of George III. head-roll of one hundred and four kings of Scotland, In other respects, Sir Arthur Wardour lived like most received by Boethius, and rendered classical by country gentlemen in Scotland, hunted and fished—gave Buchanan, in virtue of whom James VI. claimed to rule and received dinners—attended races and county meet- his ancient kingdom, and whose portraits still frown ings—was a deputy-lieutenant and trustee upon turn- grimly upon the walls of the gallery of Holyrood. Now pike acts. But, in his more advanced years, as he be- Oldbuck, a shrewd and suspicious man, and no respecter came too lazy or unwieldy for field-sports, he supplied of divine hereditary right, was apt to cavil at this sa- them by now and then reading Scottish history; and, cred list, and to affirm, that the procession of the pos- having gradually acquired a taste for antiquities, though terity of Fergus through the pages of Scottish history, neither very deep nor very correct, he became a crony was as vain and unsubstantial as the gleamy pageant of of his neighbour, Mr. Oldbuck of Monkbarns, and a the descendants of Banquo through the cavern of joint-labourer with him in his antiquarian pursuits. Hecate. There were, however, points of difference between Another tender topic was the good fame of Queen these two humourists, which sometimes occasioned dis- Mary, of which the knight was a most chivalrous cord. The faith of Sir Arthur, as an antiquary, was assertor, while the esquire impugned it, in spite both of boundless, and Mr. Oldbuck (notwithstanding the af- her beauty and misfortunes. When, unhappily, their con- fair of the Praetorium at the Kaim of Kinprunes) was versation turned on yet later times, motives of discord much more scrupulous in receiving legends as current occurred in almost every page of history. Oldbuck was, and authentic coin. Sir Arthur would have deemed him- upon principle, a staunch Presbyterian, a ruling elder

70 Sir Walter Scott of the kirk, and a friend to revolution principles and opinion, than the rules of modern politeness warrant. Protestant succession, while Sir Arthur was the very In such cases they often parted in deep dudgeon, and reverse of all this. They agreed, it is true, in dutiful love with something like a resolution to forbear each other’s and allegiance to the sovereign who now fills* the throne; company in future: but this was their only point of union. But with the morning calm reflection came; and as It therefore often happened, that bickerings hot broke each was sensible that the society of the other had be- out between them, in which Oldbuck was not always come, through habit, essential to his comfort, the breach able to suppress his caustic humour, while it would some- was speedily made up between them. On such occasions, times occur to the Baronet that the descendant of a Oldbuck, considering that the Baronet’s pettishness re- German printer, whose sires had “sought the base fel- sembled that of a child, usually showed his superior sense lowship of paltry burghers,” forgot himself, and took by compassionately making the first advances to recon- an unlicensed freedom of debate, considering the rank ciliation. But it once or twice happened that the aristo- and ancient descent of his antagonist. This, with the cratic pride of the far-descended knight took a flight old feud of the coach-horses, and the seizure of his too offensive to the feelings of the representative of the manor-place and tower of strength by Mr. Oldbuck’s typographer. In these cases, the breach between these father, would at times rush upon his mind, and inflame two originals might have been immortal, but for the kind at once his cheeks and his arguments. And, lastly, as Mr. exertion and interposition of the Baronet’s daughter, Oldbuck thought his worthy friend and compeer was in Miss Isabella Wardour, who, with a son, now absent upon some respects little better than a fool, he was apt to come foreign and military service, formed his whole surviv- more near communicating to him that unfavourable ing family. She was well aware how necessary Mr. *The reader will understand that this refers to the reign of Oldbuck was to her father’s amusement and comfort, our late gracious Sovereign, George the Third. 71 The Antiquary and seldom failed to interpose with effect, when the of- there was a spirit of mutual accommodation upon the fice of a mediator between them was rendered neces- whole, and they dragged on like dogs in couples, with sary by the satirical shrewdness of the one, or the as- some difficulty and occasional snarling, but without sumed superiority of the other. Under Isabella’s mild absolutely coming to a stand-still or throttling each influence, the wrongs of Queen Mary were forgotten by other. her father, and Mr. Oldbuck forgave the blasphemy which Some little disagreement, such as we have mentioned, reviled the memory of King William. However, as she arising out of business, or politics, had divided the houses used in general to take her father’s part playfully in these of Knockwinnock and Monkbarns, when the emissary disputes, Oldbuck was wont to call Isabella his fair en- of the latter arrived to discharge his errand. In his an- emy, though in fact he made more account of her than cient Gothic parlour, whose windows on one side looked any other of her sex, of whom, as we have seen, he, was out upon the restless ocean, and, on the other, upon the no admirer. long straight avenue, was the Baronet seated, now turn- There existed another connection betwixt these wor- ing over the leaves of a folio, now casting a weary glance thies, which had alternately a repelling and attractive where the sun quivered on the dark-green foliage and influence upon their intimacy. Sir Arthur always wished smooth trunks of the large and branching limes with to borrow; Mr. Oldbuck was not always willing to lend. which the avenue was planted. At length, sight of joy! a Mr. Oldbuck, per contra, always wished to be repaid with moving object is seen, and it gives rise to the usual in- regularity; Sir Arthur was not always, nor indeed often, quiries, Who is it? and what can be his errand? The old prepared to gratify this reasonable desire; and, in ac- whitish-grey coat, the hobbling gait, the hat half- complishing an arrangement between tendencies so op- slouched, half-cocked, announced the forlorn maker of posite, little miffs would occasionally take place. Still periwigs, and left for investigation only the second query.

72 Sir Walter Scott This was soon solved by a servant entering the parlour,— You may observe that he never has any advantage of “A letter from Monkbarns, Sir Arthur.” me in dispute, unless when he avails himself of a sort of Sir Arthur took the epistle with a due assumption of pettifogging intimacy with dates, names, and trifling consequential dignity. matters of fact—a tiresome and frivolous accuracy of “Take the old man into the kitchen, and let him get memory, which is entirely owing to his mechanical de- some refreshment,” said the young lady, whose compas- scent.” sionate eye had remarked his thin grey hair and wearied “He must find it convenient in historical investigation, gait. I should think, sir?” said the young lady. “Mr. Oldbuck, my love, invites us to dinner on Tues- “It leads to an uncivil and positive mode of disputing; day the 17th,” said the Baronet, pausing;—“he really and nothing seems more unreasonable than to hear him seems to forget that he has not of late conducted him- impugn even Bellenden’s rare translation of Hector self so civilly towards me as might have been expected.” Boece, which I have the satisfaction to possess, and “Dear sir, you have so many advantages over poor Mr. which is a black-letter folio of great value, upon the Oldbuck, that no wonder it should put him a little out authority of some old scrap of parchment which he has of humour; but I know he has much respect for your saved from its deserved destiny of being cut up into person and your conversation;—nothing would give him tailor’s measures. And besides, that habit of minute and more pain than to be wanting in any real attention.” troublesome accuracy leads to a mercantile manner of “True, true, Isabella; and one must allow for the origi- doing business, which ought to be beneath a landed pro- nal descent; —something of the German boorishness prietor whose family has stood two or three generations. still flows in the blood; something of the whiggish and I question if there’s a dealer’s clerk in Fairport that can perverse opposition to established rank and privilege. sum an account of interest better than Monkbarns.”

73 The Antiquary “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 CHAPTER SIXTH seldom picks up new acquaintance; and he has no relation that I ever heard of.” “Probably some relation of his brother-in-law Cap- Moth. By Woden, God of Saxons, From whence comes Wensday, that is, Wednesday, tain M’Intyre.” Truth is a thing that I will ever keep “Very possibly—yes, we will accept—the M’Intyres Unto thylke day in which I creep into are of a very ancient Highland family. You may answer My sepulcre— his card in the affirmative, Isabella; I believe I have, no Cartwright’s Ordinary. leisure to be Dear Sirring myself.” So this important matter being adjusted, Miss

Wardour intimated “her own and Sir Arthur’s compli- OUR YOUNG FRIEND Lovel, who had received a correspond- ments, and that they would have the honour of waiting ing invitation, punctual to the hour of appointment, upon Mr. Oldbuck. Miss Wardour takes this opportu- arrived at Monkbarns about five minutes before four nity to renew her hostility with Mr. Oldbuck, on account o’clock on the 17th of July. The day had been remark- of his late long absence from Knockwinnock, where his ably sultry, and large drops of rain had occasionally visits give so much pleasure.” With this placebo she con- fallen, though the threatened showers had as yet passed cluded her note, with which old Caxon, now refreshed away. in limbs and wind, set out on his return to the Mr. Oldbuck received him at the Palmer’s-port in his Antiquary’s mansion. complete brown suit, grey silk stockings, and wig pow-

74 Sir Walter Scott dered with all the skill of the veteran Caxon, who hav- piece of architecture, not much less than a modern ing smelt out the dinner, had taken care not to finish his Gothic castle, of which the curls might represent the job till the hour of eating approached. turrets, the black pins the chevaux de frise, and the lap- “You are welcome to my symposion, Mr. Lovel. And pets the banners. now let me introduce you to my Clogdogdo’s, as Tom The face, which, like that of the ancient statues of Otter calls them—my unlucky and good-for-nothing Vesta, was thus crowned with towers, was large and long, womankind—malae bestiae, Mr. Lovel.” and peaked at nose and chin, and bore, in other respects, “I shall be disappointed, sir, if I do not find the ladies such a ludicrous resemblance to the physiognomy of Mr. very undeserving of your satire.” Jonathan Oldbuck, that Lovel, had they not appeared “Tilley-valley, Mr. Lovel,—which, by the way, one com- at once, like Sebastian and Viola in the last scene of the mentator derives from tittivillitium, and another from “Twelfth Night,” might have supposed that the figure talley-ho—but tilley-valley, I say—a truce with your before him was his old friend masquerading in female politeness. You will find them but samples of woman- attire. An antique flowered silk gown graced the extraor- kind—But here they be, Mr. Lovel. I present to you in dinary person to whom belonged this unparalleled tete, due order, my most discreet sister Griselda, who disdains which her brother was wont to say was fitter for a tur- the simplicity, as well as patience annexed to the poor ban for Mahound or Termagant, than a head-gear for a old name of Grizzel; and my most exquisite niece Maria, reasonable creature, or Christian gentlewoman. Two long whose mother was called Mary, and sometimes Molly.” and bony arms were terminated at the elbows by triple The elderly lady rustled in silks and satins, and bore blond ruffles, and being, folded saltire-ways in front of upon her head a structure resembling the fashion in the her person, and decorated with long gloves of a bright ladies’ memorandum-book for the year 1770—a superb vermilion colour, presented no bad resemblance to a pair

75 The Antiquary of gigantic lobsters. High-heeled shoes, and a short silk While this salutation was exchanging, Sir Arthur, with cloak, thrown in easy negligence over her shoulders, com- his fair daughter hanging upon his arm, having dismissed pleted the exterior of Miss Griselda Oldbuck. his chariot, appeared at the garden door, and in all due Her niece, the same whom Lovel had seen transiently form paid his respects to the ladies. during his first visit, was a pretty young woman, gen- “Sir Arthur,” said the Antiquary, “and you, my fair teelly dressed according to the fashion of the day, with foe, let me make known to you my young friend Mr. an air of espieglerie which became her very well, and Lovel, a gentleman who, during the scarlet-fever which which was perhaps derived from the caustic humour is epidemic at present in this our island, has the virtue peculiar to her uncle’s family, though softened by trans- and decency to appear in a coat of a civil complexion. mission. You see, however, that the fashionable colour has mus- Mr. Lovel paid his respects to both ladies, and was an- tered in his cheeks which appears not in his garments. swered by the elder with the prolonged courtesy of 1760, Sir Arthur, let me present to you a young gentleman, drawn from the righteous period, whom your farther knowledge will find grave, wise, courtly, and scholar-like, well seen, deeply read, and When folks conceived a grace thoroughly grounded in all the hidden mysteries of the Of half an hour’s space, green-room and stage, from the days of Davie Lindsay And rejoiced in a Friday’s capon, down to those of Dibdin—he blushes again, which is a sign of grace.” and by the younger with a modern reverence, which, “My brother,” said Miss Griselda, addressing Lovel, like the festive benediction of a modern divine, was of “has a humorous way of expressing himself, sir; nobody much shorter duration. thinks anything of what Monkbarns says—so I beg you

76 Sir Walter Scott will not be so confused for the matter of his nonsense; break glasses, and ultimately steal my spectacles, ex- but you must have had a warm walk beneath this broil- cept that he felt that noble emulation which swells in ing sun—would you take anything?—a glass of balm- the bosom of the masculine sex, which has conducted wine?” him to Flanders with a musket on his shoulder, and Ere Lovel could answer, the Antiquary interposed. doubtless will promote him to a glorious halbert, or even “Aroint thee, witch! wouldst thou poison my guests with to the gallows? And why does this girl, his full sister, thy infernal decoctions? Dost thou not remember how Jenny Rintherout, move in the same vocation with safe it fared with the clergyman whom you seduced to par- and noiseless step—shod, or unshod—soft as the pace take of that deceitful beverage?” of a cat, and docile as a spaniel—Why? but because she “O fy, fy, brother!—Sir Arthur, did you ever hear the is in her vocation. Let them minister to us, Sir Arthur,— like?—he must have everything his ain way, or he will let them minister, I say,—it’s the only thing they are fit invent such stories—But there goes Jenny to ring the for. All ancient legislators, from Lycurgus to old bell to tell us that the dinner is ready.” Mahommed, corruptly called Mahomet, agree in put- Rigid in his economy, Mr. Oldbuck kept no male ser- ting them in their proper and subordinate rank, and it vant. This he disguised under the pretext that the mas- is only the crazy heads of our old chivalrous ancestors culine sex was too noble to be employed in those acts of that erected their Dulcineas into despotic princesses.” personal servitude, which, in all early periods of soci- Miss Wardour protested loudly against this ungallant ety, were uniformly imposed on the female. “Why,” doctrine; but the bell now rung for dinner. would he say, “did the boy, Tam Rintherout, whom, at “Let me do all the offices of fair courtesy to so fair an my wise sister’s instigation, I, with equal wisdom, took antagonist,” said the old gentleman, offering his arm. upon trial—why did he pilfer apples, take birds’ nests, “I remember, Miss Wardour, Mahommed (vulgarly

77 The Antiquary Mahomet) had some hesitation about the mode of sum- intendent, a sort of female butler, stood by the side- moning his Moslemah to prayer. He rejected bells as used board, and underwent the burden of bearing several re- by Christians, trumpets as the summons of the Guebres, proofs from Mr. Oldbuck, and inuendos, not so much and finally adopted the human voice. I have had equal marked, but not less cutting, from his sister. doubt concerning my dinner-call. Gongs, now in present The dinner was such as suited a professed antiquary, use, seemed a newfangled and heathenish invention, and comprehending many savoury specimens of Scottish the voice of the female womankind I rejected as equally viands, now disused at the tables of those who affect shrill and dissonant; wherefore, contrary to the said elegance. There was the relishing Solan goose, whose Mahommed, or Mahomet, I have resumed the bell. It smell is so powerful that he is never cooked within doors. has a local propriety, since it was the conventual signal Blood-raw he proved to be on this occasion, so that for spreading the repast in their refectory, and it has the Oldbuck half threatened to throw the greasy sea-fowl advantage over the tongue of my sister’s prime minis- at the head of the negligent housekeeper, who acted as ter, Jenny, that, though not quite so loud and shrill, it priestess in presenting this odoriferous offering. But, by ceases ringing the instant you drop the bell-rope: whereas good-hap, she had been most fortunate in the hotch- we know, by sad experience, that any attempt to silence potch, which was unanimously pronounced to be inimi- Jenny, only wakes the sympathetic chime of Miss table. “I knew we should succeed here,” said Oldbuck Oldbuck and Mary M’Intyre to join in chorus.” exultingly, “for Davie Dibble, the gardener (an old bach- With this discourse he led the way to his dining- elor like myself), takes care the rascally women do not parlour, which Lovel had not yet seen;—it was dishonour our vegetables. And here is fish and sauce, wainscotted, and contained some curious paintings. The and crappit-heads—I acknowledge our womankind ex- dining-table was attended by Jenny; but an old super- cel in that dish —it procures them the pleasure of scold-

78 Sir Walter Scott ing, for half an hour at least, twice a-week, with auld by a red rag—But what says Sir Arthur, whose dreams Maggy Mucklebackit, our fish-wife. The chicken-pie, Mr. are of standing armies and German oppression?” Lovel, is made after a recipe bequeathed to me by my “Why, I say, Mr. Oldbuck,” replied the knight, “that so departed grandmother of happy memory—And if you far as I am capable of judging, we ought to resist cum toto will venture on a glass of wine, you will find it worthy corpore regni—as the phrase is, unless I have altogether of one who professes the maxim of King Alphonso of forgotten my Latin—an enemy who comes to propose to Castile,—Old wood to burn—old books to read—old us a Whiggish sort of government, a republican system, wine to drink—and old friends, Sir Arthur—ay, Mr. and who is aided and abetted by a sort of fanatics of the Lovel, and young friends too, to converse with.” worst kind in our own bowels. I have taken some mea- “And what news do you bring us from Edinburgh, sures, I assure you, such as become my rank in the com- Monkbarns?” said Sir Arthur; “how wags the world in munity; for I have directed the constables to take up that Auld Reekie?” old scoundrelly beggar, Edie Ochiltree, for spreading dis- “Mad, Sir Arthur, mad—irretrievably frantic—far be- affection against church and state through the whole yond dipping in the sea, shaving the crown, or drinking parish. He said plainly to old Caxon, that Willie Howie’s hellebore. The worst sort of frenzy, a military frenzy, Kilmarnock cowl covered more sense than all the three hath possessed man, woman, and child.” wigs in the parish—I think it is easy to make out that “And high time, I think,” said Miss Wardour, “when inuendo—But the rogue shall be taught better manners.” we are threatened with invasion from abroad and insur- “O no, my dear sir,” exclaimed Miss Wardour, “not rection at home.” old Edie, that we have known so long;—I assure you no “O, I did not doubt you would join the scarlet host constable shall have my good graces that executes such against me—women, like turkeys, are always subdued a warrant.”

79 The Antiquary “Ay, there it goes,” said the Antiquary; “you, to be a mount a charger, which his writing-clerk (habited as a staunch Tory, Sir Arthur, have nourished a fine sprig of sharp-shooter) walked to and fro before his door. I went Whiggery in your bosom—Why, Miss Wardour is alone to scold my agent for having sent me to advise with a sufficient to control a whole quarter-session—a quar- madman; he had stuck into his head the plume, which ter-session? ay, a general assembly or convocation to in more sober days he wielded between his fingers, and boot—a Boadicea she—an Amazon, a Zenobia.” figured as an artillery officer. My mercer had his “And yet, with all my courage, Mr. Oldbuck, I am glad spontoon in his hand, as if he measured his cloth by to hear our people are getting under arms.” that implement, instead of a legitimate yard. The “Under arms, Lord love thee! didst thou ever read the banker’s clerk, who was directed to sum my cash-ac- history of Sister Margaret, which flowed from a head, count, blundered it three times, being disordered by the that, though now old and somedele grey, has more sense recollection of his military tellings-off at the morning- and political intelligence than you find now-a-days in drill. I was ill, and sent for a surgeon— the whole synod? Dost thou remember the Nurse’s dream in that exquisite work, which she recounts in such He came—but valour so had fired his eye, agony to Hubble Bubble?—When she would have taken And such a falchion glittered on his thigh, up a piece of broad-cloth in her vision, lo! it exploded That, by the gods, with such a load of steel, like a great iron cannon; when she put out her hand to I thought he came to murder,—not to heal. save a pirn, it perked up in her face in the form of a pistol. My own vision in Edinburgh has been something I had recourse to a physician, but he also was practis- similar. I called to consult my lawyer; he was clothed in ing a more wholesale mode of slaughter than that which a dragoon’s dress, belted and casqued, and about to his profession had been supposed at all times to open to

80 Sir Walter Scott him. And now, since I have returned here, even our wise privilege of croaking in my own corner here, without neighbours of Fairport have caught the same valiant uniting my throat to the grand chorus of the marsh— humour. I hate a gun like a hurt wild duck—I detest a Ni quito Rey, ni pongo Rey—I neither make king nor drum like a quaker;—and they thunder and rattle out mar king, as Sancho says, but pray heartily for our own yonder upon the town’s common, so that every volley sovereign, pay scot and lot, and grumble at the excise- and roll goes to my very heart.” man—But here comes the ewe-milk cheese in good time; “Dear brother, dinna speak that gate o’ the gentle- it is a better digestive than politics.” men volunteers—I am sure they have a most becoming When dinner was over, and the decanters placed on the uniform—Weel I wot they have been wet to the very table, Mr. Oldbuck proposed the King’s health in a bumper, skin twice last week—I met them marching in terribly which was readily acceded to both by Lovel and the Bar- doukit, an mony a sair hoast was amang them—And onet, the Jacobitism of the latter being now a sort of specu- the trouble they take, I am sure it claims our gratitude.” lative opinion merely,—the shadow of a shade. “And I am sure,” said Miss M’Intyre, “that my uncle After the ladies had left the apartment, the landlord sent twenty guineas to help out their equipments.” and Sir Arthur entered into several exquisite discussions, “It was to buy liquorice and sugar-candy,” said the in which the younger guest, either on account of the cynic, “to encourage the trade of the place, and to re- abstruse erudition which they involved, or for some other fresh the throats of the officers who had bawled them- reason, took but a slender share, till at length he was selves hoarse in the service of their country.” suddenly started out of a profound reverie by an unex- “Take care, Monkbarns! we shall set you down among pected appeal to his judgment. the black-nebs by and by.” “I will stand by what Mr. Lovel says; he was born in “No Sir Arthur—a tame grumbler I. I only claim the the north of England, and may know the very spot.”

81 The Antiquary Sir Arthur thought it unlikely that so young a gentle- “Why, gentlemen,” sad Lovel, “I conceive that is a dis- man should have paid much attention to matters of that pute which may be easily settled by philologists, if there sort. are any remains of the language.” “I am avised of the contrary,” said Oldbuck. “There is but one word,” said the Baronet, “but, in “How say you, Mr. Lovel?—speak up for your own spite of Mr. Oldbuck’s pertinacity, it is decisive of the credit, man.” question.” Lovel was obliged to confess himself in the ridiculous “Yes, in my favour,” said Oldbuck: “Mr. Lovel, you shall situation of one alike ignorant of the subject of conver- be judge—I have the learned Pinkerton on my side.” sation and controversy which had engaged the company “I, on mine, the indefatigable and erudite Chalmers.” for an hour. “Gordon comes into my opinion.” “Lord help the lad, his head has been wool-gather- “Sir Robert Sibbald holds mine.” ing!—I thought how it would be when the womankind “Innes is with me!” vociferated Oldbuck. were admitted—no getting a word of sense out of a “Riston has no doubt!” shouted the Baronet. young fellow for six hours after.—Why, man, there was “Truly, gentlemen,” said Lovel, “before you muster once a people called the Piks”— your forces and overwhelm me with authorities, I should “More properly Picts,” interrupted the Baronet. like to know the word in dispute.” “I say the Pikar, Pihar, Piochtar, Piaghter, or Peughtar,” “Benval” said both the disputants at once. vociferated Oldbuck; “they spoke a Gothic dialect”— “Which signifies caput valli,” said Sir Arthur. “Genuine Celtic,” again asseverated the knight. “The head of the wall,” echoed Oldbuck. “Gothic! Gothic! I’ll go to death upon it!” counter- There was a deep pause.—“It is rather a narrow foun- asseverated the squire. dation to build a hypothesis upon,” observed the arbiter.

82 Sir Walter Scott “Not a whit, not a whit,” said Oldbuck; “men fight the other. But what strikes me most, is the poverty of best in a narrow ring —an inch is as good as a mile for a the language which has left such slight vestiges behind home-thrust.” it.” “It is decidedly Celtic,” said the Baronet; “every hill “You are in an error,” said Sir Arthur; “it was a copi- in the Highlands begins with Ben.” ous language, and they were a great and powerful people; “But what say you to Val, Sir Arthur; is it not decid- built two steeples—one at Brechin, one at Abernethy. edly the Saxon wall?” The Pictish maidens of the blood-royal were kept in “It is the Roman vallum,” said Sir Arthur;—“the Picts Edinburgh Castle, thence called Castrum Puellarum.” borrowed that part of the word.” “A childish legend,” said Oldbuck, “invented to give “No such thing; if they borrowed anything, it must consequence to trumpery womankind. It was called the have been your Ben, which they might have from the Maiden Castle, quasi lucus a non lucendo, because it re- neighbouring Britons of Strath Cluyd.” sisted every attack, and women never do.” “The Piks, or Picts,” said Lovel, “must have been sin- “There is a list of the Pictish kings,” persisted Sir gularly poor in dialect, since, in the only remaining word Arthur, “well authenticated from Crentheminachcryme of their vocabulary, and that consisting only of two (the date of whose reign is somewhat uncertain) down syllables, they have been confessedly obliged to borrow to Drusterstone, whose death concluded their dynasty. one of them from another language; and, methinks, Half of them have the Celtic patronymic Mac prefixed— gentlemen, with submission, the controversy is not un- Mac, id est filius;—what do you say to that, Mr. like that which the two knights fought, concerning the Oldbuck? There is Drust Macmorachin, Trynel shield that had one side white and the other black. Each Maclachlin (first of that ancient clan, as it may be of you claim one-half of the word, and seem to resign judged), and Gormach Macdonald, Alpin Macmetegus,

83 The Antiquary Drust Mactallargam” (here he was interrupted by a fit seventeen hundred and five, or six, I am not precisely of coughing)—“ugh, ugh, ugh—Golarge Macchan— certain which—but I have a copy at home that stands ugh, ugh—Macchanan—ugh—Macchananail, Ken- next to my twelvemo copy of the Scots Acts, and ranges neth—ugh—ugh—Macferedith, Eachan Macfungus— on the shelf with them very well. What say you to that, and twenty more, decidedly Celtic names, which I could Mr. Oldbuck?” repeat, if this damned cough would let me.” “Say?—why, I laugh at Harry Maule and his history,” “Take a glass of wine, Sir Arthur, and drink down that answered Oldbuck, “and thereby comply with his re- bead-roll of unbaptized jargon, that would choke the quest, of giving it entertainment according to its mer- devil—why, that last fellow has the only intelligible name its.” you have repeated—they are all of the tribe of “Do not laugh at a better man than yourself,” said Sir Macfungus—mushroom monarchs every one of them; Arthur, somewhat scornfully. sprung up from the fumes of conceit, folly, and false- “I do not conceive I do, Sir Arthur, in laughing either hood, fermenting in the brains of some mad Highland at him or his history,” seannachie.” “Henry Maule of Melgum was a gentleman, Mr. “I am surprised to hear you, Mr. Oldbuck: you know, Oldbuck.” or ought to know, that the list of these potentates was “I presume he had no advantage of me in that par- copied by Henry Maule of Melguin, from the Chronicles ticular,” replied the Antiquary, somewhat tartly. of Loch Leven and St. Andrews, and put forth by him “Permit me, Mr. Oldbuck—he was a gentleman of high in his short but satisfactory history of the Picts, printed family, and ancient descent, and therefore”— by Robert Freebairn of Edinburgh, and sold by him at “The descendant of a Westphalian printer should his shop in the Parliament Close, in the year of God speak of him with deference? Such may be your opin-

84 Sir Walter Scott ion, Sir Arthur—it is not mine. I conceive that my de- of your family, Sir Arthur, after such a backsliding as scent from that painful and industrious typographer, that?” Wolfbrand Oldenbuck, who, in the month of December “It’s enough, sir,” said Sir Arthur, starting up fiercely, 1193, under the patronage, as the colophon tells us, of and pushing back his chair; “I shall hereafter take care Sebaldus Scheyter and Sebastian Kammermaister, ac- how I honour with my company one who shows himself complished the printing of the great Chronicle of so ungrateful for my condescension.” Nuremberg—I conceive, I say, that my descent from that “In that you will do as you find most agreeable, Sir great restorer of learning is more creditable to me as a Arthur;—I hope, that as I was not aware of the extent man of letters, than if I had numbered in my geneal- of the obligation which you have done me by visiting ogy all the brawling, bullet-headed, iron-fisted, old my poor house, I may be excused for not having carried Gothic barons since the days of Crentheminachcryme— my gratitude to the extent of servility.” not one of whom, I suppose, could write his own name.” “Mighty well—mighty well, Mr. Oldbuck—I wish you “If you mean the observation as a sneer at my ances- a good evening—Mr. a—a—a—Shovel—I wish you a try,” said the knight, with an assumption of dignified very good evening.” superiority and composure, “I have the pleasure to in- Out of the parlour door flounced the incensed Sir form you, that the name of my ancestor, Gamelyn de Arthur, as if the spirit of the whole Round Table inflamed Guardover, Miles, is written fairly with his own hand in his single bosom, and traversed with long strides the laby- the earliest copy of the Ragman-roll.” rinth of passages which conducted to the drawing-room. “Which only serves to show that he was one of the “Did you ever hear such an old tup-headed ass?” said earliest who set the mean example of submitting to Ed- Oldbuck, briefly apostrophizing Lovel. “But I must not ward I. What have, you to say for the stainless loyalty let him go in this mad-like way neither.”

85 The Antiquary So saying, he pushed off after the retreating Baronet, of circumventing the false Southern —’twas right Scot- whom he traced by the clang of several doors which he tish craft, my good knight—hundreds did it. Come, come, opened in search of the apartment for tea, and slammed forget and forgive—confess we have given the young fel- with force behind him at every disappointment. “You’ll low here a right to think us two testy old fools.” do yourself a mischief,” roared the Antiquary; “Qui “Speak for yourself, Mr. Jonathan Oldbuck,” said Sir ambulat in tenebris, nescit quo vadit—You’ll tumble down Arthur with much majesty. the back-stair.” “A-well, a-well—a wilful man must have his way.” Sir Arthur had now got involved in darkness, of which With that the door opened, and into the drawing-room the sedative effect is well known to nurses and govern- marched the tall gaunt form of Sir Arthur, followed by esses who have to deal with pettish children. It retarded Lovel and Mr. Oldbuck, the countenances of all the three the pace of the irritated Baronet, if it did not abate his a little discomposed. resentment, and Mr. Oldbuck, better acquainted with “I have been waiting for you, sir,” said Miss Wardour, the locale, got up with him as he had got his grasp upon “to propose we should walk forward to meet the car- the handle of the drawing-room door. riage, as the evening is so fine.” “Stay a minute, Sir Arthur,” said Oldbuck, opposing his Sir Arthur readily assented to this proposal, which abrupt entrance; “don’t be quite so hasty, my good old suited the angry mood in which he found himself; and friend. I was a little too rude with you about Sir Gamelyn— having, agreeable to the established custom in cases of why, he is an old acquaintance of mine, man, and a pet, refused the refreshment of tea and coffee, he tucked favourite; he kept company with Bruce and Wallace—and, his daughter under his arm; and after taking a ceremo- I’ll be sworn on a black-letter Bible, only subscribed the nious leave of the ladies, and a very dry one of Ragman-roll with the legitimate and justifiable intention Oldbuck—off he marched.

86 Sir Walter Scott “I think Sir Arthur has got the black dog on his back found silence, pursued some female employment. At again,” said Miss Oldbuck. length, a light and modest tap was heard at the parlour “Black dog!—black devil!—he’s more absurd than door. “Is that you, Caxon?—come in, come in, man.” womankind—What say you, Lovel?—Why, the lad’s The old man opened the door, and thrusting in his mea- gone too.” gre face, thatched with thin grey locks, and one sleeve “He took his leave, uncle, while Miss Wardour was put- of his white coat, said in a subdued and mysterious tone ting on her things; but I don’t think you observed him.” of voice, “I was wanting to speak to you, sir.” “The devil’s in the people! This is all one gets by fussing “Come in then, you old fool, and say what you have and bustling, and putting one’s self out of one’s way in got to say.” order to give dinners, besides all the charges they are put “I’ll maybe frighten the ladies,” said the ex-friseur. to!—O Seged, Emperor of Ethiopia!” said he, taking up “Frighten!” answered the Antiquary,—“what do you a cup of tea in the one hand, and a volume of the Ram- mean?—never mind the ladies. Have you seen another bler in the other,—for it was his regular custom to read ghaist at the Humlock-knowe?” while he was eating or drinking in presence of his sister, “Na, sir—it’s no a ghaist this turn,” replied Caxton;— being a practice which served at once to evince his con- ”but I’m no easy in my mind.” tempt for the society of womankind, and his resolution “Did you ever hear of any body that was?” answered to lose no moment of instruction,—“O Seged, Emperor Oldbuck;—“what reason has an old battered powder- of Ethiopia! well hast thou spoken—No man should pre- puff like you to be easy in your mind, more than all the sume to say, This shall be a day of happiness.” rest of the world besides?” Oldbuck proceeded in his studies for the best part of “It’s no for mysell, sir; but it threatens an awfu’ night; an hour, uninterrupted by the ladies, who each, in pro- and Sir Arthur, and Miss Wardour, poor thing”—

87 The Antiquary “Why, man, they must have met the carriage at the “What is the matter?” inquired Miss Oldbuck and Miss head of the loaning, or thereabouts; they must be home M’Intyre. long ago.” “The tide!—the tide!” answered the alarmed Anti- “Na, sir; they didna gang the road by the turnpike to quary. meet the carriage, they gaed by the sands.” “Had not Jenny better—but no, I’ll run myself,” said The word operated like electricity on Oldbuck. “The the younger lady, partaking in all her uncle’s terrors— sands!” he exclaimed; “impossible!” ”I’ll run myself to Saunders Mucklebackit, and make “Ou, sir, that’s what I said to the gardener; but he him get out his boat.” says he saw them turn down by the Mussel-craig. In “Thank you, my dear, that’s the wisest word that has troth, says I to him, an that be the case, Davie, I am been spoken yet —Run! run!—To go by the sands!” seiz- misdoubting”— ing his hat and cane; “was there ever such madness heard “An almanac! an almanac!” said Oldbuck, starting up of!” in great alarm—“not that bauble!” flinging away a little pocket almanac which his niece offered him.—“Great God! my poor dear Miss Isabella!—Fetch me instantly the Fairport Almanac.”—It was brought, consulted, 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.”

88 Sir Walter Scott them, Lovel, who seemed to linger on the way as if to give him an opportunity to join them. Miss Wardour CHAPTER SEVENTH immediately proposed to her father that they should take another direction; and, as the weather was fine, walk home by the sands, which, stretching below a pic- —Pleased awhile to view turesque ridge of rocks, afforded at almost all times a The watery waste, the prospect wild and new; The now receding waters gave them space, pleasanter passage between Knockwinnock and On either side, the growing shores to trace Monkbarns than the high-road. And then returning, they contract the scene, Sir Arthur acquiesced willingly. “It would be unpleas- Till small and smaller grows the walk between. ant,” he said, “to be joined by that young fellow, whom Crabbe. 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 THE INFORMATION of Davie Dibble, which had spread a mind, to cut the person you have associated with for a such general alarm at Monkbarns, proved to be strictly week, the instant you feel or suppose yourself in a situ- correct. Sir Arthur and his daughter had set out, ac- ation which makes it disagreeable to own him. Sir Arthur cording to their first proposal, to return to only stipulated, that a little ragged boy, for the guerdon Knockwinnock by the turnpike road; but when they of one penny sterling, should run to meet his coach- reached the head of the loaning, as it was called, or great man, and turn his equipage back to Knockwinnock. lane, which on one side made a sort of avenue to the When this was arranged, and the emissary despatched, house of Monkbarns, they discerned, a little way before the knight and his daughter left the high-road, and fol-

89 The Antiquary lowing a wandering path among sandy hillocks, partly circumstance. The sun was now resting his huge disk grown over with furze and the long grass called bent, upon the edge of the level ocean, and gilded the accu- soon attained the side of the ocean. The tide was by no mulation of towering clouds through which he had trav- means so far out as they had computed but this gave elled the livelong day, and which now assembled on all them no alarm;—there were seldom ten days in the year sides, like misfortunes and disasters around a sinking when it approached so near the cliffs as not to leave a empire and falling monarch. Still, however, his dying dry passage. But, nevertheless, at periods of spring-tide, splendour gave a sombre magnificence to the massive or even when the ordinary flood was accelerated by high congregation of vapours, forming out of their unsub- winds, this road was altogether covered by the sea; and stantial gloom the show of pyramids and towers, some tradition had recorded several fatal accidents which had touched with gold, some with purple, some with a hue happened on such occasions. Still, such dangers were of deep and dark red. The distant sea, stretched beneath considered as remote and improbable; and rather served, this varied and gorgeous canopy, lay almost portentously with other legends, to amuse the hamlet fireside, than still, reflecting back the dazzling and level beams of the to prevent any one from going between Knockwinnock descending luminary, and the splendid colouring of the and Monkbarns by the sands. clouds amidst which he was setting. Nearer to the beach As Sir Arthur and Miss Wardour paced along, enjoy- the tide rippled onward in waves of sparkling silver, that ing the pleasant footing afforded by the cool moist hard imperceptibly, yet rapidly, gained upon the sand. sand, Miss Wardour could not help observing that the With a mind employed in admiration of the romantic last tide had risen considerably above the usual water- scene, or perhaps on some more agitating topic, Miss mark. Sir Arthur made the same observation, but with- Wardour advanced in silence by her father’s side, whose out its occurring to either of them to be alarmed at the recently offended dignity did not stoop to open any con-

90 Sir Walter Scott versation. Following the windings of the beach, they evening. The wind began next to arise; but its wild and passed one projecting point of headland or rock after moaning sound was heard for some time, and its effects another, and now found themselves under a huge and became visible on the bosom of the sea, before the gale continued extent of the precipices by which that iron- was felt on shore. The mass of waters, now dark and bound coast is in most places defended. Long projecting threatening, began to lift itself in larger ridges, and sink reefs of rock, extending under water and only evincing in deeper furrows, forming waves that rose high in foam their existence by here and there a peak entirely bare, upon the breakers, or burst upon the beach with a sound or by the breakers which foamed over those that were resembling distant thunder. partially covered, rendered Knockwinnock bay dreaded Appalled by this sudden change of weather, Miss by pilots and ship-masters. The crags which rose between Wardour drew close to her father, and held his arm fast. the beach and the mainland, to the height of two or “I wish,” at length she said, but almost in a whisper, as three hundred feet, afforded in their crevices shelter for if ashamed to express her increasing apprehensions, “I unnumbered sea-fowl, in situations seemingly secured wish we had kept the road we intended, or waited at by their dizzy height from the rapacity of man. Many Monkbarns for the carriage.” of these wild tribes, with the instinct which sends them Sir Arthur looked round, but did not see, or would not to seek the land before a storm arises, were now winging acknowledge, any signs of an immediate storm. They towards their nests with the shrill and dissonant clang would reach Knockwinnock, he said, long before the which announces disquietude and fear. The disk of the tempest began. But the speed with which he walked, sun became almost totally obscured ere he had altogether and with which Isabella could hardly keep pace, indi- sunk below the horizon, and an early and lurid shade of cated a feeling that some exertion was necessary to ac- darkness blotted the serene twilight of a summer complish his consolatory prediction.

91 The Antiquary They were now near the centre of a deep but narrow The figure which advanced to meet them made many bay or recess, formed by two projecting capes of high signs, which the haze of the atmosphere, now disturbed and inaccessible rock, which shot out into the sea like by wind and by a drizzling rain, prevented them from the horns of a crescent;—and neither durst communi- seeing or comprehending distinctly.—Some time before cate the apprehension which each began to entertain, they met, Sir Arthur could recognise the old blue-gowned that, from the unusually rapid advance of the tide, they beggar, Edie Ochiltree. It is said that even the brute might be deprived of the power of proceeding by dou- creation lay aside their animosities and antipathies when bling the promontory which lay before them, or of repressed by an instant and common danger. The beach treating by the road which brought them thither. under Halket-head, rapidly diminishing in extent by the As they thus pressed forward, longing doubtless to ex- encroachments of a spring-tide and a north-west wind, change the easy curving line, which the sinuosities of was in like manner a neutral field, where even a justice the bay compelled them to adopt, for a straighter and of peace and a strolling mendicant might meet upon more expeditious path, Sir Arthur observed a human terms of mutual forbearance. figure on the beach advancing to meet them. “Thank “Turn back! turn back!” exclaimed the vagrant; “why God,” he exclaimed, “we shall get round Halket-head!— did ye not turn when I waved to you?” that person must have passed it;” thus giving vent to “We thought,” replied Sir Arthur, in great agitation, the feeling of hope, though he had suppressed that of “we thought we could get round Halket-head.” apprehension. “Halket-head!—the tide will be running on Halket- “Thank God, indeed!” echoed his daughter, half audi- head by this time like the Fall of Fyers!—it was a’ I bly, half internally, as expressing the gratitude which could do to get round it twenty minutes since—it was she strongly felt. coming in three feet abreast. We will maybe get back by

92 Sir Walter Scott Bally-burgh Ness Point yet. The Lord help us!—it’s our spring-tides, displayed a hulk like the keel of a large only chance. We can but try.” vessel, was now quite under water, and its place only “My God, my child!”—“My father! my dear father!” indicated by the boiling and breaking of the eddying exclaimed the parent and daughter, as, fear lending them waves which encountered its submarine resistance. strength and speed, they turned to retrace their steps, “Mak haste, mak haste, my bonny leddy,” continued and endeavoured to double the point, the projection of the old man—“mak haste, and we may do yet! Take which formed the southern extremity of the bay. haud o’ my arm—an auld and frail arm it’s now, but it’s “I heard ye were here frae the bit callant ye sent to been in as sair stress as this is yet. Take haud o’ my arm, meet your carriage,” said the beggar, as he trudged my winsome leddy! D’ye see yon wee black speck amang stoutly on a step or two behind Miss Wardour; “and I the wallowing waves yonder? This morning it was as couldna bide to think o’ the dainty young leddy’s peril, high as the mast o’ a brig—it’s sma’ eneugh now—but, that has aye been kind to ilka forlorn heart that cam while I see as muckle black about it as the crown o’ my near her. Sae I lookit at the lift and the rin o’ the tide, hat, I winna believe but we’ll get round the Ballyburgh till I settled it that if I could get down time eneugh to Ness, for a’ that’s come and gane yet.” gie you warning, we wad do weel yet. But I doubt, I Isabella, in silence, accepted from the old man the as- doubt, I have been beguiled! for what mortal ee ever sistance which Sir Arthur was less able to afford her. saw sic a race as the tide is risening e’en now? See, The waves had now encroached so much upon the beach, yonder’s the Ratton’s Skerry—he aye held his neb abune that the firm and smooth footing which they had hith- the water in my day—but he’s aneath it now.” erto had on the sand must be exchanged for a rougher Sir Arthur cast a look in the direction in which the old path close to the foot of the precipice, and in some places man pointed. A huge rock, which in general, even in even raised upon its lower ledges. It would have been

93 The Antiquary utterly impossible for Sir Arthur Wardour, or his daugh- which they had relied, they now experienced the double ter, to have found their way along these shelves without agony of terror and suspense. They struggled forward, the guidance and encouragement of the beggar, who had however; but, when they arrived at the point from which been there before in high tides, though never, he acknowl- they ought to have seen the crag, it was no longer vis- edged, “in sae awsome a night as this.” ible: the signal of safety was lost among a thousand It was indeed a dreadful evening. The howling of the white breakers, which, dashing upon the point of the storm mingled with the shrieks of the sea-fowl, and promontory, rose in prodigious sheets of snowy foam, sounded like the dirge of the three devoted beings, who, as high as the mast of a first-rate man-of-war, against pent between two of the most magnificent, yet most the dark brow of the precipice. dreadful objects of nature—a raging tide and an insur- The countenance of the old man fell. Isabella gave a mountable precipice—toiled along their painful and faint shriek, and, “God have mercy upon us!” which her dangerous path, often lashed by the spray of some gi- guide solemnly uttered, was piteously echoed by Sir ant billow, which threw itself higher on the beach than Arthur—“My child! my child!—to die such a death!” those that had preceded it. Each minute did their en- “My father! my dear father!” his daughter exclaimed, emy gain ground perceptibly upon them! Still, however, clinging to him—“and you too, who have lost your own loth to relinquish the last hopes of life, they bent their life in endeavouring to save ours!” eyes on the black rock pointed out by Ochiltree. It was “That’s not worth the counting,” said the old man. “I yet distinctly visible among the breakers, and contin- hae lived to be weary o’ life; and here or yonder—at the ued to be so, until they came to a turn in their precari- back o’ a dyke, in a wreath o’ snaw, or in the wame o’ a ous path, where an intervening projection of rock hid it wave, what signifies how the auld gaberlunzie dies?” from their sight. Deprived of the view of the beacon on “Good man,” said Sir Arthur, “can you think of noth-

94 Sir Walter Scott ing?—of no help? —I’ll make you rich—I’ll give you a “Must we yield life,” she said, “without a struggle? Is farm—I’ll”— there no path, however dreadful, by which we could “Our riches will be soon equal,” said the beggar, look- climb the crag, or at least attain some height above the ing out upon the strife of the waters—“they are sae al- tide, where we could remain till morning, or till help ready; for I hae nae land, and you would give your fair comes? They must be aware of our situation, and will bounds and barony for a square yard of rock that would raise the country to relieve us.” be dry for twal hours.” Sir Arthur, who heard, but scarcely comprehended, While they exchanged these words, they paused upon his daughter’s question, turned, nevertheless, instinc- the highest ledge of rock to which they could attain; for tively and eagerly to the old man, as if their lives were it seemed that any further attempt to move forward in his gift. Ochiltree paused—“I was a bauld craigsman,” could only serve to anticipate their fate. Here, then, they he said, “ance in my life, and mony a kittywake’s and were to await the sure though slow progress of the rag- lungie’s nest hae I harried up amang thae very black ing element, something in the situation of the martyrs rocks; but it’s lang, lang syne, and nae mortal could speel of the early church, who, exposed by heathen tyrants them without a rope—and if I had ane, my ee-sight, to be slain by wild beasts, were compelled for a time to and my footstep, and my hand-grip, hae a’ failed mony witness the impatience and rage by which the animals a day sinsyne—And then, how could I save you? But were agitated, while awaiting the signal for undoing their there was a path here ance, though maybe, if we could grates, and letting them loose upon the victims. see it, ye would rather bide where we are—His name be Yet even this fearful pause gave Isabella time to col- praised!” he ejaculated suddenly, “there’s ane coming lect the powers of a mind naturally strong and coura- down the crag e’en now!”—Then, exalting his voice, he geous, and which rallied itself at this terrible juncture. hilloa’d out to the daring adventurer such instructions

95 The Antiquary as his former practice, and the remembrance of local which, however, after one or two perilous escapes, placed circumstances, suddenly forced upon his mind:—”Ye’re him safe on the broad flat stone beside our friend Lovel. right!—ye’re right!—that gate—that gate!—fasten the Their joint strength was able to raise Isabella to the place rope weel round Crummies-horn, that’s the muckle black of safety which they had attained. Lovel then descended stane—cast twa plies round it—that’s it!—now, weize in order to assist Sir Arthur, around whom he adjusted yoursell a wee easel-ward—a wee mair yet to that ither the rope; and again mounting to their place of refuge, stane—we ca’d it the Cat’s-lug—there used to be the with the assistance of old Ochiltree, and such aid as Sir root o’ an aik tree there—that will do!—canny now, Arthur himself could afford, he raised himself beyond lad—canny now—tak tent and tak time—Lord bless ye, the reach of the billows. tak time—Vera weel!—Now ye maun get to Bessy’s The sense of reprieve from approaching and appar- apron, that’s the muckle braid flat blue stane—and then, ently inevitable death, had its usual effect. The father I think, wi’ your help and the tow thegither, I’ll win at and daughter threw themselves into each other’s arms, ye, and then we’ll be able to get up the young leddy and kissed and wept for joy, although their escape was con- Sir Arthur.” nected with the prospect of passing a tempestuous night The adventurer, following the directions of old Edie, upon a precipitous ledge of rock, which scarce afforded flung him down the end of the rope, which he secured footing for the four shivering beings, who now, like the around Miss Wardour, wrapping her previously in his sea-fowl around them, clung there in hopes of some shel- own blue gown, to preserve her as much as possible from ter from the devouring element which raged beneath. injury. Then, availing himself of the rope, which was The spray of the billows, which attained in fearful suc- made fast at the other end, he began to ascend the face cession the foot of the precipice, overflowing the beach of the crag—a most precarious and dizzy undertaking, on which they so lately stood, flew as high as their place

96 Sir Walter Scott of temporary refuge; and the stunning sound with which “Do so, do so, for Heaven’s sake!” said Sir Arthur ea- they dashed against the rocks beneath, seemed as if they gerly. still demanded the fugitives in accents of thunder as “Are ye mad?” said the mendicant: “Francie o’ their destined prey. It was a summer night, doubtless; Fowlsheugh, and he was the best craigsman that ever yet the probability was slender, that a frame so delicate speel’d heugh (mair by token, he brake his neck upon as that of Miss Wardour should survive till morning the the Dunbuy of Slaines), wodna hae ventured upon the drenching of the spray; and the dashing of the rain, Halket-head craigs after sun-down—It’s God’s grace, which now burst in full violence, accompanied with deep and a great wonder besides, that ye are not in the middle and heavy gusts of wind, added to the constrained and o’ that roaring sea wi’ what ye hae done already—I didna perilous circumstances of their situation. think there was the man left alive would hae come down “The lassie!—the puir sweet, lassie!” said the old man: the craigs as ye did. I question an I could hae done it “mony such a night have I weathered at hame and abroad, mysell, at this hoar and in this weather, in the youngest but, God guide us, how can she ever win through it!” and yaldest of my strength—But to venture up again— His apprehension was communicated in smothered ac- it’s a mere and a clear tempting o’ Providence,” cents to Lovel; for with the sort of freemasonry by which “I have no fear,” answered Lovel; “I marked all the bold and ready spirits correspond in moments of dan- stations perfectly as I came down, and there is still light ger, and become almost instinctively known to each enough left to see them quite well—I am sure I can do it other, they had established a mutual confidence.—”I’ll with perfect safety. Stay here, my good friend, by Sir climb up the cliff again,” said Lovel—”there’s daylight Arthur and the young lady.” enough left to see my footing; I’ll climb up, and call for “Dell be in my feet then,” answered the bedesman stur- more assistance.” dily; “if ye gang, I’ll gang too; for between the twa o’

97 The Antiquary us, we’ll hae mair than wark eneugh to get to the tap o’ A distant hail was repeated, the sound plainly distin- the heugh.” guishable among the various elemental noises, and the “No, no—stay you here and attend to Miss Wardour— clang of the sea-mews by which they were surrounded. you see Sir Arthur is quite exhausted.” The mendicant and Lovel exerted their voices in a loud “Stay yoursell then, and I’ll gae,” said the old man;— halloo, the former waving Miss Wardour’s handkerchief “let death spare the green corn and take the ripe.” on the end of his staff to make them conspicuous from “Stay both of you, I charge you,” said Isabella, faintly; above. Though the shouts were repeated, it was some “I am well, and can spend the night very well here—I time before they were in exact response to their own, feel quite refreshed.” So saying, her voice failed her— leaving the unfortunate sufferers uncertain whether, in she sunk down, and would have fallen from the crag, the darkening twilight and increasing storm, they had had she not been supported by Lovel and Ochiltree, who made the persons who apparently were traversing the placed her in a posture half sitting, half reclining, be- verge of the precipice to bring them assistance, sensible side her father, who, exhausted by fatigue of body and of the place in which they had found refuge. At length mind so extreme and unusual, had already sat down on their halloo was regularly and distinctly answered, and a stone in a sort of stupor. their courage confirmed, by the assurance that they were “It is impossible to leave them,” said Lovel—“What within hearing, if not within reach, of friendly assis- is to be done?—Hark! hark!—did I not hear a halloo?” tance. “The skreigh of a Tammie Norie,” answered Ochiltree—“I ken the skirl weel.” “No, by Heaven!” replied Lovel, “it was a human voice.”

98 Sir Walter Scott On the verge of the precipice an anxious group had now assembled. Oldbuck was the foremost and most ear- CHAPTER EIGHTH nest, 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 There is a cliff, whose high and bending head the dizzy height, with an air of determination which Looks fearfully on the confined deep; Bring me but to the very brim of it, made his more timorous assistants tremble. And I’ll repair the misery thou dost bear. “Haud a care, haud a care, Monkbarns!” cried Caxon, clinging to the skirts of his patron, and withholding him King Lear. from danger as far as his strength permitted—“God’s sake, haud a care!—Sir Arthur’s drowned already, and an ye fa’ over the cleugh too, there will be but ae wig left THE SHOUT of human voices from above was soon aug- in the parish, and that’s the minister’s.” mented, and the gleam of torches mingled with those lights “Mind the peak there,” cried Mucklebackit, an old fish- of evening which still remained amidst the darkness of erman and smuggler—“mind the peak—Steenie, Steenie the storm. Some attempt was made to hold communica- Wilks, bring up the tackle—I’se warrant we’ll sune heave tion between the assistants above and the sufferers beneath, them on board, Monkbarns, wad ye but stand out o’ the who were still clinging to their precarious place of safety; gate.” but the howling of the tempest limited their intercourse to “I see them,” said Oldbuck—“I see them low down on cries as inarticulate as those of the winged denizens of the that flat stone —Hilli-hilloa, hilli-ho-a!” crag, which shrieked in chorus, alarmed by the reiterated “I see them mysell weel eneugh,” said Mucklebackit; sound of human voices, where they had seldom been heard.

99 The Antiquary “they are sitting down yonder like hoodie-craws in a mist; tempest, the empty air all around it, and depending upon but d’yo think ye’ll help them wi’ skirling that gate like the security of a rope, which, in the increasing dark- an auld skart before a flaw o’ weather? —Steenie, lad, ness, had dwindled to an almost imperceptible thread. bring up the mast—Od, I’se hae them up as we used to Besides the hazard of committing a human being to the bouse up the kegs o’ gin and brandy lang syne—Get up vacant atmosphere in such a slight means of convey- the pickaxe, make a step for the mast—make the chair ance, there was the fearful danger of the chair and its fast with the rattlin—haul taught and belay!” occupant being dashed, either by the wind or the vibra- The fishers had brought with them the mast of a boat, tions of the cord, against the rugged face of the preci- and as half of the country fellows about had now ap- pice. But to diminish the risk as much as possible, the peared, either out of zeal or curiosity, it was soon sunk experienced seaman had let down with the chair another in the ground, and sufficiently secured. A yard across line, which, being attached to it, and held by the per- the upright mast, and a rope stretched along it, and sons beneath, might serve by way of gy, as Mucklebackit reeved through a block at each end, formed an extem- expressed it, to render its descent in some measure steady pore crane, which afforded the means of lowering an and regular. Still, to commit one’s self in such a vehicle, arm-chair, well secured and fastened, down to the flat through a howling tempest of wind and rain, with a shelf on which the sufferers had roosted. Their joy at beetling precipice above and a raging abyss below, re- hearing the preparations going on for their deliverance quired that courage which despair alone can inspire. Yet, was considerably qualified when they beheld the pre- wild as the sounds and sights of danger were, both above, carious vehicle by means of which they were to be con- beneath, and around, and doubtful and dangerous as veyed to upper air. It swung about a yard free of the the mode of escaping appeared to be, Lovel and the old spot which they occupied, obeying each impulse of the mendicant agreed, after a moment’s consultation, and

100 Sir Walter Scott after the former, by a sudden strong pull, had, at his up hooly and fairly;—we will halloo when we are ready.” own imminent risk, ascertained the security of the rope, With the sedulous attention of a parent to a child, that it would be best to secure Miss Wardour in the chair, Lovel bound Miss Wardour with his handkerchief, and trust to the tenderness and care of those above for neckcloth, and the mendicant’s leathern belt, to the back her being safely craned up to the top of the crag. and arms of the chair, ascertaining accurately the secu- “Let my father go first,” exclaimed Isabella; “for God’s rity of each knot, while Ochiltree kept Sir Arthur quiet. sake, my friends, place him first in safety!” “What are ye doing wi’ my bairn?—what are ye do- “It cannot be, Miss Wardour,” said Lovel;—“your life ing?—She shall not be separated from me—Isabel, stay must be first secured—the rope which bears your weight with me, I command you!” may”— “Lordsake, Sir Arthur, haud your tongue, and be “I will not listen to a reason so selfish!” thankful to God that there’s wiser folk than you to man- “But ye maun listen to it, my bonnie lassie,” said age this job,” cried the beggar, worn out by the unrea- Ochiltree, “for a’ our lives depend on it—besides, when sonable exclamations of the poor Baronet. ye get on the tap o’ the heugh yonder, ye can gie them a “Farewell, my father!” murmured Isabella—“farewell, round guess o’ what’s ganging on in this Patmos o’ my—my friends!” and shutting her eyes, as Edie’s ex- ours—and Sir Arthur’s far by that, as I’m thinking.” perience recommended, she gave the signal to Lovel, and Struck with the truth of this reasoning, she exclaimed, he to those who were above. She rose, while the chair in “True, most true; I am ready and willing to undertake which she sate was kept steady by the line which Lovel the first risk—What shall I say to our friends above?” managed beneath. With a beating heart he watched the “Just to look that their tackle does not graze on the flutter of her white dress, until the vehicle was on a level face o’ the crag, and to let the chair down and draw it with the brink of the precipice.

101 The Antiquary “Canny now, lads, canny now!” exclaimed old tating a hazard, she explained the nature of the situa- Mucklebackit, who acted as commodore; “swerve the tion beneath, and the wishes of Lovel and Ochiltree. yard a bit—Now—there! there she sits safe on dry land.” “Right, right, that’s right too—I should like to see A loud shout announced the successful experiment to the son of Sir Gamelyn de Guardover on dry land my- her fellow-sufferers beneath, who replied with a ready self—I have a notion he would sign the abjuration oath, and cheerful halloo. Monkbarns, in his ecstasy of joy, and the Ragman-roll to boot, and acknowledge Queen stripped his great-coat to wrap up the young lady, and Mary to be nothing better than she should be, to get would have pulled off his coat and waistcoat for the same alongside my bottle of old port that he ran away from, purpose, had he not been withheld by the cautious and left scarce begun. But he’s safe now, and here a’ Caxon. “Haud a care o’ us! your honour will be killed comes”—(for the chair was again lowered, and Sir wi’ the hoast—ye’ll no get out o’your night-cowl this Arthur made fast in it, without much consciousness on fortnight—and that will suit us unco ill.—Na, na— his own part)—“here a’ comes—Bowse away, my boys! there’s the chariot down by; let twa o’ the folk carry the canny wi’ him—a pedigree of a hundred links is hang- young leddy there.” ing on a tenpenny tow—the whole barony of “You’re right,” said the Antiquary, readjusting the Knockwinnock depends on three plies of hemp—respice sleeves and collar of his coat, “you’re right, Caxon; this finem, respice funem—look to your end—look to a rope’s is a naughty night to swim in.—Miss Wardour, let me end.—Welcome, welcome, my good old friend, to firm convey you to the chariot.” land, though I cannot say to warm land or to dry land. “Not for worlds till I see my father safe.” A cord for ever against fifty fathom of water, though In a few distinct words, evincing how much her reso- not in the sense of the base proverb—a fico for the lution had surmounted even the mortal fear of so agi- phrase,—better sus. per funem, than sus. per coll.”

102 Sir Walter Scott While Oldbuck ran on in this way, Sir Arthur was safely haud the gy—Hae a care o’ the Cat’s-lug corner—bide wrapped in the close embraces of his daughter, who, weel aff Crummie’s-horn!” assuming that authority which the circumstances de- “Have a care indeed,” echoed Oldbuck. “What! is it manded, ordered some of the assistants to convey him my rara avis—my black swan—my phoenix of compan- to the chariot, promising to follow in a few minutes, She ions in a post-chaise?—take care of him, Mucklebackit.” lingered on the cliff, holding an old countryman’s arm, “As muckle care as if he were a graybeard o’ brandy; to witness probably the safety of those whose dangers and I canna take mair if his hair were like John she had shared. Harlowe’s.—Yo ho, my hearts! bowse away with him!” “What have we here?” said Oldbuck, as the vehicle Lovel did, in fact, run a much greater risk than any of once more ascended —“what patched and weather- his precursors. His weight was not sufficient to render beaten matter is this?” Then as the torches illumed the his ascent steady amid such a storm of wind, and he rough face and grey hairs of old Ochiltree,—“What! is swung like an agitated pendulum at the mortal risk of it thou?—Come, old Mocker, I must needs be friends being dashed against the rocks. But he was young, bold, with thee—but who the devil makes up your party be- and active, and, with the assistance of the beggar’s stout sides?” piked staff, which he had retained by advice of the pro- “Ane that’s weel worth ony twa o’ us, Monkbarns;— prietor, contrived to bear himself from the face of the it’s the young stranger lad they ca’ Lovel—and he’s be- precipice, and the yet more hazardous projecting cliffs haved this blessed night as if he had three lives to rely which varied its surface. Tossed in empty space, like an on, and was willing to waste them a’ rather than endan- idle and unsubstantial feather, with a motion that agi- ger ither folk’s. Ca’ hooly, sirs, as ye, wad win an auld tated the brain at once with fear and with dizziness, he man’s blessing!—mind there’s naebody below now to retained his alertness of exertion and presence of mind;

103 The Antiquary and it was not until he was safely grounded upon the thing into his hand—Ochiltree looked at it by the torch- summit of the cliff, that he felt temporary and giddy light, and returned it—“Na, na! I never tak gowd—be- sickness. As he recovered from a sort of half swoon, he sides, Monkbarns, ye wad maybe be rueing it the morn.” cast his eyes eagerly around. The object which they Then turning to the group of fishermen and peasants— would most willingly have sought, was already in the “Now, sirs, wha will gie me a supper and some clean act of vanishing. Her white garment was just discern- pease-strae?” ible as she followed on the path which her father had “I,” “and I,” “and I,” answered many a ready voice. taken. She had lingered till she saw the last of their com- “Aweel, since sae it is, and I can only sleep in ae barn pany rescued from danger, and until she had been as- at ance, I’ll gae down with Saunders Mucklebackit—he sured by the hoarse voice of Mucklebackit, that “the has aye a soup o’ something comfortable about his beg- callant had come off wi’ unbrizzed banes, and that he ging—and, bairns, I’ll maybe live to put ilka ane o’ ye was but in a kind of dwam.” But Lovel was not aware in mind some ither night that ye hae promised me quar- that she had expressed in his fate even this degree of ters and my awmous;” and away he went with the fish- interest,—which, though nothing more than was due to erman. a stranger who had assisted her in such an hour of peril, Oldbuck laid the band of strong possession on Lovel— he would have gladly purchased by braving even more “Deil a stride ye’s go to Fairport this night, young man— imminent danger than he had that evening been exposed you must go home with me to Monkbarns. Why, man, to. The beggar she had already commanded to come to you have been a hero—a perfect Sir William Wallace, Knockwinnock that night. He made an excuse.—“Then by all accounts. Come, my good lad, take hold of my to-morrow let me see you.” arm;—I am not a prime support in such a wind—but The old man promised to obey. Oldbuck thrust some- Caxon shall help us out—Here, you old idiot, come on

104 Sir Walter Scott the other side of me.—And how the deil got you down “Not a step, not a pace, not an inch, not a shathmont, to that infernal Bessy’s-apron, as they call it? Bess, said as I may say,—the meaning of which word has puzzled they? Why, curse her, she has spread out that vile pen- many that think themselves antiquaries. I am clear we non or banner of womankind, like all the rest of her should read salmon-length for shathmont’s-length. You are sex, to allure her votaries to death and headlong ruin.” aware that the space allotted for the passage of a salmon “I have been pretty well accustomed to climbing, and through a dam, dike, or weir, by statute, is the length I have long observed fowlers practise that pass down within which a full-grown pig can turn himself round. the cliff.” Now I have a scheme to prove, that, as terrestrial ob- “But how, in the name of all that is wonderful, came jects were thus appealed to for ascertaining submarine you to discover the danger of the pettish Baronet and measurement, so it must be supposed that the produc- his far more deserving daughter?” tions of the water were established as gauges of the ex- “I saw them from the verge of the precipice.” tent of land.—Shathmont—salmont—you see the close “From the verge!—umph—And what possessed you alliance of the sounds; dropping out two h’s, and a t, dumosa pendere procul de rupe?—though dumosa is not and assuming an l, makes the whole difference—I wish the appropriate epithet—what the deil, man, tempted to heaven no antiquarian derivation had demanded ye to the verge of the craig?” heavier concessions.” “Why—I like to see the gathering and growling of a “But, my dear sir, I really must go home—I am wet coming storm—or, in your own classical language, Mr. to the skin.” Oldbuck, suave est mari magno—and so forth—but here “Shalt have my night-gown, man, and slippers, and we reach the turn to Fairport. I must wish you good- catch the antiquarian fever as men do the plague, by night.” wearing infected garments. Nay, I know what you would

105 The Antiquary be at—you are afraid to put the old bachelor to charges. But is there not the remains of that glorious chicken- pie—which, meo arbitrio, is better cold than hot—and CHAPTER NINTH 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 “Be brave,” she cried, “you yet may be our guest, Our haunted room was ever held the best. his infirm noddle went a wool-gathering after Gamelyn If, then, your valour can the sight sustain de Guardover?” Of rustling curtains and the clinking chain So saying he dragged Lovel forward, till the Palmer’s- If your courageous tongue have powers to talk, When round your bed the horrid ghost shall walk port of Monkbarns received them. Never, perhaps, had If you dare ask it why it leaves its tomb, it admitted two pedestrians more needing rest for I’ll see your sheets well air’d, and show the Room.” Monkbarns’s fatigue had been in a degree very contrary True Story. 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 THEY REACHED the room in which they had dined, and his extraordinary exertions of body. were clamorously welcomed by Miss Oldbuck. “Where’s the younger womankind?” said the Anti- quary. “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.”

106 Sir Walter Scott “Eh!—what—what’s that you say, sister?—did the girl dling each other. But hear me, my venerable sister— go out in a night like this to the Halket-head?—Good start not at the word venerable; it implies many praise- God! the misery of the night is not ended yet!” worthy qualities besides age; though that too is “But ye winna wait, Monkbarns—ye are so impera- honourable, albeit it is the last quality for which wom- tive and impatient”— ankind would wish to be honoured—But perpend my “Tittle-tattle, woman,” said the impatient and agi- words: let Lovel and me have forthwith the relics of the tated Antiquary, “where is my dear Mary?” chicken-pie, and the reversion of the port.” “Just where ye suld be yoursell, Monkbarns—up- “The chicken-pie! the port!—ou dear! brother—there stairs, and in her warm bed.” was but a wheen banes, and scarce a drap o’ the wine.” “I could have sworn it,” said Oldbuck laughing, but The Antiquary’s countenance became clouded, though obviously much relieved—“I could have sworn it;—the he was too well bred to give way, in the presence of a lazy monkey did not care if we were all drowned to- stranger, to his displeased surprise at the disappearance gether. Why did you say she went out?” of the viands on which he had reckoned with absolute “But ye wadna wait to hear out my tale, Monkbarns— certainty. But his sister understood these looks of ire. she gaed out, and she came in again with the gardener “Ou dear! Monkbarns, what’s the use of making a sae sune as she saw that nane o’ ye were clodded ower wark?” the Craig, and that Miss Wardour was safe in the chariot; “I make no wark, as ye call it, woman.” she was hame a quarter of an hour syne, for it’s now “But what’s the use o’ looking sae glum and glunch ganging ten—sair droukit was she, puir thing, sae I e’en about a pickle banes? —an ye will hae the truth, ye maun put a glass o’ sherry in her water-gruel.” ken the minister came in, worthy man—sair distressed “Right, Grizel, right—let womankind alone for cod- he was, nae doubt, about your precarious situation, as

107 The Antiquary he ca’d it (for ye ken how weel he’s gifted wi’ words), and here he wad bide till he could hear wi’ certainty O, first they eated the white puddings, how the matter was likely to gang wi’ ye a’—He said And then they eated the black, O, fine things on the duty of resignation to Providence’s And thought the gudeman unto himsell, will, worthy man! that did he.” The deil clink down wi’ that, O! Oldbuck replied, catching the same tone, “Worthy man!—he cared not how soon Monkbarns had devolved His sister hastened to silence his murmurs, by propos- on an heir-female, I’ve a notion;—and while he was oc- ing some of the relies of the dinner. He spoke of an- cupied in this Christian office of consolation against other bottle of wine, but recommended in preference a impending evil, I reckon that the chicken-pie and my glass of brandy which was really excellent. As no en- good port disappeared?” treaties could prevail on Lovel to indue the velvet night- “Dear brother, how can you speak of sic frivolities, cap and branched morning-gown of his host, Oldbuck, when you have had sic an escape from the craig?” who pretended to a little knowledge of the medical art, “Better than my supper has had from the minister’s insisted on his going to bed as soon as possible, and pro- craig, Grizzle—it’s all discussed, I suppose?” posed to despatch a messenger (the indefatigable Caxon) “Hout, Monkbarns, ye speak as if there was nae mair to Fairport early in the morning, to procure him a change meat in the house—wad ye not have had me offer the of clothes. honest man some slight refreshment after his walk frae This was the first intimation Miss Oldbuck had re- the manse?” ceived that the young stranger was to be their guest for Oldbuck half-whistled, half-hummed, the end of the the night; and such was the surprise with which she was old Scottish ditty, struck by a proposal so uncommon, that, had the

108 Sir Walter Scott superincumbent weight of her bead-dress, such as we the time, nor the rooms aired.—If I had kenn’d, Mary before described, been less preponderant, her grey locks and me might hae gaen down to the manse—Miss Beckie must have started up on end, and hurled it from its po- is aye fond to see us—(and sae is the minister, brother)— sition. But now, gude save us!”— “Lord haud a care o’ us!” exclaimed the astounded “Is there not the Green Room, Grizel?” maiden. “Troth is there, and it is in decent order too, though “What’s the matter now, Grizel?” naebody has sleepit there since Dr. Heavysterne, and”— “Wad ye but just speak a moment, Monkbarns?” “And what?” “Speak!—what should I speak about? I want to get “And what! I am sure ye ken yoursell what a night he to my bed—and this poor young fellow—let a bed be had—ye wadna expose the young gentleman to the like made ready for him instantly.” o’ that, wad ye?” “A bed?—The Lord preserve us!” again ejaculated Lovel interfered upon hearing this altercation, and pro- Grizel. tested he would far rather walk home than put them to “Why, what’s the matter now?—are there not beds the least inconvenience—that the exercise would be of and rooms enough in the house?—was it not an ancient service to him—that he knew the road perfectly, by night hospitium, in which, I am warranted to say, beds were or day, to Fairport—that the storm was abating, and so nightly made down for a score of pilgrims?” forth—adding all that civility could suggest as an excuse “O dear, Monkbarns! wha kens what they might do for escaping from a hospitality which seemed more in- lang syne?—but in our time—beds—ay, troth, there’s convenient to his host than he could possibly have antici- beds enow sic as they are—and rooms enow too—but pated. But the howling of the wind, and the pattering of ye ken yoursell the beds haena been sleepit in, Lord kens the rain against the windows, with his knowledge of the

109 The Antiquary preceding fatigues of the evening, must have prohibited “What! a haunted apartment, I suppose?” Oldbuck, even had he entertained less regard for his young “To be sure, to be sure—every mansion in this country friend than he really felt, from permitting him to depart. of the slightest antiquity has its ghosts and its haunted Besides, he was piqued in honour to show that he him- chamber, and you must not suppose us worse off than self was not governed by womankind—“Sit ye down, sit our neighbours. They are going, indeed, somewhat out ye down, sit ye down, man,” he reiterated;—“an ye part of fashion. I have seen the day, when if you had doubted so, I would I might never draw a cork again, and here the reality of a ghost in an old manor-house you ran the comes out one from a prime bottle of—strong ale —right risk of being made a ghost yourself, as Hamlet says.— anno domini—none of your Wassia Quassia decoctions, Yes, if you had challenged the existence of Redcowl in but brewed of Monkbarns barley—John of the Girnel the Castle of Glenstirym, old Sir Peter Pepperbrand would never drew a better flagon to entertain a wandering min- have had ye out to his court-yard, made you betake your- strel, or palmer, with the freshest news from Palestine.— self to your weapon, and if your trick of fence were not And to remove from your mind the slightest wish to de- the better, would have sticked you like a paddock, on his part, know, that if you do so, your character as a gallant own baronial midden-stead. I once narrowly escaped such knight is gone for ever. Why, ’tis an adventure, man, to an affray—but I humbled myself, and apologised to sleep in the Green Room at Monkbarns.—Sister, pray see Redcowl; for, even in my younger days, I was no friend to it got ready—And, although the bold adventurer, the monomachia, or duel, and would rather walk with Sir Heavysterne, dree’d pain and dolour in that charmed Priest than with Sir Knight—I care not who knows so apartment, it is no reason why a gallant knight like you, much of my valour. Thank God, I am old now, and can nearly twice as tall, and not half so heavy, should not indulge my irritabilities without the necessity of support- encounter and break the spell.” ing them by cold steel.”

110 Sir Walter Scott Here Miss Oldbuck re-entered, with a singularly sage paper—Monkbarns there kens weel what paper it was, expression of countenance.—“Mr. Lovel’s bed’s ready, but I’se warrant he’ll no help me out wi’ my tale—but brother—clean sheets—weel aired —a spunk of fire in it was a paper of great significance to the plea, and we the chimney—I am sure, Mr. Lovel,” (addressing him), were to be waured for want o’t. Aweel, the cause was to “it’s no for the trouble—and I hope you will have a good come on before the fifteen—in presence, as they ca’t— night’s rest—But”— and auld Rab Tull, the town-clerk, he cam ower to make “You are resolved,” said the Antiquary, “to do what a last search for the paper that was wanting, before our you can to prevent it.” gudesire gaed into Edinburgh to look after his plea—so “Me?—I am sure I have said naething, Monkbarns.” there was little time to come and gang on. He was but a “My dear madam,” said Lovel, “allow me to ask you doited snuffy body, Rab, as I’ve heard—but then he was the meaning of your obliging anxiety on my account.” the town-clerk of Fairport, and the Monkbarns heritors “Ou, Monkbarns does not like to hear of it—but he aye employed him on account of their connection wi’ kens himsell that the room has an ill name. It’s weel the burgh, ye ken.” minded that it was there auld Rab Tull the town-clerk “Sister Grizel, this is abominable,” interrupted was sleeping when he had that marvellous communica- Oldbuck; “I vow to Heaven ye might have raised the tion about the grand law-plea between us and the feuars ghosts of every abbot of Trotcosey, since the days of at the Mussel-craig. —It had cost a hantle siller, Mr. Waldimir, in the time you have been detailing the intro- Lovel; for law-pleas were no carried on without siller duction to this single spectre.—Learn to be succinct in lang syne mair than they are now—and the Monkbarns your narrative.—Imitate the concise style of old Aubrey, of that day—our gudesire, Mr. Lovel, as I said before— an experienced ghost-seer, who entered his memoranda was like to be waured afore the Session for want of a on these subjects in a terse business-like manner; exem-

111 The Antiquary pli gratia—At Cirencester, 5th March, 1670, was an ap- out of his throat—we never were glass-breakers in this parition.—Being demanded whether good spirit or bad, house, Mr. Lovel, but the body bad got sic a trick of made no answer, but instantly disappeared with a curi- sippling and tippling wi’ the bailies and deacons when ous perfume, and a melodious twang’—Vide his Miscel- they met (which was amaist ilka night) concerning the lanies, p. eighteen, as well as I can remember, and near common gude o’ the burgh, that he couldna weel sleep the middle of the page.” without it—But his punch he gat, and to bed he gaed; “O, Monkbarns, man! do ye think everybody is as and in the middle of the night he got a fearfu’ waken- book-learned as yoursell?—But ye like to gar folk look ing!—he was never just himsell after it, and he was like fools—ye can do that to Sir Arthur, and the minis- strucken wi’ the dead palsy that very day four years. ter his very sell.” He thought, Mr. Lovel, that he heard the curtains o’ his “Nature has been beforehand with me, Grizel, in both bed fissil, and out he lookit, fancying, puir man, it might these instances, and in another which shall be name- hae been the cat. —But he saw—God hae a care o’ us! it less—but take a glass of ale, Grizel, and proceed with gars my flesh aye creep, though I hae tauld the story your story, for it waxes late.” twenty times—he saw a weel-fa’ard auld gentleman “Jenny’s just warming your bed, Monkbarns, and ye standing by his bedside, in the moonlight, in a queer- maun e’en wait till she’s done.—Weel, I was at the search fashioned dress, wi’ mony a button and band-string that our gudesire, Monkbarns that then was, made wi’ about it, and that part o’ his garments which it does auld Rab Tull’s assistance;—but ne’er-be-licket could not become a leddy to particulareeze, was baith side and they find that was to their purpose. Aud sae, after they wide, and as mony plies o’t as of ony Hamburgh had touzled out mony a leather poke-full o’ papers, the skipper’s. —He had a beard too, and whiskers turned town-clerk had his drap punch at e’en to wash the dust upwards on his upper-lip, as lang as baudrons’—and

112 Sir Walter Scott mony mair particulars there were that Rab Tull tauld “Weel, weel, carta be it then, but they ca’d it carter o’, but they are forgotten now—it’s an auld story. Aweel, that tell’d me the story. It cried aye carta, if sae be that Rab was a just-living man for a country writer—and he it was carta, and made a sign to Rab to follow it. Rab was less feared than maybe might just hae been ex- Tull keepit a Highland heart, and banged out o’ bed, pected; and he asked in the name o’ goodness what the and till some of his readiest claes—and he did follow apparition wanted—and the spirit answered in an un- the thing up stairs and down stairs to the place we ca’ known tongue. Then Rab said he tried him wi’ Erse, for the high dow-cot—(a sort of a little tower in the corner he cam in his youth frae the braes of Glenlivat —but it of the auld house, where there was a Tickle o’ useless wadna do. Aweel, in this strait, he bethought him of boxes and trunks)—and there the ghaist gae Rab a kick the twa or three words o’ Latin that he used in making wi’ the tae foot, and a kick wi’ the tother, to that very out the town’s deeds, and he had nae sooner tried the auld east-country tabernacle of a cabinet that my spirit wi’ that, than out cam sic a blatter o’ Latin about brother has standing beside his library table, and then his lugs, that poor Rab Tull, wha was nae great scholar, disappeared like a fuff o’ tobacco, leaving Rab in a very was clean overwhelmed. Od, but he was a bauld body, pitiful condition.” and he minded the Latin name for the deed that he was “Tenues secessit in auras,” quoth Oldbuck. “Marry, sir, wanting. It was something about a cart, I fancy, for the mansit odor—But, sure enough, the deed was there found ghaist cried aye, Carter, carter—” in a drawer of this forgotten repository, which contained “Carta, you transformer of languages!” cried many other curious old papers, now properly labelled Oldbuck;—“if my ancestor had learned no other lan- and arranged, and which seemed to have belonged to guage in the other world, at least he would not forget my ancestor, the first possessor of Monkbarns. The deed, the Latinity for which he was so famous while in this.” thus strangely recovered, was the original Charter of

113 The Antiquary Erection of the Abbey, Abbey Lands, and so forth, of great-great-great-grandfather—it’s a shame to the En- Trotcosey, comprehending Monkbarns and others, into glish language that, we have not a less clumsy way of a Lordship of Regality in favour of the first Earl of expressing a relationship of which we have occasion to Glengibber, a favourite of James the Sixth. It is sub- think and speak so frequently. He was a foreigner, and scribed by the King at Westminster, the seventeenth day wore his national dress, of which tradition had preserved of January, A. D. one thousand six hundred and an accurate description; and indeed there is a print of twelve—thirteen. It’s not worth while to repeat the wit- him, supposed to be by Reginald Elstracke, pulling the nesses’ names.” press with his own hand, as it works off the sheets of “I would rather,” said Lovel with awakened curiosity, his scarce edition of the Augsburg Confession. He was a “I would rather hear your opinion of the way in which chemist as well as a good mechanic, and either of these the deed was discovered.” qualities in this country was at that time sufficient to “Why, if I wanted a patron for my legend, I could constitute a white witch at least. This superstitious old find no less a one than Saint Augustine, who tells the writer had heard all this, and probably believed it, and story of a deceased person appearing to his son, when in his sleep the image and idea of my ancestor recalled sued for a debt which had been paid, and directing him that of his cabinet, which, with the grateful attention where, to find the discharge.* to antiquities and the memory of our ancestors not un- But I rather opine with Lord Bacon, who says that usually met with, had been pushed into the pigeon-house imagination is much akin to miracle-working faith. to be out of the way—Add a quantum sufficit of exag- There was always some idle story of the room being geration, and you have a key to the whole mystery.” haunted by the spirit of Aldobrand Oldenbuck, my “O brother! brother! but Dr. Heavysterne, brother— whose sleep was so sore broken, that he declared he *Note D. Mr. Rutherford’s dream. 114 Sir Walter Scott wadna pass another night in the Green Room to get all stick of massive silver and antique form, which, he ob- Monkbarns, so that Mary and I were forced to yield served, was wrought out of the silver found in the mines our”— of the Harz mountains, and had been the property of “Why, Grizel, the doctor is a good, honest, pudding- the very personage who had supplied them with a sub- headed German, of much merit in his own way, but fond ject for conversation. And having so said, he led the way of the mystical, like many of his countrymen. You and through many a dusky and winding passage, now as- he had a traffic the whole evening in which you received cending, and anon descending again, until he came to tales of Mesmer, Shropfer, Cagliostro, and other mod- the apartment destined for his young guest. ern pretenders to the mystery of raising spirits, discovering hidden treasure, and so forth, in exchange for your legends of the green bedchamber;—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 everything is now ready. Permit me to light you to your apartment, Mr. Lovel— I am sure you have need of rest—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 bedroom candle-

115 The Antiquary course, on account of the childish nonsense that Grizel was telling you, but owing to circumstances of an early CHAPTER TENTH and unhappy attachment. It is at such moments as these, Mr. Lovel, that we feel the changes of time. The same objects are before us—those inanimate things which we When midnight o’er the moonless skies have gazed on in wayward infancy and impetuous youth, Her pall of transient death has spread, When mortals sleep, when spectres rise, in anxious and scheming manhood—they are perma- And none are wakeful but the dead; nent and the same; but when we look upon them in cold No bloodless shape my way pursues, unfeeling old age, can we, changed in our temper, our No sheeted ghost my couch annoys, Visions more sad my fancy views,— pursuits, our feelings—changed in our form, our limbs, Visions of long departed joys. and our strength,—can we be ourselves called the same? or do we not rather look back with a sort of wonder W. R. Spenser. upon our former selves, as being separate and distinct from what we now are? The philosopher who appealed from Philip inflamed with wine to Philip in his hours of WHEN THEY REACHED the Green Room, as it was called, Oldbuck placed the candle on the toilet table, before a sobriety, did not choose a judge so different, as if he had huge mirror with a black japanned frame, surrounded appealed from Philip in his youth to Philip in his old by dressing-boxes of the same, and looked around him age. I cannot but be touched with the feeling so beauti- with something of a disturbed expression of counte- fully expressed in a poem which I have heard repeated:* nance. “I am seldom in this apartment,” he said, “and never without yielding to a melancholy feeling—not, of *Probably Wordsworth’s Lyrical Ballads had not as yet been published. 116 Sir Walter Scott The fire blazed cheerfully. Mrs. Grizel’s attention had My eyes are dim with childish tears, left some fresh wood, should he choose to continue it, My heart is idly stirred, and the apartment had a comfortable, though not a For the same sound is in my ears lively appearance. It was hung with tapestry, which the Which in those days I heard. looms of Arras had produced in the sixteenth century, and which the learned typographer, so often mentioned, Thus fares it still in our decay; had brought with him as a sample of the arts of the And yet the wiser mind Continent. The subject was a hunting-piece; and as the Mourns less for what time takes away, leafy boughs of the forest-trees, branching over the tap- Than what he leaves behind. estry, formed the predominant colour, the apartment had thence acquired its name of the Green Chamber. Well, time cures every wound, and though the scar Grim figures in the old Flemish dress, with slashed dou- may remain and occasionally ache, yet the earliest agony blets covered with ribbands, short cloaks, and trunk- of its recent infliction is felt no more.”—So saying, he hose, were engaged in holding grey-hounds, or stag- shook Lovel cordially by the hand, wished him good- hounds, in the leash, or cheering them upon the objects night, and took his leave. of their game. Others, with boar-spears, swords, and Step after step Lovel could trace his host’s retreat along old-fashioned guns, were attacking stags or boars whom the various passages, and each door which he closed be- they had brought to bay. The branches of the woven hind him fell with a sound more distant and dead. The forest were crowded with fowls of various kinds, each guest, thus separated from the living world, took up the depicted with its proper plumage. It seemed as if the candle and surveyed the apartment. prolific and rich invention of old Chaucer had animated

117 The Antiquary the Flemish artist with its profusion, and Oldbuck had And many squirrels that ysate accordingly caused the following verses, from that an- High on the trees and nuts ate. cient and excellent poet, to be embroidered in Gothic letters, on a sort of border which he had added to the The bed was of a dark and faded green, wrought to tapestry:— correspond with the tapestry, but by a more modern and less skilful hand. The large and heavy stuff-bot- Lo! here be oakis grete, streight as a line, tomed chairs, with black ebony backs, were embroidered Under the which the grass, so fresh of line, after the same pattern, and a lofty mirror, over the an- Be’th newly sprung—at eight foot or nine. tique chimney-piece, corresponded in its mounting with Everich tree well from his fellow grew, that on the old-fashioned toilet. With branches broad laden with leaves new, “I have heard,” muttered Lovel, as he took a cursory That sprongen out against the sonne sheene, view of the room and its furniture, “that ghosts often Some golden red and some a glad bright green. chose the best room in the mansion to which they attached themselves; and I cannot disapprove of the taste And in another canton was the following similar leg- of the disembodied printer of the Augsburg Confession.” end:— But he found it so difficult to fix his mind upon the stories which had been told him of an apartment with And many an hart and many an hind, which they seemed so singularly to correspond, that he Was both before me, and behind. almost regretted the absence of those agitated feelings, Of fawns, sownders, bucks and does, half fear half curiosity, which sympathise with the old Was full the wood and many roes, legends of awe and wonder, from which the anxious re-

118 Sir Walter Scott ality of his own hopeless passion at present detached whether her preserver had not lost the life which he had him. For he now only felt emotions like those expressed exposed for her so freely. Surely gratitude, at least, called in the lines,— for some little interest in his fate—But no—she could not be selfish or unjust —it was no part of her nature. Ah! cruel maid, how hast thou changed She only desired to shut the door against hope, and, even The temper of my mind! in compassion to him, to extinguish a passion which she My heart, by thee from all estranged, could never return. Becomes like thee unkind. But this lover-like mode of reasoning was not likely to reconcile him to his fate, since the more amiable his He endeavoured to conjure up something like the feel- imagination presented Miss Wardour, the more incon- ings which would, at another time, have been congenial solable he felt he should be rendered by the extinction to his situation, but his heart had no room for these va- of his hopes. He was, indeed, conscious of possessing garies of imagination. The recollection of Miss Wardour, the power of removing her prejudices on some points; determined not to acknowledge him when compelled to but, even in extremity, he determined to keep the origi- endure his society, and evincing her purpose to escape nal determination which he had formed, of ascertain- from it, would have alone occupied his imagination ex- ing that she desired an explanation, ere he intruded one clusively. But with this were united recollections more upon her. And, turn the matter as he would, he could agitating if less painful,—her hair-breadth escape—the not regard his suit as desperate. There was something fortunate assistance which he had been able to render of embarrassment as well as of grave surprise in her her—Yet what was his requital? She left the cliff while look when Oldbuck presented him—and, perhaps, upon his fate was yet doubtful—while it was uncertain second thoughts, the one was assumed to cover the other.

119 The Antiquary He would not relinquish a pursuit which had already I will bid adieu to these northern shores, and to her who cost him such pains. Plans, suiting the romantic temper is as cold and relentless as her climate.” When he had of the brain that entertained them, chased each other for some time brooded over this sturdy resolution, ex- through his head, thick and irregular as the motes of hausted nature at length gave way, and, despite of wrath, the sun-beam, and, long after he had laid himself to doubt, and anxiety, he sank into slumber. rest, continued to prevent the repose which he greatly It is seldom that sleep, after such violent agitation, is needed. Then, wearied by the uncertainty and difficul- either sound or refreshing. Lovel’s was disturbed by a ties with which each scheme appeared to be attended, thousand baseless and confused visions. He was a bird— he bent up his mind to the strong effort of shaking off he was a fish—or he flew like the one, and swam like the his love, “like dew-drops from the lion’s mane,” and re- other,—qualities which would have been very essential suming those studies and that career of life which his to his safety a few hours before. Then Miss Wardour unrequited affection had so long and so fruitlessly in- was a syren, or a bird of Paradise; her father a triton, or terrupted. In this last resolution he endeavoured to for- a sea-gull; and Oldbuck alternately a porpoise and a tify himself by every argument which pride, as well as cormorant. These agreeable imaginations were varied reason, could suggest. “She shall not suppose,” he said, by all the usual vagaries of a feverish dream;—the air “that, presuming on an accidental service to her or to refused to bear the visionary, the water seemed to burn her father, I am desirous to intrude myself upon that him—the rocks felt like down pillows as he was dashed notice, to which, personally, she considered me as hav- against them—whatever he undertook, failed in some ing no title. I will see her no more. I will return to the strange and unexpected manner—and whatever at- land which, if it affords none fairer, has at least many tracted his attention, underwent, as he attempted to as fair, and less haughty than Miss Wardour. Tomorrow investigate it, some wild and wonderful metamorpho-

120 Sir Walter Scott sis, while his mind continued all the while in some de- much old-fashioned faith left among this shrewd and gree conscious of the delusion, from which it in vain sceptical generation, as to suppose that what follows was struggled to free itself by awaking;—feverish symptoms an impression conveyed rather by the eye than by the all, with which those who are haunted by the night-hag, imagination, I do not impugn their doctrine. He was, whom the learned call Ephialtes, are but too well ac- then, or imagined himself, broad awake in the Green quainted. At length these crude phantasmata arranged Chamber, gazing upon the flickering and occasional themselves into something more regular, if indeed the flame which the unconsumed remnants of the faggots imagination of Lovel, after he awoke (for it was by no sent forth, as, one by one, they fell down upon the red means the faculty in which his mind was least rich), did embers, into which the principal part of the boughs to not gradually, insensibly, and unintentionally, arrange which they belonged had crumbled away. Insensibly the in better order the scene of which his sleep presented, it legend of Aldobrand Oldenbuck, and his mysterious may be, a less distinct outline. Or it is possible that his visits to the inmates of the chamber, awoke in his mind, feverish agitation may have assisted him in forming the and with it, as we often feel in dreams, an anxious and vision. fearful expectation, which seldom fails instantly to sum- Leaving this discussion to the learned, we will say, that mon up before our mind’s eye the object of our fear. after a succession of wild images, such as we have above Brighter sparkles of light flashed from the chimney, with described, our hero, for such we must acknowledge him, such intense brilliancy as to enlighten all the room. The so far regained a consciousness of locality as to remem- tapestry waved wildly on the wall, till its dusky forms ber where he was, and the whole furniture of the Green seemed to become animated. The hunters blew their Chamber was depicted to his slumbering eye. And here, horns—the stag seemed to fly, the boar to resist, and once more, let me protest, that if there should be so the hounds to assail the one and pursue the other; the

121 The Antiquary cry of deer, mangled by throttling dogs—the shouts of ages in the arras disappeared from the imagination of men, and the clatter of horses’ hoofs, seemed at once to the dreamer, which was now exclusively bent on the surround him—while every group pursued, with all the single figure before him. Lovel strove to interrogate this fury of the chase, the employment in which the artist awful person in the form of exorcism proper for the oc- had represented them as engaged. Lovel looked on this casion; but his tongue, as is usual in frightful dreams, strange scene devoid of wonder (which seldom intrudes refused its office, and clung, palsied, to the roof of his itself upon the sleeping fancy), but with an anxious sen- mouth. Aldobrand held up his finger, as if to impose sation of awful fear. At length an individual figure silence upon the guest who had intruded on his apart- among the tissued huntsmen, as he gazed upon them ment, and began deliberately to unclasp the venerable, more fixedly, seemed to leave the arras and to approach volume which occupied his left hand. When it was un- the bed of the slumberer. As he drew near, his figure folded, he turned over the leaves hastily for a short space, appeared to alter. His bugle-horn became a brazen and then raising his figure to its full dimensions, and clasped volume; his hunting-cap changed to such a furred holding the book aloft in his left hand, pointed to a pas- head-gear as graces the burgomasters of Rembrandt; sage in the page which he thus displayed. Although the his Flemish garb remained but his features, no longer language was unknown to our dreamer, his eye and at- agitated with the fury of the chase, were changed to tention were both strongly caught by the line which the such a state of awful and stern composure, as might figure seemed thus to press upon his notice, the words best portray the first proprietor of Monkbarns, such as of which appeared to blaze with a supernatural light, he had been described to Lovel by his descendants in and remained riveted upon has memory. As the vision the course of the preceding evening. As this metamor- shut his volume, a strain of delightful music seemed to phosis took place, the hubbub among the other person- fill the apartment—Lovel started, and became com-

122 Sir Walter Scott pletely awake. The music, however, was still in his ears, half-open, and from that quarter he heard again the nor ceased till he could distinctly follow the measure of same music which had probably broken short his dream. an old Scottish tune. With its visionary character it had lost much of its He sate up in bed, and endeavoured to clear his brain charms—it was now nothing more than an air on the of the phantoms which had disturbed it during this harpsichord, tolerably well performed—such is the ca- weary night. The beams of the morning sun streamed price of imagination as affecting the fine arts. A female through the half-closed shutters, and admitted a dis- voice sung, with some taste and great simplicity, some- tinct light into the apartment. He looked round upon thing between a song and a hymn, in words to the fol- the hangings,—but the mixed groups of silken and wor- lowing effect:— sted huntsmen were as stationary as tenter-hooks could make them, and only trembled slightly as the early “Why sitt’st thou by that ruin’d hill, breeze, which found its way through an open crevice of Thou aged carle so stern and grey? the latticed window, glided along their surface. Lovel Dost thou its former pride recall, leapt out of bed, and, wrapping himself in a morning- Or ponder how it passed away? gown, that had been considerately laid by his bedside, stepped towards the window, which commanded a view “Know’st thou not me!” the Deep Voice cried, of the sea, the roar of whose billows announced it still “So long enjoyed, so oft misused— disquieted by the storm of the preceding evening, al- Alternate, in thy fickle pride, though the morning was fair and serene. The window Desired, neglected, and accused? of a turret, which projected at an angle with the wall, and thus came to be very near Lovel’s apartment, was “Before my breath, like, blazing flax,

123 The Antiquary Man and his marvels pass away; frae Fairport this morning, for that ye had on yesterday And changing empires wane and wax, is scantly feasibly dry, though it’s been a’ night at the Are founded, flourish and decay. kitchen fire; and I hae cleaned your shoon. I doubt ye’ll no be wanting me to tie your hair, for” (with a gentle “Redeem mine hours—the space is brief— sigh) “a’ the young gentlemen wear crops now; but I While in my glass the sand-grains shiver, hae the curling tangs here to gie it a bit turn ower the And measureless thy joy or grief, brow, if ye like, before ye gae down to the leddies.” When Time and thou shalt part for ever!” Lovel, who was by this time once more on his legs, declined the old man’s professional offices, but accom- While the verses were yet singing, Lovel had returned panied the refusal with such a douceur as completely to his bed; the train of ideas which they awakened was sweetened Caxon’s mortification. romantic and pleasing, such as his soul delighted in, and, “It’s a pity he disna get his hair tied and pouthered,” willingly adjourning till more broad day the doubtful said the ancient friseur, when he had got once more into task of determining on his future line of conduct, he the kitchen, in which, on one pretence or other, he spent abandoned himself to the pleasing languor inspired by three parts of his idle time—that is to say, of his whole the music, and fell into a sound and refreshing sleep, time—“it’s a great pity, for he’s a comely young gentle- from which he was only awakened at a late hour by old man.” Caxon, who came creeping into the room to render the “Hout awa, ye auld gowk,” said Jenny Rintherout, offices of a valet-de-chambre. “would ye creesh his bonny brown hair wi’ your nasty “I have brushed your coat, sir,” said the old man, when ulyie, and then moust it like the auld minister’s wig? he perceived Lovel was awake; “the callant brought it Ye’ll be for your breakfast, I’se warrant?—hae, there’s

124 Sir Walter Scott a soup parritch for ye—it will set ye better tae be slaistering at them and the lapper-milk than meddling wi’ Mr. Lovel’s head—ye wad spoil the maist natural CHAPTER ELEVENTH and beautifaest head o’ hair in a’ Fairport, baith burgh and county.” The poor barber sighed over the disrespect into which Sometimes he thinks that Heaven this pageant sent, And ordered all the pageants as they went; his art had so universally fallen, but Jenny was a person Sometimes that only ’twas wild Fancy’s play,— too important to offend by contradiction; so, sitting The loose and scattered relics of the day. quietly down in the kitchen, he digested at once his hu- miliation, and the contents of a bicker which held a Scotch pint of substantial oatmeal porridge. 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 cider, perry, and other excisable commodities. Lovel, who was seduced to taste it, with difficulty refrained from pro- nouncing it detestable, but did refrain, as he saw he

125 The Antiquary should otherwise give great offence to his host, who had knowing smile, or what was meant to be one, “ye’ll not the liquor annually prepared with peculiar care, accord- allow of ony inconvenience, out of civility to us.” ing to the approved recipe bequeathed to him by the so- “Really, madam,” replied Lovel, “I had no disturbance; often mentioned Aldobrand Oldenbuck. The hospital- for I cannot term such the music with which some kind ity of the ladies offered Lovel a breakfast more suited fairy favoured me.” to modern taste, and while he was engaged in partaking “I doubted Mary wad waken you wi’ her skreighing; she of it, he was assailed by indirect inquiries concerning dinna ken I had left open a chink of your window, for, forbye the manner in which he had passed the night. the ghaist, the Green Room disna vent weel in a high “We canna compliment Mr. Lovel on his looks this wind—But I am judging ye heard mair than Mary’s lilts morning, brother—but he winna condescend on any yestreen. Weel, men are hardy creatures—they can gae ground of disturbance he has had in the night time. I through wi’ a’ thing. I am sure, had I been to undergo ony am certain he looks very pale, and when he came here thing of that nature,—that’s to say that’s beyond nature— he was as fresh as a rose.” I would hae skreigh’d out at once, and raised the house, be “Why, sister, consider this rose of yours has been the consequence what liket—and, I dare say, the minister knocked about by sea and wind all yesterday evening, wad hae done as mickle, and sae I hae tauld him,—I ken as if he had been a bunch of kelp or tangle, and how the naebody but my brother, Monkbarns himsell, wad gae devil would you have him retain his colour?” through the like o’t, if, indeed, it binna you, Mr. Lovel.” “I certainly do still feel somewhat fatigued,” said “A man of Mr. Oldbuck’s learning, madam,” answered Lovel, “notwithstanding the excellent accommodations the questioned party, “would not be exposed to the in- with which your hospitality so amply supplied me.” convenience sustained by the Highland gentleman you “Ah, sir!” said Miss Oldbuck looking at him with a mentioned last night.”

126 Sir Walter Scott “Ay, ay—ye understand now where the difficulty lies. you think that a spirit, though he be formed of air, can Language? he has ways o’ his ain wad banish a’ thae be expelled by a receipt against wind?—This wise Grizel sort o’ worricows as far as the hindermost parts of of mine, Mr. Lovel, recollects (with what accuracy you Gideon” (meaning possibly Midian), “as Mr. Blattergowl may judge) a charm which I once mentioned to her, and says—only ane widna be uncivil to ane’s forbear, though which, happening to hit her superstitious noddle, she he be a ghaist. I am sure I will try that receipt of yours, remembers better than anything tending to a useful brother, that ye showed me in a book, if onybody is to purpose, I may chance to have said for this ten years. sleep in that room again, though I think, in Christian But many an old woman besides herself”— charity, ye should rather fit up the matted-room —it’s “Auld woman, Monkbarns!” said Miss Oldbuck, roused a wee damp and dark, to be sure, but then we hae sae something above her usual submissive tone; “ye really seldom occasion for a spare bed.” are less than civil to me.” “No, no, sister;—dampness and darkness are worse “Not less than just, Grizel: however, I include in the than spectres—ours are spirits of light, and I would same class many a sounding name, from Jamblichus rather have you try the spell.” down to Aubrey, who have wasted their time in devising “I will do that blythely, Monkbarns, an I had the in- imaginary remedies for non-existing diseases.—But I gredients, as my cookery book ca’s them—There was hope, my young friend, that, charmed or uncharmed— vervain and dill—I mind that—Davie Dibble will ken secured by the potency of Hypericon, about them, though, maybe, he’ll gie them Latin names—and Peppercorn, we hae walth o’ them, for”— With vervain and with dill, “Hypericon, thou foolish woman!” thundered That hinder witches of their will, Oldbuck; “d’ye suppose you’re making a haggis—or do

127 The Antiquary or left disarmed and defenceless to the inroads of the “Well, then,” answered Lovel, whose motions were re- invisible world, you will give another night to the ter- ally undetermined at the moment, “you shall not con- rors of the haunted apartment, and another day to your nect the recollection of my name with so churlish a par- faithful and feal friends.” ticle. I must soon think of leaving Fairport, I am afraid “I heartily wish I could, but”— —and I will, since you are good enough to wish it, take “Nay, but me no buts—I have set my heart upon it.” this opportunity of spending another day here.” “I am greatly obliged, my dear sir, but”— “And you shall be rewarded, my boy. First, you shall “Look ye there, now—but again!—I hate but; I know see John o’ the Girnel’s grave, and then we’ll walk gen- no form of expression in which he can appear, that is tly along the sands, the state of the tide being first as- amiable, excepting as a butt of sack. But is to me a more certained (for we will have no more Peter Wilkins’ ad- detestable combination of letters than no itself. No is a ventures, no more Glum and Gawrie work), as far as surly, honest fellow—speaks his mind rough and round Knockwinnock Castle, and inquire after the old knight at once.But is a sneaking, evasive, half-bred, exceptuous and my fair foe—which will but be barely civil, and sort of a conjunction, which comes to pull away the cup then”— just when it is at your lips— “I beg pardon, my dear sir; but, perhaps, you had better adjourn your visit till to-morrow—I am a stranger, —it does allay you know.” The good precedent—fie upon but yet! “And are, therefore, the more bound to show civility, I But yet is as a jailor to bring forth should suppose. But I beg your pardon for mentioning Some monstrous malefactor.” a word that perhaps belongs only to a collector of antiquities—I am one of the old school,

128 Sir Walter Scott the defenders of the authenticity;—the controversy When courtiers galloped o’er four counties began in smooth, oily, lady-like terms, but is now wax- The ball’s fair partner to behold, ing more sour and eager as we get on—it already par- And humbly hope she caught no cold.” takes somewhat of old Scaliger’s style. I fear the rogue will get some scent of that story of Ochiltree’s—but at “Why, if—if—if you thought it would be expected— worst, I have a hard repartee for him on the affair of but I believe I had better stay.” the abstracted Antigonus—I will show you his last “Nay, nay, my good friend, I am not so old-fashioned epistle and the scroll of my answer—egad, it is a trim- as to press you to what is disagreeable, neither—it is mer!” sufficient that I see there is some remora, some cause of So saying, the Antiquary opened a drawer, and began delay, some mid impediment, which I have no title to rummaging among a quantity of miscellaneous papers, inquire into. Or you are still somewhat tired, perhaps;— ancient and modern. But it was the misfortune of this I warrant I find means to entertain your intellects with- learned gentleman, as it may be that of many learned out fatiguing your limbs—I am no friend to violent ex- and unlearned, that he frequently experienced, on such ertion myself—a walk in the garden once a-day is exer- occasions, what Harlequin calls l’embarras des richesses; cise, enough for any thinking being—none but a fool or in other words, the abundance of his collection often a fox-hunter would require more. Well, what shall we prevented him from finding the article he sought for. set about?—my Essay on Castrametation—but I have “Curse the papers!—I believe,” said Oldbuck, as he that in petto for our afternoon cordial; —or I will show shuffled them to and fro—“I believe they make them- you the controversy upon Ossian’s Poems between Mac- selves wings like grasshoppers, and fly away bodily— Cribb and me. I hold with the acute Orcadian—he with but here, in the meanwhile, look at that little treasure.”

129 The Antiquary So saying, he put into his hand a case made of oak, Lovel, and respect the honourable occupation in which fenced at the corner with silver roses and studs— it presents him, as labouring personally at the press for ”Pr’ythee, undo this button,” said he, as he observed the diffusion of Christian and political knowledge.—And Lovel fumbling at the clasp. He did so,—the lid opened, see here his favourite motto, expressive of his indepen- and discovered a thin quarto, curiously bound in black dence and self-reliance, which scorned to owe anything shagreen—“There, Mr. Lovel—there is the work I men- to patronage that was not earned by desert—expres- tioned to you last night—the rare quarto of the sive also of that firmness of mind and tenacity of pur- Augsburg Confession, the foundation at once and the pose recommended by Horace. He was indeed a man bulwark of the Reformation drawn up by the learned who would have stood firm, had his whole printing- and venerable Melancthon, defended by the Elector of house, presses, fonts, forms, great and small pica, been Saxony, and the other valiant hearts who stood up for shivered to pieces around him—Read, I say, his motto, their faith, even against the front of a powerful and vic- —for each printer had his motto, or device, when that torious emperor, and imprinted by the scarcely less ven- illustrious art was first practised. My ancestor’s was erable and praiseworthy Aldobrand Oldenbuck, my expressed, as you see, in the Teutonic phrase, Kunst happy progenitor, during the yet more tyrannical at- macht Gunst—that is, skill, or prudence, in availing our- tempts of Philip II. to suppress at once civil and reli- selves of our natural talents and advantages, will com- gious liberty. Yes, sir —for printing this work, that emi- pel favour and patronage, even where it is withheld from nent man was expelled from his ungrateful country, and prejudice or ignorance.” driven to establish his household gods even here at “And that,” said Lovel, after a moment’s thoughtful Monkbarns, among the ruins of papal superstition and silence—“that, then, is the meaning of these German domination. —Look upon his venerable effigies, Mr. words?”

130 Sir Walter Scott “Unquestionably. You perceive the appropriate appli- his master’s daughter, called Bertha—they broke rings, cation to a consciousness of inward worth, and of emi- or went through some idiotical ceremony, as is usual on nence in a useful and honourable art.—Each printer in such idle occasions as the plighting of a true-love troth, those days, as I have already informed you, had his de- and Aldobrand set out on his journey through Germany, vice, his impresa, as I may call it, in the same manner as as became an honest hand-werker; for such was the cus- the doughty chivalry of the age, who frequented tilt tom of mechanics at that time, to make a tour through and tournament. My ancestor boasted as much in his, the empire, and work at their trade for a time in each of as if he had displayed it over a conquered field of battle, the most eminent towns, before they finally settled them- though it betokened the diffusion of knowledge, not the selves for life. It was a wise custom; for, as such travel- effusion of blood. And yet there is a family tradition lers were received like brethren in each town by those of which affirms him to have chosen it from a more ro- their own handicraft, they were sure, in every case, to mantic circumstance.” have the means either of gaining or communicating “And what is that said to have been, my good sir?” knowledge. When my ancestor returned to Nuremburg, inquired his young friend. he is said to have found his old master newly dead, and “Why, it rather encroaches on my respected two or three gallant young suitors, some of them half- predecessor’s fame for prudence and wisdom—Sed semel starved sprigs of nobility forsooth, in pursuit of the insanivimus omnes—everybody has played the fool in Yung-fraw Bertha, whose father was understood to have their turn. It is said, my ancestor, during his appren- bequeathed her a dowry which might weigh against six- ticeship with the descendant of old Faust, whom popu- teen armorial quarters. But Bertha, not a bad sample lar tradition hath sent to the devil under the name of of womankind, had made a vow she would only marry Faustus, was attracted by a paltry slip of womankind, that man who would work her father’s press. The skill,

131 The Antiquary at that time, was as rare as wonderful; besides that the privilege, however, of being admitted to a trial; and when expedient rid her at once of most of her _gentle_ suit- the rest of the suitors had either declined the contest, or ors, who would have as soon wielded a conjuring wand made such work as the devil could not read if his pardon as a composing stick. Some of the more ordinary ty- depended on it, all eyes were bent on the stranger. pographers made the attempt: but none were sufficiently Aldobrand stepped gracefully forward, arranged the types possessed of the mystery—But I tire you.” without omission of a single letter, hyphen, or comma, “By no means; pray, proceed, Mr. Oldbuck—I listen imposed them without deranging a single space, and with uncommon interest.” pulled off the first proof as clear and free from errors, as “Ah! it is all folly. However—Aldobrand arrived in the if it had been a triple revise! All applauded the worthy ordinary dress, as we would say, of a journeyman successor of the immortal Faustus—the blushing maiden printer—the same in which he had traversed Germany, acknowledged her error in trusting to the eye more than and conversed with Luther, Melancthon, Erasmus, and the intellect —and the elected bridegroom thenceforward other learned men, who disdained not his knowledge, and chose for his impress or device the appropriate words, Skill the power he possessed of diffusing it, though hid under wins favour.’—But what is the matter with you?—you a garb so homely. But what appeared respectable in the are in a brown study! Come, I told you this was but trum- eyes of wisdom, religion, learning, and philosophy, seemed pery conversation for thinking people—and now I have mean, as might readily be supposed, and disgusting, in my hand on the Ossianic Controversy.” those of silly and affected womankind, and Bertha re- “I beg your pardon,” said Lovel; “I am going to ap- fused to acknowledge her former lover, in the torn dou- pear very silly and changeable in your eyes, Mr. blet, skin cap, clouted shoes, and leathern apron, of a Oldbuck—but you seemed to think Sir Arthur might in travelling handicraftsman or mechanic. He claimed his civility expect a call from me?”

132 Sir Walter Scott “Psha! psha! I can make your apology; and if you must “In the language of selfishness, then, which is of course leave us so soon as you say, what signifies how you stand the language of the world—let us go by all means.” in his honours good graces?—And I warn you that the “Amen, amen, quo’ the Earl Marshall,” answered Essay on Castrametation is something prolix, and will Oldbuck, as he exchanged his slippers for a pair of stout occupy the time we can spare after dinner, so you may walking shoes, with _cutikins,_ as he called them, of lose the Ossianic Controversy if we do not dedicate this black cloth. He only interrupted the walk by a slight morning to it. We will go out to my ever-green bower, deviation to the tomb of John o’ the Girnel, remem- my sacred holly-tree yonder, and have it _fronde super bered as the last bailiff of the abbey who had resided at viridi._ Monkbarns. Beneath an old oak-tree upon a hillock, sloping pleasantly to the south, and catching a distant Sing heigh-ho! heigh-ho! for the green holly, view of the sea over two or three rich enclosures, and Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly. the Mussel-crag, lay a moss-grown stone, and, in memory of the departed worthy, it bore an inscription, of which, But, egad,” continued the old gentleman, “when I look as Mr. Oldbuck affirmed (though many doubted), the closer at you, I begin to think you may be of a different defaced characters could be distinctly traced to the fol- opinion. Amen with all my heart —I quarrel with no lowing effect:— man’s hobby, if he does not run it a tilt against mine, and if he does—let him beware his eyes. What say Here lyeth John o’ ye Girnell; you?—in the language of the world and worldlings base, Erth has ye nit, and heuen ye kirnell. if you can condescend to so mean a sphere, shall we stay In hys tyme ilk wyfe’s hennis clokit, or go?” Ilka gud mannis herth wi’ bairnis was stokit.

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

134 Sir Walter Scott as it’s yet outby—and get naething for their fish, and turned as if to walk away)—“Yell no be for the fish be misca’d into the bargain, Monkbarns? It’s no fish then?”—(then louder, as she saw him moving off) —“I’ll ye’re buying—it’s men’s lives.” gie ye them—and—and—and a half-a-dozen o’ partans “Well, Maggie, I’ll bid you fair—I’ll bid you a shilling to make the sauce, for three shillings and a dram.” for the fluke and the cock-padle, or sixpence separately— “Half-a-crown then, Maggie, and a dram.” and if all your fish are as well paid, I think your man, as “Aweel, your honour maun hae’t your ain gate, nae you call him, and your sons, will make a good voyage.” doubt; but a dram’s worth siller now—the distilleries is “Deil gin their boat were knockit against the Bell-Rock no working.” rather! it wad be better, and the bonnier voyage o’ the “And I hope they’ll never work again in my time,” twa. A shilling for thae twa bonnie fish! Od, that’s ane said Oldbuck. indeed!” “Ay, ay—it’s easy for your honour, and the like o’ you “Well, well, you old beldam, carry your fish up to gentle-folks to say sae, that hae stouth and routh, and Monkbarns, and see what my sister will give you for fire and fending and meat and claith, and sit dry and them.” canny by the fireside—but an ye wanted fire, and meat, “Na, na, Monkbarns, deil a fit—I’ll rather deal wi’ and dry claes, and were deeing o’ cauld, and had a sair yoursell; for though you’re near enough, yet Miss Grizel heart, whilk is warst ava’, wi’ just tippence in your has an unco close grip—I’ll gie ye them” (in a softened pouch, wadna ye be glad to buy a dram wi’t, to be eilding tone) “for three-and-saxpence.” and claes, and a supper and heart’s ease into the bar- “Eighteen-pence, or nothing!” gain, till the morn’s morning?” “Eighteen-pence!!!” (in a loud tone of astonishment, “It’s even too true an apology, Maggie. Is your goodman which declined into a sort of rueful whine, when the dealer off to sea this morning, after his exertions last night?”

135 The Antiquary “In troth is he, Monkbarns; he was awa this morning they sometimes wrangle with her for an hour together by four o’clock, when the sea was working like barm wi’ under my study window, like three sea-gulls screaming yestreen’s wind, and our bit coble dancing in’t like a and sputtering in a gale of wind. But come, wend we on cork.” our way to Knockwinnock.” “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 mysell, 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 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 petticoat, which was at first her sole covering, and which reached scantily 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 self- complacency, “ere my womankind could have made such a reasonable bargain with that old skin-flint, though

136 Sir Walter Scott usual hour, and to apply herself to her usual occupations, after she had first satisfied her anxiety concern- CHAPTER TWELFTH ing her father’s state of health. Sir Arthur was no farther indisposed than by the effects of great agitation and unusual fatigue, but these were sufficient to induce Beggar?—the only freeman of your commonwealth; him to keep his bedchamber. Free above Scot-free, that observe no laws, Obey no governor, use no religion To look back on the events of the preceding day, was, But what they draw from their own ancient custom, to Isabella, a very unpleasing retrospect. She owed her Or constitute themselves, yet they are no rebels. life, and that of her father, to the very person by whom, Brome. 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 injuri-

WITH OUR READER’S PERMISSION, we will outstep the slow, ous to them both. “Why should it be my fate to receive though sturdy pace of the Antiquary, whose halts, as such benefits, and conferred at so much personal risk, he, turned round to his companion at every moment to from one whose romantic passion I have so unceasingly point out something remarkable in the landscape, or to laboured to discourage? Why should chance have given enforce some favourite topic more emphatically than the him this advantage over me? and why, oh why, should a exercise of walking permitted, delayed their progress half-subdued feeling in my own bosom, in spite of my considerably. sober reason, almost rejoice that he has attained it?” Notwithstanding the fatigues and dangers of the pre- While Miss Wardour thus taxed herself with wayward ceding evening, Miss Wardour was able to rise at her caprice, she, beheld advancing down the avenue, not her

137 The Antiquary younger and more dreaded preserver, but the old beggar commanding features, and long white beard and hair. It who had made such a capital figure in the melodrama used to be remarked of him, that he was seldom seen of the preceding evening. but in a posture which showed these personal attributes She rang the bell for her maid-servant. “Bring the old to advantage. At present, as he lay half-reclined, with man up stairs.” his wrinkled yet ruddy cheek, and keen grey eye turned The servant returned in a minute or two—“He will up towards the sky, his staff and bag laid beside him, come up at no rate, madam;—he says his clouted shoes and a cast of homely wisdom and sarcastic irony in the never were on a carpet in his life, and that, please God, expression of his countenance, while he gazed for a mo- they never shall.—Must I take him into the servants’ ment around the court-yard, and then resumed his hall?” former look upward, he might have been taken by an “No; stay, I want to speak with him—Where is he?” artist as the model of an old philosopher of the Cynic for she had lost sight of him as he approached the house. school, musing upon the frivolity of mortal pursuits, “Sitting in the sun on the stone-bench in the court, and the precarious tenure of human possessions, and beside the window of the flagged parlour.” looking up to the source from which aught permanently “Bid him stay there—I’ll come down to the parlour, good can alone be derived. The young lady, as she pre- and speak with him at the window.” sented her tall and elegant figure at the open window, She came down accordingly, and found the mendicant but divided from the court-yard by a grating, with half-seated, half-reclining, upon the bench beside the which, according to the fashion of ancient times, the window. Edie Ochiltree, old man and beggar as he was, lower windows of the castle were secured, gave an inter- had apparently some internal consciousness of the est of a different kind, and might be supposed, by a favourable, impressions connected with his tall form, romantic imagination, an imprisoned damsel commu-

138 Sir Walter Scott nicating a tale of her durance to a palmer, in order that (and troth, I think they wad hardly venture on that ony he might call upon the gallantry of every knight whom gate)—and he wad gar them gie me my soup parritch he should meet in his wanderings, to rescue her from and bit meat. But trow ye that Sir Arthur’s command her oppressive thraldom. could forbid the gibe o’ the tongue or the blink o’ the ee, After Miss Wardour had offered, in the terms she or gar them gie me my food wi’ the look o’ kindness that thought would be most acceptable, those thanks which gars it digest sae weel, or that he could make them for- the beggar declined as far beyond his merit, she began bear a’ the slights and taunts that hurt ane’s spirit mair to express herself in a manner which she supposed would nor downright misca’ing? —Besides, I am the idlest auld speak more feelingly to his apprehension. “She did not carle that ever lived; I downa be bound down to hours o’ know,” she said, “what her father intended particularly eating and sleeping; and, to speak the honest truth, I to do for their preserver, but certainly it would be some- wad be a very bad example in ony weel regulated fam- thing that would make him easy for life; if he chose to ily.” reside at the castle, she would give orders”— “Well, then, Edie, what do you think of a neat cot- The old man smiled, and shook his head. “I wad be tage and a garden, and a daily dole, and nothing to do baith a grievance and a disgrace to your fine servants, but to dig a little in your garden when you pleased your- my leddy, and I have never been a disgrace to onybody self?” yet, that I ken of.” “And how often wad that be, trow ye, my leddy? maybe “Sir Arthur would give strict orders”— no ance atween Candlemas and Yule and if a’ thing were “Ye’re very kind—I doubtna, I doubtna; but there are done to my hand, as if I was Sir Arthur himsell, I could some things a master can command, and some he never bide the staying still in ae place, and just seeing canna—I daresay he wad gar them keep hands aff me— the same joists and couples aboon my head night after

139 The Antiquary night.—And then I have a queer humour o’ my ain, that “Well, Edie, if your idea of your importance is so sets a strolling beggar weel eneugh, whase word naebody strong as not to be shaken by the prospect of indepen- minds—but ye ken Sir Arthur has odd sort o’ ways— dence”— and I wad be jesting or scorning at them—and ye wad “Na, na, Miss—it’s because I am mair independent as be angry, and then I wad be just fit to hang mysell.” I am,” answered the old man; “I beg nae mair at ony “O, you are a licensed man,” said Isabella; “we shall single house than a meal o’ meat, or maybe but a give you all reasonable scope: So you had better be ruled, mouthfou o’t—if it’s refused at ae place, I get it at and remember your age.” anither—sae I canna be said to depend on onybody in “But I am no that sair failed yet,” replied the mendi- particular, but just on the country at large.” cant. “Od, ance I gat a wee soupled yestreen, I was as “Well, then, only promise me that you will let me know yauld as an eel. And then what wad a’ the country about should you ever wish to settle as you turn old, and more do for want o’ auld Edie Ochiltree, that brings news and incapable of making your usual rounds; and, in the country cracks frae ae farm-steading to anither, and gin- meantime, take this.” gerbread to the lasses, and helps the lads to mend their “Na, na, my leddy: I downa take muckle siller at fiddles, and the gudewives to clout their pans, and plaits ance—it’s against our rule; and—though it’s maybe no rush-swords and grenadier caps for the weans, and busks civil to be repeating the like o’ that —they say that the laird’s flees, and has skill o’ cow-ills and horse-ills, siller’s like to be scarce wi’ Sir Arthur himsell, and that and kens mair auld sangs and tales than a’ the barony he’s run himsell out o’ thought wi’ his honkings and besides, and gars ilka body laugh wherever he comes? minings for lead and copper yonder.” Troth, my leddy, I canna lay down my vocation; it would Isabella had some anxious anticipations to the same be a public loss.” effect, but was shocked to hear that her father’s embar-

140 Sir Walter Scott rassments were such public talk; as if scandal ever failed my heart out or onybody wad gie me either a bane or a to stoop upon so acceptable a quarry as the failings of bodle.” the good man, the decline of the powerful, or the decay “Is there nothing, then, that I can do for you?” of the prosperous.—Miss Wardour sighed deeply— “Ou ay—I’ll aye come for my awmous as usual,—and “Well, Edie, we have enough to pay our debts, let folks whiles I wad be fain o’ a pickle sneeshin, and ye maun say what they will, and requiting you is one of the fore- speak to the constable and ground-officer just to most—let me press this sum upon you.” owerlook me; and maybe ye’ll gie a gude word for me to “That I might be robbed and murdered some night Sandie Netherstanes, the miller, that he may chain up between town and town? or, what’s as bad, that I might his muckle dog—I wadna hae him to hurt the puir beast, live in constant apprehension o’t?—I am no”—(lower- for it just does its office in barking at a gaberlunzie like ing his voice to a whisper, and looking keenly around me. And there’s ae thing maybe mair, —but ye’ll think him)—“I am no that clean unprovided for neither; and it’s very bald o’ the like o’ me to speak o’t.” though I should die at the back of a dyke, they’ll find “What is it, Edie?—if it respects you it shall be done as muckle quilted in this auld blue gown as will bury me if it is in my power.” like a Christian, and gie the lads and lasses a blythe “It respects yoursell, and it is in your power, and I lykewake too; sae there’s the gaberlunzie’s burial pro- maun come out wi’t. Ye are a bonny young leddy, and a vided for, and I need nae mair. Were the like o’ me ever gude ane, and maybe a weel-tochered ane—but dinna to change a note, wha the deil d’ye think wad be sic ye sneer awa the lad Lovel, as ye did a while sinsyne on fules as to gie me charity after that?—it wad flee through the walk beneath the Briery-bank, when I saw ye baith, the country like wildfire, that auld Edie suld hae done and heard ye too, though ye saw nae me. Be canny wi’ siccan a like thing, and then, I’se warrant, I might grane the lad, for he loes ye weel, and it’s to him, and no to

141 The Antiquary anything I could have done for you, that Sir Arthur and of speaking to her upon such a subject, showed, as might you wan ower yestreen.” have been expected, a total absence of delicacy; and He uttered these words in a low but distinct tone of what he might take it into his head to do or say next, voice; and without waiting for an answer, walked to- that she was pretty sure so professed an admirer of lib- wards a low door which led to the apartments of the erty would not hesitate to do or say without scruple. servants, and so entered the house. This idea so much hurt and vexed her, that she half- Miss Wardour remained for a moment or two in the wished the officious assistance of Lovel and Ochiltree situation in which she had heard the old man’s last ex- had been absent upon the preceding evening. traordinary speech, leaning, namely, against the bars While she was in this agitation of spirits, she suddenly of the window; nor could she determine upon saying observed Oldbuck and Lovel entering the court. She drew even a single word, relative to a subject so delicate, until instantly so far back from the window, that she could the beggar was out of sight. It was, indeed, difficult to without being seen, observe how the Antiquary paused determine what to do. That her having had an inter- in front of the building, and pointing to the various view and private conversation with this young and un- scutcheons of its former owners, seemed in the act of known stranger, should be a secret possessed by a per- bestowing upon Lovel much curious and erudite infor- son of the last class in which a young lady would seek a mation, which, from the absent look of his auditor, confidant, and at the mercy of one who was by profes- Isabella might shrewdly guess was entirely thrown away. sion gossip-general to the whole neighbourhood, gave The necessity that she should take some resolution be- her acute agony. She had no reason, indeed, to suppose came instant and pressing;—she rang, therefore, for a that the old man would wilfully do anything to hurt her servant, and ordered him to show the visitors to the feelings, much less to injure her; but the mere freedom drawing-room, while she, by another staircase, gained

142 Sir Walter Scott her own apartment, to consider, ere she made her appearance, what line of conduct were fittest for her to pursue. The guests, agreeably to her instructions, were CHAPTER THIRTEENTH introduced into the room where company was usually received. —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 recompense.

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 Anti- quary 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.

143 The Antiquary But you, Miss Isabel,—why, you look as if flying through certain—that my father would be happy to show his the night air had been your natural and most congenial gratitude —in any way—that is, which Mr. Lovel could occupation; your colour is even better than when you consider it as proper to point out.” honoured my hospitium yesterday. And Sir Arthur—how “Why the deuce,” interrupted Oldbuck, “what sort of fares my good old friend?” a qualification is that?—On my word, it reminds me of “Indifferently well, Mr. Oldbuck; but I am afraid, not our minister, who, choosing, like a formal old fop as he is, quite able to receive your congratulations, or to pay— to drink to my sister’s inclinations, thought it necessary to pay—Mr. Lovel his thanks for his unparalleled exer- to add the saving clause, Provided, madam, they be vir- tions.” tuous. Come, let us have no more of this nonsense—I “I dare say not—A good down pillow for his good white dare say Sir Arthur will bid us welcome on some future head were more meet than a couch so churlish as Bessy’s- day. And what news from the kingdom of subterranean apron, plague on her!” darkness and airy hope?—What says the swart spirit of “I had no thought of intruding,” said Lovel, looking the mine? Has Sir Arthur had any good intelligence of upon the ground, and speaking with hesitation and sup- his adventure lately in Glen-Withershins?” pressed emotion; “I did not—did not mean to intrude Miss Wardour shook her head—”But indifferent, I fear, upon Sir Arthur or Miss Wardour the presence of one Mr. Oldbuck; but there lie some specimens which have who—who must necessarily be unwelcome—as associ- lately been sent down.” ated, I mean, with painful reflections.” “Ah! my poor dear hundred pounds, which Sir Arthur “Do not think my father so unjust and ungrateful,” persuaded me to give for a share in that hopeful scheme, said Miss Wardour. “I dare say,” she continued, partici- would have bought a porter’s load of mineralogy—But pating in Lovel’s embarrassment—“I dare say—I am let me see them.”

144 Sir Walter Scott And so saying, he sat down at the table in the recess, internally echoed by Lovel. “Forgive me if I interrupt on which the mineral productions were lying, and pro- you, Miss Wardour; you need not fear my intruding upon ceeded to examine them, grumbling and pshawing at a subject where I have been already severely repressed; each which he took up and laid aside. —but do not add to the severity of repelling my senti- In the meantime, Lovel, forced as it were by this se- ments the rigour of obliging me to disavow them.” cession of Oldbuck, into a sort of tete-a’-tete with Miss “I am much embarrassed, Mr. Lovel,” replied the Wardour, took an opportunity of addressing her in a young lady, “by your—I would not willingly use a strong low and interrupted tone of voice. “I trust Miss Wardour word—your romantic and hopeless pertinacity. It is for will impute, to circumstances almost irresistible, this in- yourself I plead, that you would consider the calls which trusion of a person who has reason to think himself— your country has upon your talents—that you will not so unacceptable a visitor.” waste, in an idle and fanciful indulgence of an ill-placed “Mr. Lovel,” answered Miss Wardour, observing the predilection, time, which, well redeemed by active exer- same tone of caution, “I trust you will not—I am sure tion, should lay the foundation of future distinction. you are incapable of abusing the advantages given to Let me entreat that you would form a manly resolu- you by the services you have rendered us, which, as they tion”— affect my father, can never be sufficiently acknowledged “It is enough, Miss Wardour;—I see plainly that”— or repaid. Could Mr. Lovel see me without his own peace “Mr. Lovel, you are hurt—and, believe me, I sympa- being affected—could he see me as a friend—as a sis- thize in the pain which I inflict; but can I, in justice to ter—no man will be—and, from all I have ever heard of myself, in fairness to you, do otherwise? Without my Mr. Lovel, ought to be, more welcome but”— father’s consent, I never will entertain the addresses of Oldbuck’s anathema against the preposition but was any one, and how totally impossible it is that he should

145 The Antiquary countenance the partiality with which you honour me, “Not so, Mr. Lovel; many years of deserved happiness, you are yourself fully aware; and, indeed”— founded on a more rational basis than your present wishes, “No, Miss Wardour,” answered Lovel, in a tone of pas- are, I trust, before, you. But it is full time, to finish this sionate entreaty; “do not go farther—is it not enough conversation. I cannot force you to adopt my advice—I to crush every hope in our present relative situation?— cannot shut the door of my father’s house against the pre- do not carry your resolutions farther—why urge what server of his life and mine; but the sooner Mr. Lovel can would be your conduct if Sir Arthur’s objections could teach his mind to submit to the inevitable disappointment be removed?” of wishes which have been so rashly formed, the more “It is indeed vain, Mr. Lovel,” said Miss Wardour, “be- highly be will rise in my esteem—and, in the meanwhile, cause their removal is impossible; and I only wish, as your for his sake as well as mine, he must excuse my putting an friend, and as one who is obliged to you for her own and interdict upon conversation on a subject so painful.” her father’s life, to entreat you to suppress this unfortu- A servant at this moment announced that Sir Arthur nate attachment—to leave a country which affords no desired to speak to Mr. Oldbuck in his dressing-room. scope for your talents, and to resume the honourable line “Let me show you the way,” said Miss Wardour, who of the profession which you seem to have abandoned.” apparently dreaded a continuation of her tete-a-tete “Well, Miss Wardour, your wishes shall be obeyed;— with Lovel, and she conducted the Antiquary accord- have patience with me one little month, and if, in the ingly to her father’s apartment. course of that space, I cannot show you such reasons Sir Arthur, his legs swathed in flannel, was stretched for continuing my residence at Fairport, as even you shall on the couch. “Welcome, Mr. Oldbuck,” he said; “I trust approve of, I will bid adieu to its vicinity, and, with the you have come better off than I have done from the same breath, to all my hopes of happiness.” inclemency of yesterday evening?”

146 Sir Walter Scott “Truly, Sir Arthur, I was not so much exposed to it— ing philosopher of yours—this Dousterswivel—is, I have I kept terra firma—you fairly committed yourself to the a notion, one, of those learned adventurers described cold night-air in the most literal of all senses. But such by Kirchner, Artem habent sine arte, partem sine parte, adventures become a gallant knight better than a humble quorum medium est mentiri, vita eorum mendicatum ire; esquire,—to rise on the wings of the night-wind—to dive that is to say, Miss Wardour”— into the bowels of the earth. What news from our sub- “It is unnecessary to translate,” said Miss Wardour—”I terranean Good Hope! —the terra incognita of Glen- comprehend your general meaning; but I hope Mr. Withershins?” Dousterswivel will turn out a more trustworthy character.” “Nothing good as yet,” said the Baronet, turning him- “I doubt it not a little,” said the Antiquary,—“and self hastily, as if stung by a pang of the gout; “but we are a foul way out if we cannot discover this infernal Dousterswivel does not despair.” vein that he has prophesied about these two years.” “Does he not?” quoth Oldbuck; “I do though, under “You have no great interest in the matter, Mr. his favour. Why, old Dr. H—n* told me, when I was in Oldbuck,” said the Baronet. Edinburgh, that we should never find copper enough, “Too much, too much, Sir Arthur; and yet, for the judging from the specimens I showed him, to make a sake of my fair foe here, I would consent to lose it all so pair of sixpenny knee-buckles—and I cannot see that you had no more on the venture.” those samples on the table below differ much in qual- There was a painful silence of a few moments, for Sir ity.” Arthur was too proud to acknowledge the downfall of “The learned doctor is not infallible, I presume?” his golden dreams, though he could no longer disguise “No; but he is one of our first chemists; and this tramp- to himself that such was likely to be the termination of the adventure. “I understand,” he at length said, “that * Probably Dr. Hutton, the celebrated geologist. 147 The Antiquary the young gentleman, to whose gallantry and presence Isabella answered the least difficult question, and of mind we were so much indebted last night, has passed over the other—“He had a commission in the favoured me with a visit—I am distressed that I am army, and had, I believe, served with reputation; he was unable to see him, or indeed any one, but an old friend much respected, as an amiable and promising young like you, Mr. Oldbuck.” man.” A declination of the Antiquary’s stiff backbone ac- “And pray, such being the case,” replied the Antiquary, knowledged the preference. not disposed to take one reply in answer to two distinct “You made acquaintance with this young gentleman questions, “why did you not speak to the lad at once in Edinburgh, I suppose?” when you met him at my house? I thought you had less Oldbuck told the circumstances of their becoming of the paltry pride of womankind about you, Miss known to each other. Wardour.” “Why, then, my daughter is an older acquaintance, of “There was a reason for it,” said Sir Arthur with dig- Mr. Lovel than you are,” said the Baronet. nity; “you know the opinions—prejudices, perhaps you “Indeed! I was not aware of that,” answered Oldbuck will call them—of our house concerning purity of birth. somewhat surprised. This young gentleman is, it seems, the illegitimate son “I met Mr. Lovel,” said Isabella, slightly colouring, of a man of fortune; my daughter did not choose to “when I resided this last spring with my aunt, Mrs. renew their acquaintance till she should know whether Wilmot.” I approved of her holding any intercourse with him.” “In Yorkshire?—and what character did he bear then, “If it had been with his mother instead of himself,” or how was he engaged?” said Oldbuck,—“and why did answered Oldbuck, with his usual dry causticity of not you recognise him when I introduced you?” humour, “I could see an excellent reason for it. Ah, poor

148 Sir Walter Scott lad! that was the cause, then, that he seemed so absent took the wavering of his attention for negligence, and and confused while I explained to him the reason of the was something piqued at it, and it proves to be only an bend of bastardy upon the shield yonder under the cor- excess of feeling. I hope, Sir Arthur, you will not think ner turret!” the less of your life because it has been preserved by “True,” said the Baronet, with complacency—“it is such assistance?” the shield of Malcolm the Usurper, as he is called. The “Nor the less of my assistant either,” said the Bar- tower which he built is termed, after him, Malcolm’s onet; “my doors and table shall be equally open to him Tower, but more frequently Misticot’s Tower, which I as if he had descended of the most unblemished lin- conceive to be a corruption for Misbegot. He is denomi- eage.” nated, in the Latin pedigree of our family, Milcolumbus “Come, I am glad of that—he’ll know where he can Nothus; and his temporary seizure of our property, and get a dinner, then, if he wants one. But what views can most unjust attempt to establish his own illegitimate he have in this neighbourhood? I must catechise him; line in the estate of Knockwinnock, gave rise to such and if I find he wants it—or, indeed, whether he does or family feuds and misfortunes, as strongly to found us in not—he shall have my best advice.” As the Antiquary that horror and antipathy to defiled blood and illegiti- made this liberal promise, he took his leave of Miss macy which has been handed down to me from my re- Wardour and her father, eager to commence operations spected ancestry.” upon Mr. Lovel. He informed him abruptly that Miss “I know the story,” said Oldbuck, “and I was telling it Wardour sent her compliments, and remained in atten- to Lovel this moment, with some of the wise maxims dance on her father, and then, taking him by the arm, and consequences which it has engrafted on your fam- he led him out of the castle. ily politics. Poor fellow! he must have been much hurt: I Knockwinnock still preserved much of the external

149 The Antiquary attributes of a baronial castle. It had its drawbridge, which of the numerous windows belonged to the apart- though now never drawn up, and its dry moat, the sides ment now graced by Miss Wardour’s presence. The specu- of which had been planted with shrubs, chiefly of the lations of the Antiquary were of a more melancholy evergreen tribes. Above these rose the old building, partly cast, and were partly indicated by the ejaculation of from a foundation of red rock scarped down to the sea- cito peritura! as he turned away from the prospect. Lovel, beach, and partly from the steep green verge of the roused from his reverie, looked at him as if to inquire moat. The trees of the avenue have been already men- the meaning of an exclamation so ominous. The old man tioned, and many others rose around of large size,—as shook his head. “Yes, my young friend,” said he, “I doubt if to confute the prejudice that timber cannot be raised greatly—and it wrings my heart to say it—this ancient near to the ocean. Our walkers paused, and looked back family is going fast to the ground!” upon the castle, as they attained the height of a small “Indeed!” answered Lovel—“you surprise me greatly.” knoll, over which lay their homeward road; for it is to be “We harden ourselves in vain,” continued the Anti- supposed they did not tempt the risk of the tide by re- quary, pursuing his own train of thought and feeling— turning along the sands. The building flung its broad ”we harden ourselves in vain to treat with the indiffer- shadow upon the tufted foliage of the shrubs beneath ence they deserve, the changes of this trumpery whirli- it, while the front windows sparkled in the sun. They gig world. We strive ineffectually to be the self-sufficing were viewed by the gazers with very different feelings. invulnerable being, the teres atque rotundus of the poet;— Lovel, with the fond eagerness of that passion which the stoical exemption which philosophy affects to give derives its food and nourishment from trifles, as the cha- us over the pains and vexations of human life, is as meleon is said to live on the air, or upon the invisible imaginary as the state of mystical quietism and perfec- insects which it contains, endeavoured to conjecture tion aimed at by some crazy enthusiasts.”

150 Sir Walter Scott “And Heaven forbid that it should be otherwise!” said semble you more in your practice than in your theory, Lovel, warmly—“Heaven forbid that any process of for I cannot help being deeply interested in the fate of philosophy were capable so to sear and indurate our feel- the family we have just left.” ings, that nothing should agitate them but what arose “And well you may,” replied Oldbuck. “Sir Arthur’s instantly and immediately out of our own selfish inter- embarrassments have of late become so many and so ests! I would as soon wish my hand to be as callous as pressing, that I am surprised you have not heard of horn, that it might escape an occasional cut or scratch, them. And then his absurd and expensive operations as I would be ambitious of the stoicism which should carried on by this High-German landlouper, render my heart like a piece of the nether millstone.” Dousterswivel”— The Antiquary regarded his youthful companion with “I think I have seen that person, when, by some rare a look half of pity, half of sympathy, and shrugged up chance, I happened to be in the coffee-room at his shoulders as he replied—“Wait, young man—wait Fairport;—a tall, beetle-browed, awkward-built man, till your bark has been battered by the storm of sixty who entered upon scientific subjects, as it appeared to years of mortal vicissitude: you will learn by that time, my ignorance at least, with more assurance than knowl- to reef your sails, that she may obey the helm;—or, in edge—was very arbitrary in laying down and asserting the language of this world, you will find distresses his opinions, and mixed the terms of science with a enough, endured and to endure, to keep your feelings strange jargon of mysticism. A simple youth whispered and sympathies in full exercise, without concerning me that he was an Illumine’, and carried on an inter- yourself more in the fate of others than you cannot course with the invisible world.” possibly avoid.” “O, the same—the same. He has enough of practical “Well, Mr. Oldbuck, it may be so;—but as yet I re- knowledge to speak scholarly and wisely to those of whose

151 The Antiquary intelligence he stands in awe; and, to say the truth, this “But how could he impose upon Sir Arthur to any ru- faculty, joined to his matchless impudence, imposed upon inous extent?” me for some time when I first knew him. But I have since “Why, I don’t know. Sir Arthur is a good honourable understood, that when he is among fools and woman- gentleman; but, as you may see from his loose ideas con- kind, he exhibits himself as a perfect charlatan—talks cerning the Pikish language, he is by no means very of the magisterium—of sympathies and antipathies—of strong in the understanding. His estate is strictly en- the cabala—of the divining-rod—and all the trumpery tailed, and he has been always an embarrassed man. This with which the Rosicrucians cheated a darker age, and rapparee promised him mountains of wealth, and an which, to our eternal disgrace, has in some degree revived English company was found to advance large sums of in our own. My friend Heavysterne know this fellow money—I fear on Sir Arthur’s guarantee. Some gentle- abroad, and unintentionally (for he, you must know, is, men—I was ass enough to be one—took small shares in God bless the mark! a sort of believer) let me into a good the concern, and Sir Arthur himself made great outlay; deal of his real character. Ah! were I caliph for a day, as we were trained on by specious appearances and more Honest Abon Hassan wished to be, I would scourge me specious lies; and now, like John Bunyan, we awake, and these jugglers out of the commonwealth with rods of scor- behold it is a dream!” pions. They debauch the spirit of the ignorant and credu- “I am surprised that you, Mr. Oldbuck, should have lous with mystical trash, as effectually as if they had encouraged Sir Arthur by your example.” besotted their brains with gin, and then pick their pock- “Why,” said Oldbuck, dropping his large grizzled eye- ets with the same facility. And now has this strolling black- brow, “I am something surprised and ashamed at it guard and mountebank put the finishing blow to the ruin myself; it was not the lucre of gain—nobody cares less of an ancient and honourable family!” for money (to be a prudent man) than I do—but I

152 Sir Walter Scott 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 CHAPTER FOURTEENTH of that slip of womankind, my niece, Mary M’Intyre; and perhaps it may be thought I should do something to get that jackanapes, her brother, on in the army. In If I may trust the flattering eye of sleep, My dreams presage some joyful news at hand: either case, to treble my venture, would have helped me My bosom’s lord sits lightly on his throne, out. And besides, I had some idea that the Phoenicians And all this day, an unaccustomed spirit had in former times wrought copper in that very spot. Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. That cunning scoundrel, Dousterswivel, found out my Romeo and Juliet. blunt 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 THE ACCOUNT of Sir Arthur’s unhappy adventure had of modern times; and I—in short, I was a fool, and there led Oldbuck somewhat aside from his purpose of is an end. My loss is not much worth speaking about; catechising Lovel concerning the cause of his residence but Sir Arthur’s engagements are, I understand, very at Fairport. He was now, however, resolved to open the deep, and my heart aches for him and the poor young subject. “Miss Wardour was formerly known to you, she lady who must share his distress.” tells me, Mr. Lovel?” Here the conversation paused, until renewed in the “He had had the pleasure,” Lovel answered, to see her next chapter. at Mrs. Wilmot’s, in Yorkshire.” “Indeed! you never mentioned that to me before, and

153 The Antiquary you did not accost her as an old acquaintance.” “Yes, sir; but Cicero also tells us, that as he who passes “I—I did not know,” said Lovel, a good deal embar- the whole day in darting the javelin must sometimes hit rassed, “it was the same lady, till we met; and then it the mark, so, amid the cloud of nightly dreams, some was my duty to wait till she should recognise me.” may occur consonant to future events.” “I am aware of your delicacy: the knight’s a punctili- “Ay—that is to say, you have hit the mark in your own ous old fool, but I promise you his daughter is above all sage opinion? Lord! Lord! how this world is given to folly! nonsensical ceremony and prejudice. And now, since you Well, I will allow for once the Oneirocritical science—I have, found a new set of friends here, may I ask if you will give faith to the exposition of dreams, and say a intend to leave Fairport as soon as you proposed?” Daniel hath arisen to interpret them, if you can prove “What if I should answer your question by another,” to me that that dream of yours has pointed to a pru- replied Lovel, “and ask you what is your opinion of dent line of conduct.” dreams?” “Tell me, then,” answered Lovel, “why when I was “Of dreams, you foolish lad!—why, what should I hesitating whether to abandon an enterprise, which I think of them but as the deceptions of imagination when have perhaps rashly undertaken, I should last night reason drops the reins? I know no difference betwixt dream I saw your ancestor pointing to a motto which them and the hallucinations of madness—the unguided encouraged me to perseverance?—why should I have horses run away with the carriage in both cases, only in thought of those words which I cannot remember to the one the coachman is drunk, and in the other he slum- have heard before, which are in a language unknown to bers. What says our Marcus Tullius—Si insanorum visis me, and which yet conveyed, when translated, a lesson fides non est habenda, cur credatur somnientium visis, quae which I could so plainly apply to my own circum- multo etiam perturbatiora sunt, non intelligo.” stances?”

154 Sir Walter Scott The Antiquary burst into a fit of laughing. “Excuse “I own it,” said Lovel, blushing deeply;—“I believe me, my young friend —but it is thus we silly mortals you are right, Mr. Oldbuck, and I ought to sink in your deceive ourselves, and look out of doors for motives esteem for attaching a moment’s consequence to such a which originate in our own wilful will. I think I can help frivolity;—but I was tossed by contradictory wishes and out the cause of your vision. You were so abstracted in resolutions, and you know how slight a line will tow a your contemplations yesterday after dinner, as to pay boat when afloat on the billows, though a cable would little attention to the discourse between Sir Arthur and hardly move her when pulled up on the beach.” me, until we fell upon the controversy concerning the “Right, right,” exclaimed the Antiquary. “Fall in my Piks, which terminated so abruptly;—but I remember opinion!—not a whit—I love thee the better, man;— producing to Sir Arthur a book printed by my ancestor, why, we have story for story against each other, and I and making him observe the motto; your mind was bent can think with less shame on having exposed myself elsewhere, but your ear had mechanically received and about that cursed Praetorium—though I am still con- retained the sounds, and your busy fancy, stirred by vinced Agricola’s camp must have been somewhere in Grizel’s legend I presume, had introduced this scrap of this neighbourhood. And now, Lovel, my good lad, be German into your dream. As for the waking wisdom sincere with me—What make you from Wittenberg?— which seized on so frivolous a circumstance as an apol- why have you left your own country and professional ogy for persevering in some course which it could find pursuits, for an idle residence in such a place as Fairport? no better reason to justify, it is exactly one of those jug- A truant disposition, I fear.” gling tricks which the sagest of us play off now and “Even so,” replied Lovel, patiently submitting to an then, to gratify our inclination at the expense of our interrogatory which he could not well evade. “Yet I am understanding.” so detached from all the world, have so few in whom I

155 The Antiquary am interested, or who are interested in me, that my very independence; and so moderate are my wishes in this state of destitution gives me independence. He whose respect, that even these means, however limited, rather good or evil fortune affects himself alone, has the best exceed than fall short of them.” right to pursue it according to his own fancy.” “Nay, then,” said Oldbuck, removing his hand, and “Pardon me, young man,” said Oldbuck, laying his turning again to the road, “if you are so true a philoso- hand kindly on his shoulder, and making a full halt— pher as to think you have money enough, there’s no more “sufflamina—a little patience, if you please. I will sup- to be said—I cannot pretend to be entitled to advise pose that you have no friends to share or rejoice in your you;—you have attained the acme’—the summit of success in life—that you cannot look back to those to perfection. And how came Fairport to be the selected whom you owe gratitude, or forward to those to whom abode of so much self-denying philosophy? It is as if a you ought to afford protection; but it is no less incum- worshipper of the true religion had set up his staff by bent on you to move steadily in the path of duty—for choice among the multifarious idolaters of the land of your active exertions are due not only to society, but in Egypt. There is not a man in Fairport who is not a de- humble gratitude to the Being who made you a member voted worshipper of the Golden Calf—the mammon of of it, with powers to serve yourself and others.” unrighteousness. Why, even I, man, am so infected by “But I am unconscious of possessing such powers,” the bad neighbourhood, that I feel inclined occasion- said Lovel, somewhat impatiently. “I ask nothing of ally to become an idolater myself.” society but the permission of walking innoxiously “My principal amusements being literary,” answered through the path of life, without jostling others, or per- Lovel, “and circumstances which I cannot mention hav- mitting myself to be jostled. I owe no man anything— ing induced me, for a time at least, to relinquish the I have the means of maintaining, myself with complete military service, I have pitched on Fairport as a place

156 Sir Walter Scott where I might follow my pursuits without any of those times kind enough to answer himself. For this good old temptations to society which a more elegant circle might gentleman had, from his antiquarian researches, ac- have presented to me.” quired a delight in building theories out of premises “Aha!” replied Oldbuck, knowingly,—“I begin to un- which were often far from affording sufficient ground derstand your application of my ancestor’s motto. You for them; and being, as the reader must have remarked, are a candidate for public favour, though not in the way sufficiently opinionative, he did not readily brook being I first suspected,—you are ambitious to shine as a liter- corrected, either in matter of fact or judgment, even by ary character, and you hope to merit favour by labour those who were principally interested in the subjects on and perseverance?” which he speculated. He went on, therefore, chalking Lovel, who was rather closely pressed by the inquisi- out Lovel’s literary career for him. tiveness of the old gentleman, concluded it would be “And with what do you propose to commence your best to let him remain in the error which he had gratu- debut as a man of letters?—But I guess—poetry—po- itously adopted. etry—the soft seducer of youth. Yes! there is an acknowl- “I have been at times foolish enough,” he replied, “to edging modesty of confusion in your eye and manner. nourish some thoughts of the kind.” And where lies your vein?—are you inclined to soar to “Ah, poor fellow! nothing can be more melancholy; un- the higher regions of Parnassus, or to flutter around less, as young men sometimes do, you had fancied your- the base of the hill?” self in love with some trumpery specimen of woman- “I have hitherto attempted only a few lyrical pieces,” kind, which is indeed, as Shakspeare truly says, press- said Lovel. ing to death, whipping, and hanging all at once.” “Just as I supposed—pruning your wing, and hopping He then proceeded with inquiries, which he was some- from spray to spray. But I trust you intend a bolder

157 The Antiquary flight. Observe, I would by no means recommend your you intend to commence with?” persevering in this unprofitable pursuit—but you say “I have no instant thoughts of publishing.” you are quite independent of the public caprice?” “Ah! that will never do; you must have the fear of the “Entirely so,” replied Lovel. public before your eyes in all your undertakings. Let us “And that you are determined not to adopt a more see now: A collection of fugitive pieces; but no—your active course of life?” fugitive poetry is apt to become stationary with the “For the present, such is my resolution,” replied the bookseller. It should be something at once solid and at- young man. tractive—none of your romances or anomalous novel- “Why, then, it only remains for me to give you my ties—I would have you take high ground at once. Let best advice and assistance in the object of your pursuit. me see: What think you of a real epic?—the grand old- I have myself published two essays in the Antiquarian fashioned historical poem which moved through twelve Repository,—and therefore am an author of experience, or twenty-four books. We’ll have it so—I’ll supply you There was my Remarks on Hearne’s edition of Robert with a subject—The battle between the Caledonians and of Gloucester, signed Scrutator; and the other signed Romans—The Caledoniad; or, Invasion Repelled;—let Indagator, upon a passage in Tacitus. I might add, what that be the title—it will suit the present taste, and you attracted considerable notice at the time, and that is may throw in a touch of the times.” my paper in the Gentleman’s Magazine, upon the in- “But the invasion of Agricola was not repelled.” scription of Œlia Lelia, which I subscribed Œdipus. So “No; but you are a poet—free of the corporation, and you see I am not an apprentice in the mysteries of au- as little bound down to truth or probability as Virgil thor-craft, and must necessarily understand the taste himself.—You may defeat the Romans in spite of and temper of the times. And now, once more, what do Tacitus.”

158 Sir Walter Scott “And pitch Agricola’s camp at the Kaim of—what do “In that case, there should be two authors to each you call it,” answered Lovel, “in defiance of Edie poem—one to think and plan, another to execute.” Ochiltree?” “Why, it would not be amiss; at any rate, we’ll make “No more of that, an thou lovest me—And yet, I dare the experiment;—not that I would wish to give my name say, ye may unwittingly speak most correct truth in both to the public—assistance from a learned friend might instances, in despite of the toga of the historian and the be acknowledged in the preface after what flourish your blue gown of the mendicant.” nature will—I am a total stranger to authorial vanity.” “Gallantly counselled!—Well, I will do my best—your Lovel was much entertained by a declaration not very kindness will assist me with local information.” consistent with the eagerness wherewith his friend “Will I not, man?—why, I will write the critical and seemed to catch at an opportunity of coming before the historical notes on each canto, and draw out the plan of public, though in a manner which rather resembled step- the story myself. I pretend to some poetical genius, Mr. ping up behind a carriage than getting into one. The Lovel, only I was never able to write verses.” Antiquary was indeed uncommonly delighted; for, like “It is a pity, sir, that you should have failed in a quali- many other men who spend their lives in obscure liter- fication somewhat essential to the art.” ary research, he had a secret ambition to appear in print, “Essential?—not a whit—it is the mere mechanical de- which was checked by cold fits of diffidence, fear of criti- partment. A man may be a poet without measuring cism, and habits of indolence and procrastination. spondees and dactyls like the ancients, or clashing the “But,” thought he, “I may, like a second Teucer, dis- ends of lines into rhyme like the moderns, as one may be charge my shafts from behind the shield of my ally; and, an architect though unable to labour like a stone-mason— admit that he should not prove to be a first-rate poet, I Dost think Palladio or Vitruvius ever carried a hod?” am in no shape answerable for his deficiencies, and the

159 The Antiquary good notes may very probably help off an indifferent tion.—Then we must have a vision—in which the Ge- text. But he is—he must be a good poet; he has the real nius of Caledonia shall appear to Galgacus, and show Parnassian abstraction—seldom answers a question till him a procession of the real Scottish monarchs:—and it is twice repeated—drinks his tea scalding, and eats in the notes I will have a hit at Boethius—No; I must without knowing what he is putting into his mouth. This not touch that topic, now that Sir Arthur is likely to is the real aestus, the awen of the Welsh bards, the divinus have vexation enough besides—but I’ll annihilate afflatus that transports the poet beyond the limits of Ossian, Macpherson, and Mac-Cribb.” sublunary things. His visions, too, are very “But we must consider the expense of publication,” symptomatical of poetic fury—I must recollect to send said Lovel, willing to try whether this hint would fall Caxon to see he puts out his candle to-night—poets and like cold water on the blazing zeal of his self-elected co- visionaries are apt to be negligent in that respect.” Then, adjutor. turning to his companion, he expressed himself aloud “Expense!” said Mr. Oldbuck, pausing, and mechani- in continuation— cally fumbling in his pocket—“that is true;—I would “Yes, my dear Lovel, you shall have full notes; and, wish to do something—but you would not like to pub- indeed, think we may introduce the whole of the Essay lish by subscription?” on Castrametation into the appendix—it will give great “By no means,” answered Lovel. value to the work. Then we will revive the good old forms “No, no!” gladly acquiesced the Antiquary—“it is not so disgracefully neglected in modern times. You shall respectable. I’ll tell you what: I believe I know a book- invoke the Muse—and certainly she ought to be propi- seller who has a value for my opinion, and will risk print tious to an author who, in an apostatizing age, adheres and paper, and I will get as many copies sold for you as with the faith of Abdiel to the ancient form of adora- I can.”

160 Sir Walter Scott “O, I am no mercenary author,” answered Lovel, smil- than a quarter. And the impudent quean had the assuring; “I only wish to be out of risk of loss.” ance to come up and seek a dram—But I trow, Jenny “Hush! hush! we’ll take care of that—throw it all on and I sorted her!” the publishers. I do long to see your labours commenced. “Truly,” said Oldbuck (with a sly look to his compan- You will choose blank verse, doubtless?—it is more grand ion), “I think our estate was gracious that kept us out and magnificent for an historical subject; and, what of hearing of that controversy. —Well, well, Grizel, I concerneth you, my friend, it is, I have an idea, more was wrong for once in my life ultra crepidam. —I fairly easily written.” admit. But hang expenses!—care killed a cat—we’ll eat This conversation brought them to Monkbarns, where the fish, cost what it will.—And then, Lovel, you must the Antiquary had to undergo a chiding from his sister, know I pressed you to stay here to-day, the rather be- who, though no philosopher, was waiting to deliver a cause our cheer will be better than usual, yesterday hav- lecture to him in the portico. “Guide us, Monkbarns! ing been a gaude’ day—I love the reversion of a feast are things no dear eneugh already, but ye maun be rais- better than the feast itself. I delight in the analecta, the ing the very fish on us, by giving that randy, Luckie collectanea, as I may call them, of the preceding day’s Mucklebackit, just what she likes to ask?” dinner, which appear on such occasions—And see, there “Why, Grizel,” said the sage, somewhat abashed at is Jenny going to ring the dinner-bell.” this unexpected attack, “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 never bid muckle mair

161 The Antiquary jectures about the correspondence and affairs of their neighbours. Two females of this description were, at the CHAPTER FIFTEENTH time we mention, assisting, or impeding, Mrs. Mailsetter in her official duty. “Eh, preserve us, sirs!” said the butcher’s wife, “there’s Be this letter delivered with haste—haste—post-haste! ten—eleven—twall letters to Tennant and Co.—thae Ride, villain, ride,—for thy life—for thy life—for thy life. folk do mair business than a’ the rest o’ the burgh.” Ancient Indorsation of Letters of Importance. “Ay; 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.” LEAVING MR. OLDBUCK and his friend to enjoy their hard “Is there ony letters come yet for Jenny Caxon?” in- bargain of fish, we beg leave to transport the reader to quired the woman of joints and giblets; “the lieutenant’s the back-parlour of the post-master’s house at Fairport, been awa three weeks.” where his wife, he himself being absent, was employed “Just ane on Tuesday was a week,” answered the dame in assorting for delivery the letters which had come by of letters. the Edinburgh post. This is very often in country towns “Wast a ship-letter?” asked the Fornerina. the period of the day when gossips find it particularly “In troth wast.” agreeable to call on the man or woman of letters, in “It wad be frae the lieutenant then,” replied the mis- order, from the outside of the epistles, and, if they are tress of the rolls, somewhat disappointed—“I never not belied, occasionally from the inside also, to amuse thought he wad hae lookit ower his shouther after her.” themselves with gleaning information, or forming con- “Od, here’s another,” quoth Mrs. Mailsetter. “A ship-

162 Sir Walter Scott letter—post-mark, Sunderland.” All rushed to seize it.— “Show me! show me!” quoth the wives of the chief “Na, na, leddies,” said Mrs. Mailsetter, interfering; “I butcher and chief baker; and threw themselves on the hae had eneugh o’ that wark—Ken ye that Mr. Mailsetter supposed love-letter, like the weird sisters in Macbeth got an unco rebuke frae the secretary at Edinburgh, for upon the pilot’s thumb, with curiosity as eager and a complaint that was made about the letter of Aily scarcely less malignant. Mrs. Heukbane was a tall Bisset’s that ye opened, Mrs. Shortcake?” woman—she held the precious epistle up between her “Me opened!” answered the spouse of the chief baker eyes and the window. Mrs. Shortcake, a little squat per- of Fairport; “ye ken yoursell, madam, it just cam open sonage, strained and stood on tiptoe to have her share o’ free will in my hand—what could I help it?—folk suld of the investigation. seal wi’ better wax.” “Ay, it’s frae him, sure eneugh,” said the butcher’s “Weel I wot that’s true, too,” said Mrs. Mailsetter, who lady;—“I can read Richard Taffril on the corner, and kept a shop of small wares, “and we have got some that it’s written, like John Thomson’s wallet, frae end to end.” I can honestly recommend, if ye ken onybody wanting “Haud it lower down, madam,” exclaimed Mrs. it. But the short and the lang o’t is, that we’ll lose the Shortcake, in a tone above the prudential whisper which place gin there’s ony mair complaints o’ the kind.” their occupation required—“haud it lower down—Div “Hout, lass—the provost will take care o’ that.” ye think naebody can read hand o’ writ but yoursell?” “Na, na, I’ll neither trust to provost nor bailier” said “Whist, whist, sirs, for God’s sake!” said Mrs. the postmistress,—“but I wad aye be obliging and Mailsetter, “there’s somebody in the shop,”—then neighbourly, and I’m no again your looking at the out- aloud—“Look to the customers, Baby!”—Baby an- side of a letter neither—See, the seal has an anchor swered from without in a shrill tone—“It’s naebody but on’t—he’s done’t wi’ ane o’ his buttons, I’m thinking.” Jenny Caxon, ma’am, to see if there’s ony letters to her.”

163 The Antiquary “Tell her,” said the faithful postmistress, winking to ber and has a pole at his door, and that she’s but a manty- her compeers, “to come back the morn at ten o’clock, maker hersell! Hout fy for shame!” and I’ll let her ken—we havena had time to sort the “Hout tout, leddies,” cried Mrs. Mailsetter, “ye’re clean mail letters yet—she’s aye in sic a hurry, as if her letters wrang—It’s a line out o’ ane o’ his sailors’ sangs that I were o’ mair consequence than the best merchant’s o’ have heard him sing, about being true like the needle to the town.” the pole.” Poor Jenny, a girl of uncommon beauty and modesty, “Weel, weel, I wish it may be sae,” said the charitable Dame could only draw her cloak about her to hide the sigh of Heukbane, —“but it disna look weel for a lassie like her to disappointment and return meekly home to endure for keep up a correspondence wi’ ane o’ the king’s officers.” another night the sickness of the heart occasioned by “I’m no denying that,” said Mrs. Mailsetter; “but it’s hope delayed. a great advantage to the revenue of the post-office thae “There’s something about a needle and a pole,” said love-letters. See, here’s five or six letters to Sir Arthur Mrs. Shortcake, to whom her taller rival in gossiping Wardour—maist o’ them sealed wi’ wafers, and no wi’ had at length yielded a peep at the subject of their curi- wax. There will be a downcome, there, believe me.” osity. “Ay; they will be business letters, and no frae ony o’ “Now, that’s downright shamefu’,” said Mrs. his grand friends, that seals wi’ their coats of arms, as Heukbane, “to scorn the poor silly gait of a lassie after they ca’ them,” said Mrs. Heukbane;—“pride will hae a he’s keepit company wi’ her sae lang, and had his will o’ fa’—he hasna settled his account wi’ my gudeman, the her, as I make nae doubt he has.” deacon, for this twalmonth—he’s but slink, I doubt.” “It’s but ower muckle to be doubted,” echoed Mrs. “Nor wi’ huz for sax months,” echoed Mrs. Shortcake;—“to cast up to her that her father’s a bar- Shortcake—“He’s but a brunt crust.”

164 Sir Walter Scott “There’s a letter,” interrupted the trusty postmistress, in his pouch, when my first gudeman was awa at the “from his son, the captain, I’m thinking—the seal has Falkirk tryst—weel, weel—we’se no speak o’ that the same things wi’ the Knockwinnock carriage. He’ll e’enow.” be coming hame to see what he can save out o’ the fire.” “I winna say ony ill o’this Monkbarns,” said Mrs. The baronet thus dismissed, they took up the esquire— Shortcake; “his brother neer brought me ony wild- ”Twa letters for Monkbarns—they’re frae some o’ his deukes, and this is a douce honest man; we serve the learned friends now; see sae close as they’re written, family wi’ bread, and he settles wi’ huz ilka week—only down to the very seal—and a’ to save sending a double he was in an unco kippage when we sent him a book letter—that’s just like Monkbarns himsell. When he gets instead o’ the nick-sticks,* whilk, he said, were the true a frank he fills it up exact to the weight of an unce, that ancient way o’ counting between tradesmen and cus- a carvy-seed would sink the scale—but he’s neer a grain tomers; and sae they are, nae doubt.” abune it. Weel I wot I wad be broken if I were to gie sic “But look here, lasses,” interrupted Mrs. Mailsetter, weight to the folk that come to buy our pepper and brim- “here’s a sight for sair e’en! What wad ye gie to ken stone, and suchlike sweetmeats.” what’s in the inside o’ this letter? This is new corn—I “He’s a shabby body the laird o’ Monkbarns,” said haena seen the like o’ this—For William Lovel, Esquire, Mrs. Heukbane; “he’ll make as muckle about buying a at Mrs. Hadoway’s, High Street, Fairport, by forequarter o’ lamb in August as about a back sey o’ Edinburgh, N. B. This is just the second letter he has beef. Let’s taste another drop of the sinning” (perhaps had since he was here.” she meant cinnamon) “waters, Mrs. Mailsetter, my dear. “Lord’s sake, let’s see, lass!—Lord’s sake, let’s see!— Ah, lasses! an ye had kend his brother as I did—mony a that’s him that the hale town kens naething about— time he wad slip in to see me wi’ a brace o’ wild deukes * Note E. Nick-sticks. 165 The Antiquary and a weel-fa’ard lad he is; let’s see, let’s see!” Thus ejacu- would melt and dissolve itself, “I wad like to ken what’s lated the two worthy representatives of mother Eve. in the inside o’ this, for that Lovel dings a’ that ever set “Na, na, sirs,” exclaimed Mrs. Mailsetter; “haud awa— foot on the plainstanes o’ Fairport—naebody kens what bide aff, I tell you; this is nane o’ your fourpenny cuts to make o’ him.” that we might make up the value to the post-office “Weel, weel, leddies,” said the postmistress, “we’se sit amang ourselves if ony mischance befell it;—the post- down and crack about it.—Baby, bring ben the tea-wa- age is five-and-twenty shillings—and here’s an order frae ter—Muckle obliged to ye for your cookies, Mrs. the Secretary to forward it to the young gentleman by Shortcake—and we’ll steek the shop, and cry ben Baby, express, if he’s no at hame. Na, na, sirs, bide aff;—this and take a hand at the cartes till the gudeman comes maunna be roughly guided.” hame—and then we’ll try your braw veal sweetbread “But just let’s look at the outside o’t, woman.” that ye were so kind as send me, Mrs. Heukbane.” Nothing could be gathered from the outside, except “But winna ye first send awa Mr. Lovel’s letter?” said remarks on the various properties which philosophers Mrs. Heukbane. ascribe to matter,—length, breadth, depth, and weight, “Troth I kenna wha to send wi’t till the gudeman The packet was composed of strong thick paper, comes hame, for auld Caxon tell’d me that Mr. Lovel imperviable by the curious eyes of the gossips, though stays a’ the day at Monkbarns—he’s in a high fever, wi’ they stared as if they would burst from their sockets. pu’ing the laird and Sir Arthur out o’ the sea.” The seal was a deep and well-cut impression of arms, “Silly auld doited carles!” said Mrs. Shortcake; “what which defied all tampering. gar’d them gang to the douking in a night like yestreen!” “Od, lass,” said Mrs. Shortcake, weighing it in her “I was gi’en to understand it was auld Edie that saved hand, and wishing, doubtless, that the too, too solid wax them,” said Mrs. Heukbane—“Edie Ochiltree, the Blue-

166 Sir Walter Scott Gown, ye ken; and that he pu’d the hale three out of the “Only that Mr. Lovel will be in town before the ex- auld fish-pound, for Monkbarns had threepit on them press gaes aff,” said Mrs. Heukbane; “and where are ye to gang in till’t to see the wark o’ the monks lang syne.” then, lass? But ye ken yere ain ways best.” “Hout, lass, nonsense!” answered the postmistress; “Weel, weel, Mrs. Heukbane,” answered Mrs. “I’ll tell ye, a’ about it, as Caxon tell’d it to me. Ye see, Mailsetter, a little out of humour, and even out of coun- Sir Arthur and Miss Wardour, and Mr. Lovel, suld hae tenance, “I am sure I am never against being neighbour- dined at Monkbarns”— like, and living and letting live, as they say; and since I “But, Mrs. Mailsetter,” again interrupted Mrs. hae been sic a fule as to show you the post-office or- Heukbane, “will ye no be for sending awa this letter by der—ou, nae doubt, it maun be obeyed. But I’ll no need express?—there’s our powny and our callant hae gane your callant, mony thanks to ye—I’ll send little Davie express for the office or now, and the powny hasna gane on your powny, and that will be just five-and-threepence abune thirty mile the day;—Jock was sorting him up as to ilka ane o’ us, ye ken.” I came ower by.” “Davie! the Lord help ye, the bairn’s no ten year auld; “Why, Mrs. Heukbane,” said the woman of letters, and, to be plain wi’ ye, our powny reists a bit, and it’s pursing up her mouth, “ye ken my gudeman likes to dooms sweer to the road, and naebody can manage him ride the expresses himsell—we maun gie our ain fish- but our Jock.” guts to our ain sea-maws—it’s a red half-guinea to him “I’m sorry for that,” answered the postmistress, every time he munts his mear; and I dare say he’ll be in gravely; “it’s like we maun wait then till the gudeman sune—or I dare to say, it’s the same thing whether the comes hame, after a’—for I wadna like to be respon- gentleman gets the express this night or early next morn- sible in trusting the letter to sic a callant as Jock—our ing.” Davie belangs in a manner to the office.”

167 The Antiquary “Aweel, aweel, Mrs. Mailsetter, I see what ye wad be tenant Taffril had acknowledged a private marriage with at—but an ye like to risk the bairn, I’ll risk the beast.” Jenny Caxon—another, that he had sent her a letter up- Orders were accordingly given. The unwilling pony was braiding her with the lowness of her birth and education, brought out of his bed of straw, and again equipped for and bidding her an eternal adieu. It was generally rumoured service—Davie (a leathern post-bag strapped across his that Sir Arthur Wardour’s affairs had fallen into irretriev- shoulders) was perched upon the saddle, with a tear in able confusion, and this report was only doubted by the his eye, and a switch in his hand. Jock good-naturedly wise, because it was traced to Mrs. Mailsetter’s shop,—a led the animal out of town, and, by the crack of his source more famous for the circulation of news than for whip, and the whoop and halloo of his too well-known their accuracy. But all agreed that a packet from the Sec- voice, compelled it to take the road towards Monkbarns. retary of State’s office, had arrived, directed for Mr. Lovel, Meanwhile the gossips, like the sibyls after consulting and that it had been forwarded by an orderly dragoon, their leaves, arranged and combined the information of despatched from the head-quarters at Edinburgh, who had the evening, which flew next morning through a hundred galloped through Fairport without stopping, except just channels, and in a hundred varieties, through the world of to inquire the way to Monkbarns. The reason of such an Fairport. Many, strange, and inconsistent, were the extraordinary mission to a very peaceful and retired indi- rumours to which their communications and conjectures vidual, was variously explained. Some said Lovel was an gave rise. Some said Tennant and Co. were broken, and emigrant noble, summoned to head an insurrection that that all their bills had come back protested—others that had broken out in La Vende’e—others that he was a spy— they had got a great contract from Government, and let- others that he was a general officer, who was visiting the ters from the principal merchants at Glasgow, desiring to coast privately—others that he was a prince of the blood, have shares upon a premium. One report stated, that Lieu- who was travelling incognito.

168 Sir Walter Scott Meanwhile the progress of the packet which occa- and applied himself to browse on the grass by the side sioned so much speculation, towards its destined owner of the lane. Sorely astounded by these symptoms of self- at Monkbarns, had been perilous and interrupted. The willed rebellion, and afraid alike to sit or to fall, poor bearer, Davie Mailsetter, as little resembling a bold dra- Davie lifted up his voice and wept aloud. The pony, hear- goon as could well be imagined, was carried onwards ing this pudder over his head, began apparently to think towards Monkbarns by the pony, so long as the animal it would be best both for himself and Davie to return had in his recollection the crack of his usual instrument from whence they came, and accordingly commenced a of chastisement, and the shout of the butcher’s boy. But retrograde movement towards Fairport. But, as all re- feeling how Davie, whose short legs were unequal to treats are apt to end in utter rout, so the steed, alarmed maintain his balance, swung to and fro upon his back, by the boy’s cries, and by the flapping of the reins, which the pony began to disdain furthur compliance with the dangled about his forefeet—finding also his nose turned intimations he had received. First, then, he slackened homeward, began to set off at a rate which, if Davie his pace to a walk This was no point of quarrel between kept the saddle (a matter extremely dubious), would him and his rider, who had been considerably discom- soon have presented him at Heukbane’s stable-door,— posed by the rapidity of his former motion, and who when, at a turn of the road, an intervening auxiliary, in now took the opportunity of his abated pace to gnaw a the shape of old Edie Ochiltree, caught hold of the rein, piece of gingerbread, which had been thrust into his and stopped his farther proceeding. “Wha’s aught ye, hand by his mother in order to reconcile this youthful callant? whaten a gate’s that to ride?” emissary of the post-office to the discharge of his duty. “I canna help it!” blubbered the express; “they ca’ me By and by, the crafty pony availed himself of this sur- little Davie.” cease of discipline to twitch the rein out of Davies hands, “And where are ye gaun?”

169 The Antiquary “I’m gaun to Monkbarns wi’ a letter.” was expatiating upon the topics the scenery afforded “Stirra, this is no the road to Monkbarns.” for a description of Agricola’s camp at the dawn of But Davie could oinly answer the expostulation with morning, when his eye was caught by the appearance sighs and tears. of the mendicant and his protegee. “What the devil!— Old Edie was easily moved to compassion where child- here comes Old Edie, bag and baggage, I think.” hood was in the case.—“I wasna gaun that gate,” he The beggar explained his errand, and Davie, who in- thought, “but it’s the best o’ my way o’ life that I canna sisted upon a literal execution of his commission by be weel out o’ my road. They’ll gie me quarters at going on to Monkbarns, was with difficulty prevailed Monkbarns readily eneugh, and I’ll e’en hirple awa there upon to surrender the packet to its proper owner, al- wi’ the wean, for it will knock its hams out, puir thing, though he met him a mile nearer than the place he had if there’s no somebody to guide the pony.—Sae ye hae a been directed to. “But my minnie said, I maun be sure letter, hinney? will ye let me see’t?” to get twenty shillings and five shillings for the postage, “I’m no gaun to let naebody see the letter,” sobbed and ten shillings and sixpence for the express—there’s the boy, “till I gie’t to Mr. Lovel, for I am a faithfu’ the paper.” servant o’ the office—if it werena for the powny.” “Let me see—let me see,” said Oldbuck, putting on “Very right, my little man,” said Ochiltree, turning his spectacles, and examining the crumpled copy of the reluctant pony’s head towards Monkbarns; “but we’ll regulations to which Davie appealed. “Express, per man guide him atween us, if he’s no a’ the sweerer.” and horse, one day, not to exceed ten shillings and six- Upon the very height of Kinprunes, to which pence. One day? why, it’s not an hour—Man and horse? Monkbarns had invited Lovel after their dinner, the why, ’tis a monkey on a starved cat!” Antiquary, again reconciled to the once degraded spot, “Father wad hae come himsell,” said Davie, “on the

170 Sir Walter Scott muckle red mear, an ye wad hae bidden till the morn’s “Nay, nay—stop a moment. If—if—” (making an ef- night.” fort)—“if there be any pecuniary inconvenience—I have “Four-and-twenty hours after the regular date of de- fifty—or a hundred guineas at your service—till—till livery! You little cockatrice egg, do you understand the Whitsunday—or indeed as long as you please.” art of imposition so early?” “I am much obliged, Mr. Oldbuck, but I am amply “Hout Monkbarns! dinna set your wit against a bairn,” provided,” said his mysterious young friend. “Excuse said the beggar; “mind the butcher risked his beast, and the me—I really cannot sustain further conversation at wife her wean, and I am sure ten and sixpence isna ower present. I will write or see you, before I leave Fairport— muckle. Ye didna gang sae near wi’ Johnnie Howie, when”— that is, if I find myself obliged to go.” Lovel, who, sitting on the supposed Praetorium, had So saying, he shook the Antiquary’s hand warmly, glanced over the contents of the packet, now put an end turned from him, and walked rapidly towards the town, to the altercation by paying Davies demand; and then “staying no longer question.” turning to Mr. Oldbuck, with a look of much agitation, “Very extraordinary indeed!” said Oldbuck;—“but he excused himself from returning with him to there’s something about this lad I can never fathom; Monkbarns’ that evening.—“I must instantly go to and yet I cannot for my heart think ill of him neither. I Fairport, and perhaps leave it on a moment’s notice;— must go home and take off the fire in the Green Room, your kindness, Mr. Oldbuck, I can never forget.” for none of my womankind will venture into it after “No bad news, I hope?” said the Antiquary. twilight.” “Of a very chequered complexion,” answered his “And how am I to win hame?” blubbered the discon- friend. “Farewell—in good or bad fortune I will not for- solate express. get your regard.” “It’s a fine night,” said the Blue-Gown, looking up to

171 The Antiquary 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 CHAPTER SIXTEENTH his huge waistcoat pocket till he found the object of his search, the Antiquary added, “there’s sixpence to ye to buy sneeshin.” “I am bewitched with the rogue’s company. If the rascal has not given me medicines to make me love him, I’ll be hanged; it could not be else. I have drunk medicines.”

Second Part of Henry IV.

REGULAR FOR A FORTNIGHT were the inquiries of the An- tiquary 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 muckle 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 beefsteak or a muttonchop, or makes him some Friar’s chicken, or just what she likes hersell, and he eats it in the little red 172 Sir Walter Scott parlour off his bedroom. She canna get him to say that appetite’s clean gane; but he’ll no hear o’ ganging ower he likes ae thing better than anither; and she makes him the door-stane—him that used to walk sae muckle too.” tea in a morning, and he settles honourably wi’ her ev- “That’s wrong—I have a guess what he’s busy about; ery week.” but he must not work too hard neither. I’ll go and see “But does he never stir abroad?” him this very day—he’s deep, doubtless, in the “He has clean gi’en up walking, and he sits a’ day in Caledoniad.” his room reading or writing; a hantle letters he has writ- Having formed this manful resolution, Mr. Oldbuck ten, but he wadna put them into our post-house, though equipped himself for the expedition with his thick walk- Mrs. Hadoway offered to carry them hersell, but sent ing-shoes and gold-headed cane, muttering the while the them a’ under ae cover to the sheriff; and it’s Mrs. words of Falstaff which we have chosen for the motto Mailsetter’s belief, that the sheriff sent his groom to put of this chapter; for the Antiquary was himself rather them into the post-office at Tannonburgh; it’s my puir surprised at the degree of attachment which he could thought, that he jaloused their looking into his letters not but acknowledge be entertained for this stranger. at Fairport; and weel had he need, for my puir daughter The riddle was notwithstanding easily solved. Lovel had Jenny”— many attractive qualities, but he won our Antiquary’s “Tut, don’t plague me with your womankind, Caxon. heart by being on most occasions an excellent listener. About this poor young lad.—Does he write nothing but A walk to Fairport had become somewhat of an ad- letters?” venture with Mr. Oldbuck, and one which he did not “Ou, ay—hale sheets o’ other things, Mrs. Hadoway often care to undertake. He hated greetings in the mar- says. She wishes muckle he could be gotten to take a ket-place; and there were generally loiterers in the streets walk; she thinks he’s but looking very puirly, and his to persecute him, either about the news of the day, or

173 The Antiquary about some petty pieces of business. So, on this occa- water frae the Fairwell-spring through a part o’ your sion, he had no sooner entered the streets of Fairport, lands.” than it was “Good-morrow, Mr. Oldbuck—a sight o’ “What the deuce!—have they nobody’s land but mine you’s gude, for sair een: what d’ye think of the news in to cut and carve on? —I won’t consent, tell them.” the Sun the day?—they say the great attempt will be “And the provost,” said the clerk, going on, without made in a fortnight.” noticing the rebuff, “and the council, wad be agreeable “I wish to the Lord it were made and over, that I might that you should hae the auld stones at Donagild’s chapel, hear no more about it.” that ye was wussing to hae.” “Monkbarns, your honour,” said the nursery and “Eh!—what?—Oho! that’s another story—Well, well, seedsman, “I hope the plants gied satisfaction?—and if I’ll call upon the provost, and we’ll talk about it.” ye wanted ony flower-roots fresh frae Holland, or” (this “But ye maun speak your mind on’t forthwith, in a lower key) “an anker or twa o’ Cologne gin, ane o’ Monkbarns, if ye want the stones; for Deacon Harlewalls our brigs cam in yestreen.” thinks the carved through-stanes might be put with “Thank ye, thank ye,—no occasion at present, Mr. advantage on the front of the new council-house—that Crabtree,” said the Antiquary, pushing resolutely on- is, the twa cross-legged figures that the callants used to ward. ca’ Robin and Bobbin, ane on ilka door-cheek; and the “Mr. Oldbuck,” said the town-clerk (a more important other stane, that they ca’d Ailie Dailie, abune the door. person, who came in front and ventured to stop the old It will be very tastefu’, the Deacon says, and just in the gentleman), “the provost, understanding you were in style of modern Gothic.” town, begs on no account that you’ll quit it without “Lord deliver me from this Gothic generation!” ex- seeing him; he wants to speak to ye about bringing the claimed the Antiquary, —“A monument of a knight-

174 Sir Walter Scott templar on each side of a Grecian porch, and a Madonna found. The tenement which she occupied, and the furni- on the top of it!—O crimini!—Well, tell the provost I ture of which she was possessed, gave her the means of wish to have the stones, and we’ll not differ about the letting a part of her house; and as Lovel had been a quiet, water-course. It’s lucky I happened to come this way regular, and profitable lodger, and had qualified the nec- to-day.” essary intercourse which they had together with a great They parted mutually satisfied; but the wily clerk had deal of gentleness and courtesy, Mrs. Hadoway, not, per- most reason to exult in the dexterity he had displayed, haps, much used to such kindly treatment, had become since the whole proposal of an exchange between the greatly attached to her lodger, and was profuse in every monuments (which the council had determined to re- sort of personal attention which circumstances permit- move as a nuisance, because they encroached three feet ted her to render him. To cook a dish somewhat better upon the public road), and the privilege of conveying than ordinary for “the poor young gentleman’s dinner;” the water to the burgh through the estate of Monkbarns, to exert her interest with those who remembered her hus- was an idea which had originated with himself upon band, or loved her for her own sake and his, in order to the pressure of the moment. procure scarce vegetables, or something which her sim- Through these various entanglements, Monkbarns (to plicity supposed might tempt her lodger’s appetite, was use the phrase by which he was distinguished in the coun- a labour in which she delighted, although she anxiously try) made his way at length to Mrs. Hadoway’s. This good concealed it from the person who was its object. She did woman was the widow of a late clergyman at Fairport, not adopt this secrecy of benevolence to avoid the laugh who had been reduced by her husband’s untimely death, of those who might suppose that an oval face and dark to that state of straitened and embarrassed circumstances eyes, with a clear brown complexion, though belonging in which the widows of the Scotch clergy are too often to a woman of five-and-forty, and enclosed within a

175 The Antiquary widow’s close-drawn pinners, might possibly still aim at “O fie, Monkbarns!—to hear the like o’ that frae making conquests; for, to say truth, such a ridiculous sus- you!—But yell walk up and see the poor young lad?— picion having never entered into her own head, she could Hegh sirs? sae young and weel-favoured—and day by not anticipate its having birth in that of any one else. day he has eat less and less, and now he hardly touches But she concealed her attentions solely out of delicacy to onything, only just pits a bit on the plate to make fash- her guest, whose power of repaying them she doubted as ion—and his poor cheek has turned every day thinner much as she believed in his inclination to do so, and in his and paler, sae that he now really looks as auld as me, being likely to feel extreme pain at leaving any of her that might be his mother—no that I might be just that civilities unrequited. She now opened the door to Mr. neither, but something very near it.” Oldbuck, and her surprise at seeing him brought tears “Why does he not take some exercise?” said Oldbuck. into her eyes, which she could hardly restrain. “I think we have persuaded him to do that, for he has “I am glad to see you, sir—I am very glad to see you. bought a horse from Gibbie Golightly, the galloping My poor gentleman is, I am afraid, very unwell; and oh, groom. A gude judge o’ horse-flesh Gibbie tauld our lass Mr. Oldbuck, he’ll see neither doctor, nor minister, nor that he was—for he offered him a beast he thought wad writer! And think what it would be, if, as my poor Mr. answer him weel eneugh, as he was a bookish man, but Hadoway used to say, a man was to die without advice Mr. Lovel wadna look at it, and bought ane might serve of the three learned faculties!” the Master o’ Morphie—they keep it at the Graeme’s “Greatly better than with them,” grumbled the cyni- Arms, ower the street;—and he rode out yesterday morn- cal Antiquary. “I tell you, Mrs. Hadoway, the clergy live ing and this morning before breakfast—But winna ye by our sins, the medical faculty by our diseases, and the walk up to his room?” law gentry by our misfortunes.” “Presently, presently. But has he no visitors?”

176 Sir Walter Scott “O dear, Mr. Oldbuck, not ane; if he wadna receive before him, on which lay a quantity of books and pa- them when he was weel and sprightly, what chance is pers, Lovel was seated on a couch, in his night-gown there of onybody in Fairport looking in upon him now?” and slippers. Oldbuck was shocked at the change which “Ay, ay, very true,—I should have been surprised had had taken place in his personal appearance. His cheek it been otherwise. —Come, show me up stairs, Mrs. and brow had assumed a ghastly white, except where a Hadoway, lest I make a blunder, and go where I should round bright spot of hectic red formed a strong and not.” painful contrast, totally different from the general cast The good landlady showed Mr. Oldbuck up her nar- of hale and hardy complexion which had formerly over- row staircase, warning him of every turn, and lament- spread and somewhat embrowned his countenance. ing all the while that he was laid under the necessity of Oldbuck observed, that the dress he wore belonged to a mounting up so high. At length she gently tapped at deep mourning suit, and a coat of the same colour hung the door of her guest’s parlour. “Come in,” said Lovel; on a chair near to him. As the Antiquary entered, Lovel and Mrs. Hadoway ushered in the Laird of Monkbarns. arose and came forward to welcome him. The little apartment was neat and clean, and decently “This is very kind,” he said, shaking him by the hand, furnished—ornamented, too, by such relics of her youth- and thanking him warmly for his visit—“this is very ful arts of sempstress—ship as Mrs. Hadoway had re- kind, and has anticipated a visit with which I intended tained; but it was close, overheated, and, as it appeared to trouble you. You must know I have become a horse- to Oldbuck, an unwholesome situation for a young per- man lately.” son in delicate health,—an observation which ripened “I understand as much from Mrs. Hadoway—I only his resolution touching a project that had already oc- hope, my good young friend, you have been fortunate in curred to him in Lovel’s behalf. With a writing-table a quiet horse. I myself inadvertently bought one from

177 The Antiquary the said Gibbie Golightly, which brute ran two miles on Mars armipotent? That experience fills up the measure end with me after a pack of hounds, with which I had of your qualifications for the epopea! The Britons, how- no more to do than the last year’s snow; and after af- ever, you will remember, fought in chariots—covinarii fording infinite amusement, I suppose, to the whole is the phrase of Tacitus;—you recollect the fine descrip- hunting field, he was so good as to deposit me in a dry tion of their dashing among the Roman infantry, al- ditch—I hope yours is a more peaceful beast?” though the historian tells us how ill the rugged face of “I hope, at least, we shall make our excursions on a the ground was calculated for equestrian combat; and better plan of mutual understanding.” truly, upon the whole, what sort of chariots could be “That is to say, you think yourself a good horseman?” driven in Scotland anywhere but on turnpike roads, has “I would not willingly,” answered Lovel, “confess my- been to me always matter of amazement. And well now self a very bad one.” —has the Muse visited you?—have you got anything to “No—all you young fellows think that would be equal show me?” to calling yourselves tailors at once—But have you had “My time,” said Lovel, with a glance at his black dress, experience? for, crede experto, a horse in a passion is no “has been less pleasantly employed.” joker.” “The death of a friend?” said the Antiquary. “Why, I should be sorry to boast myself as a great “Yes, Mr. Oldbuck—of almost the only friend I could horseman; but when I acted as aide-de-camp to Sir—— ever boast of possessing.” in the cavalry action at—, last year, I saw many better “Indeed? Well, young man,” replied his visitor, in a cavaliers than myself dismounted.” tone of seriousness very different from his affected grav- “Ah! you have looked in the face of the grisly god of ity, “be comforted. To have lost a friend by death while arms then?—you are acquainted with the frowns of your mutual regard was warm and unchilled, while the

178 Sir Walter Scott tear can drop unembittered by any painful recollection intercepted for a moment the beams of the sun when it of coldness or distrust or treachery, is perhaps an es- was rising. But I cram these words into your ears against cape from a more heavy dispensation. Look round you— the stomach of your sense.” how few do you see grow old in the affections of those “I am sensible of your kindness,” answered the youth; with whom their early friendships were formed! Our “but the wound that is of recent infliction must always sources of common pleasure gradually dry up as we jour- smart severely, and I should be little comforted under ney on through the vale of Bacha, and we hew out to my present calamity—forgive me for saying so—by the ourselves other reservoirs, from which the first compan- conviction that life had nothing in reserve for me but a ions of our pilgrimage are excluded;—jealousies, rival- train of successive sorrows. And permit me to add, you, ries, envy, intervene to separate others from our side, Mr. Oldbuck, have least reason of many men to take so until none remain but those who are connected with us gloomy a view of life. You have a competent and easy rather by habit than predilection, or who, allied more in fortune—are generally respected—may, in your own blood than in disposition, only keep the old man com- phrase, vacare musis, indulge yourself in the researches pany in his life, that they may not be forgotten at his to which your taste addicts you; you may form your own death— society without doors—and within you have the affectionate and sedulous attention of the nearest relatives.” Haec data poena diu viventibus. “Why, yes—the womankind, for womankind, are, thanks to my training, very civil and tractable—do not Ah, Mr. Lovel! if it be your lot to reach the chill, cloudy, disturb me in my morning studies—creep across the floor and comfortless evening of life, you will remember the with the stealthy pace of a cat, when it suits me to take sorrows of your youth as the light shadowy clouds that a nap in my easy-chair after dinner or tea. All this is

179 The Antiquary very well; but I want something to exchange ideas it will cost but a trifle—there is the space for an old one with—something to talk to.” which was condemned long ago—by which said door “Then why do you not invite your nephew, Captain you may pass and repass into the Green Chamber at M’Intyre, who is mentioned by every one as a fine spir- pleasure, so you will not interfere with the old man, nor ited young fellow, to become a member of your fam- he with you. As for your fare, Mrs. Hadoway tells me ily?” you are, as she terms it, very moderate of your mouth, “Who?” exclaimed Monkbarns, “my nephew Hec- so you will not quarrel with my humble table. Your tor?—the Hotspur of the North? Why, Heaven love you, washing”— I would as soon invite a firebrand into my stackyard. “Hold, my dear Mr. Oldbuck,” interposed Lovel, un- He’s an Almanzor, a Chamont—has a Highland pedi- able to repress a smile; “and before your hospitality gree as long as his claymore, and a claymore as long as settles all my accommodations, let me thank you most the High Street of Fairport, which he unsheathed upon sincerely for so kind an offer—it is not at present in my the surgeon the last time he was at Fairport. I expect power to accept of it; but very likely, before I bid adieu him here one of these days; but I will keep him at staff’s to Scotland, I shall find an opportunity to pay you a end, I promise you. He an inmate of my house! to make visit of some length.” my very chairs and tables tremble at his brawls. No, Mr. Oldbuck’s countenance fell. “Why, I thought I had no—I’ll none of Hector M’Intyre. But hark ye, Lovel;— hit on the very arrangement that would suit us both,— you are a quiet, gentle-tempered lad; had not you better and who knows what might happen in the long run, and set up your staff at Monkbarns for a month or two, since whether we might ever part? Why, I am master of my I conclude you do not immediately intend to leave this acres, man—there is the advantage of being descended country?—I will have a door opened out to the garden— from a man of more sense than pride—they cannot

180 Sir Walter Scott oblige me to transmit my goods chattels, and heritages, concerned in this matter, Mr. Oldbuck,” said Lovel, af- any way but as I please. No string of substitute heirs of ter glancing over the billet, and handing it to the Anti- entail, as empty and unsubstantial as the morsels of quary as he spoke. paper strung to the train of a boy’s kite, to cumber my It was a letter from Sir Arthur Wardour, couched in flights of inclination, and my humours of predilection. extremely civil language, regetting that a fit of the gout Well,—I see you won’t be tempted at present —but had prevented his hitherto showing Mr. Lovel the at- Caledonia goes on I hope?” tentions to which his conduct during a late perilous oc- “O certainly,” said Lovel; “I cannot think of relin- casion had so well entitled him—apologizing for not quishing a plan so hopeful.” paying his respects in person, but hoping Mr. Lovel would “It is indeed,” said the Antiquary, looking gravely up- dispense with that ceremony, and be a member of a small ward,—for, though shrewd and acute enough in estimat- party which proposed to visit the ruins of Saint Ruth’s ing the variety of plans formed by others, he had a very priory on the following day, and afterwards to dine and natural, though rather disproportioned good opinion of spend the evening at Knockwinnock Castle. Sir Arthur the importance of those which originated with himself— concluded with saying, that he had sent to request the ”it is indeed one of those undertakings which, if achieved Monkbarns family to join the party of pleasure which with spirit equal to that which dictates its conception, he thus proposed. The place of rendezvous was fixed at may redeem from the charge of frivolity the literature a turnpike-gate, which was about an equal distance from of the present generation.” all the points from which the company were to assemble. Here he was interrupted by a knock at the room door, “What shall we do?” said Lovel, looking at the Anti- which introduced a letter for Mr. Lovel. The servant quary, but pretty certain of the part he would take. waited, Mrs. Hadoway said, for an answer. “You are “Go, man—we’ll go, by all means. Let me see—it will

181 The Antiquary cost a post-chaise though, which will hold you and me, and Mary M’Intyre, very well—and the other womankind may go to the manse—and you can come out in CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH 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 fool- Of seats they tell, where priests, ‘mid tapers dim, Breathed the warm prayer, or tuned the midnight hymn ish lad, by the by, for purchasing the brute outright; To scenes like these the fainting soul retired; you should stick to eighteenpence a side, if you will trust Revenge and Anger in these cells expired: any creature’s legs in preference to your own.” By Pity soothed, Remorse lost half her fears, And softened Pride dropped penitential tears. “Why, as the horse’s have the advantage of moving considerably faster, and are, besides, two pair to one, I Crabbe’s Borough. own I incline”— “Enough said—enough said—do as you please. Well then, I’ll bring either Grizel or the minister, for I love to THE MORNING of Friday was as serene and beautiful as if have my full pennyworth out of post-horses—and we no pleasure party had been intended; and that is a rare meet at Tirlingen turnpike on Friday, at twelve o’clock event, whether in novel-writing or real life. Lovel, who precisely. “—And with this ageement the friends sepa- felt the genial influence of the weather, and rejoiced at rated. 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

182 Sir Walter Scott him—and hope, although breaking like the morning sun the superlative. The superintendent of these antique through clouds and showers, appeared now about to il- garnitures, deeming, or affecting to deem, that he could luminate the path before him. He was, as might have not well be absent on an occasion which assembled all been expected from this state of spirits, first at the place three together, had seated himself on the board behind of meeting,—and, as might also have been anticipated, the carriage, “just to be in the way in case they wanted his looks were so intently directed towards the road from a touch before the gentlemen sat down to dinner.” Be- Knockwinnock Castles that he was only apprized of the tween the two massive figures of Monkbarns and the arrival of the Monkbarns division by the gee-hupping clergyman was stuck, by way of bodkin, the slim form of the postilion, as the post-chaise lumbered up behind of Mary M’Intyre, her aunt having preferred a visit to him. In this vehicle were pent up, first, the stately fig- the manse, and a social chat with Miss Beckie ure of Mr. Oldbuck himself; secondly, the scarce less Blattergowl, to investigating the ruins of the priory of portly person of the Reverend Mr. Blattergowl, minis- Saint Ruth. ter of Trotcosey, the parish in which Monkbarns and As greetings passed between the members of the Knockwinnock were both situated. The reverend gentle- Monkbarns party and Mr. Lovel, the Baronet’s carriage, man was equipped in a buzz wig, upon the top of which an open barouche, swept onward to the place of appoint- was an equilateral cocked hat. This was the paragon of ment, making, with its smoking bays, smart drivers, the three yet remaining wigs of the parish, which dif- arms, blazoned panels, and a brace of outriders, a strong fered, as Monkbarns used to remark, like the three de- contrast with the battered vehicle and broken-winded grees of comparison—Sir Arthur’s ramilies being the backs which had brought thither the Antiquary and his positive, his own bob-wig the comparative, and the over- followers. The principal seat of the carriage was occu- whelming grizzle of the worthy clergyman figuring as pied by Sir Arthur and his daughter. At the first glance

183 The Antiquary which passed betwixt Miss Wardour and Lovel, her beyond the place at which they met, the carriages at colour rose considerably;—but she had apparently made length stopped at the sign of the Four Horse-shoes, a up her mind to receive him as a friend, and only as such, small hedge inn, where Caxon humbly opened the door, and there was equal composure and courtesy in the mode and let down the step of the hack-chaise, while the in- of her reply to his fluttered salutation. Sir Arthur halted mates of the barouche were, by their more courtly at- the barouche to shake his preserver kindly by the hand, tendants, assisted to leave their equipage. and intimate the pleasure he had on this opportunity Here renewed greetings passed: the young ladies shook of returning him his personal thanks; then mentioned hands; and Oldbuck, completely in his element, placed to him, in a tone of slight introduction, “Mr. himself as guide and cicerone at the head of the party, Dousterswivel, Mr. Lovel.” who were now to advance on foot towards the object of Lovel took the necessary notice of the German adept, their curiosity. He took care to detain Lovel close beside who occupied the front seat of the carriage, which is him as the best listener of the party, and occasionally usually conferred upon dependants or inferiors. The glanced a word of explanation and instruction to Miss ready grin and supple inclination with which his saluta- Wardour and Mary M’Intyre, who followed next in or- tion, though slight, was answered by the foreigner, in- der. The Baronet and the clergyman he rather avoided, creased the internal dislike which Lovel had already con- as he was aware both of them conceived they under- ceived towards him; and it was plain, from the lower of stood such matters as well, or better than he did; and the Antiquary’s shaggy eye-brow, that he too looked Dousterswivel, besides that he looked on him as a char- with displeasure on this addition to the company. Little latan, was so nearly connected with his apprehended more than distant greeting passed among the members loss in the stock of the mining company, that he could of the party, until, having rolled on for about three miles not abide the sight of him. These two latter satellites,

184 Sir Walter Scott therefore, attended upon the orb of Sir Arthur, to whom, began to appear, at first singly, stunted, and blighted, moreover, as the most important person of the society, with locks of wool upon their trunks, and their roots they were naturally induced to attach themselves. hollowed out into recesses, in which the sheep love to It frequently happens that the most beautiful points repose themselves—a sight much more gratifying to the of Scottish scenery lie hidden in some sequestered dell, eye of an admirer of the picturesque than to that of a and that you may travel through the country in every planter or forester. By and by the trees formed groups, direction without being aware of your vicinity to what fringed on the edges, and filled up in the middle, by is well worth seeing, unless intention or accident carry thorns and hazel bushes; and at length these groups you to the very spot. This is particularly the case in the closed so much together, that although a broad glade country around Fairport, which is, generally speaking, opened here and there under their boughs, or a small open, unenclosed, and bare. But here and there the patch of bog or heath occurred which had refused nour- progress of rills, or small rivers, has formed dells, glens, ishment to the seed which they sprinkled round, and or as they are provincially termed, dens, on whose high consequently remained open and waste, the scene might and rocky banks trees and shrubs of all kinds find a on the whole be termed decidedly woodland. The sides shelter, and grow with a luxuriant profusion, which is of the valley began to approach each other more closely; the more gratifying, as it forms an unexpected contrast the rush of a brook was heard below, and between the with the general face of the country. This was eminently intervals afforded by openings in the natural wood, its the case with the approach to the ruins of Saint Ruth, waters were seen hurling clear and rapid under their which was for some time merely a sheep-track, along silvan canopy. the side of a steep and bare hill. By degrees, however, as Oldbuck now took upon himself the full authority of this path descended, and winded round the hillside, trees cicerone, and anxiously directed the company not to go

185 The Antiquary a foot-breadth off the track which he pointed out to So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, them, if they wished to enjoy in full perfection what And yet anon repairs his drooping head, they came to see. “You are happy in me for a guide, And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore Miss Wardour,” exclaimed the veteran, waving his hand Flames on the forehead”—* and head in cadence as he repeated with emphasis, “O! enough, enough!” answered Oldbuck; “I ought to I know each lane, and every alley green, have known what it was to give you advantage over me— Dingle, or bushy dell, of this wild wood, But here is what will stop your career of satire, for you And every bosky bower from side to side.* 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 Ah! deuce take it!—that spray of a bramble has demol- equally unexpected and interesting. ished all Caxon’s labours, and nearly canted my wig into They stood pretty high upon the side of the glen, which the stream—so much for recitations, hors de propos.” had suddenly opened into a sort of amphitheatre to give “Never mind, my dear sir,” said Miss Wardour; “you room for a pure and profound lake of a few acres ex- have your faithful attendant ready to repair such a di- tent, and a space of level ground around it. The banks saster when it happens, and when you appear with it as then arose everywhere steeply, and in some places were restored to its original splendour, I will carry on the quo- varied by rocks—in others covered with the copse, which tation: run up, feathering their sides lightly and irregularly, and breaking the uniformity of the green pasture-ground.—

* (Milton’s Comus.) * (Lycidas.) 186 Sir Walter Scott Beneath, the lake discharged itself into the huddling hung the brook, was partly founded on a steep and pre- and tumultuous brook, which had been their compan- cipitous rock; for the place had been occasionally turned ion since they had entered the glen. At the point at which to military purposes, and had been taken with great it issued from “its parent lake,” stood the ruins which slaughter during Montrose’s wars. The ground formerly they had come to visit. They were not of great extent; occupied by the garden was still marked by a few or- but the singular beauty, as well as the wild and seques- chard trees. At a greater distance from the buildings were tered character of the spot on which they were situated, detached oaks and elms and chestnuts, growing singly, gave them an interest and importance superior to that which had attained great size. The rest of the space be- which attaches itself to architectural remains of greater tween the ruins and the hill was a close-cropt sward, consequence, but placed near to ordinary houses, and which the daily pasture of the sheep kept in much finer possessing less romantic accompaniments. The eastern order than if it had been subjected to the scythe and window of the church remained entire, with all its or- broom. The whole scene had a repose, which was still naments and tracery work; and the sides, upheld by fly- and affecting without being monotonous. The dark, deep ing buttresses whose airy support, detached from the basin, in which the clear blue lake reposed, reflecting wall against which they were placed, and ornamented the water lilies which grew on its surface, and the trees with pinnacles and carved work, gave a variety and light- which here and there threw their arms from the banks, ness to the building. The roof and western end of the was finely contrasted with the haste and tumult of the church were completely ruinous; but the latter appeared brook which broke away from the outlet, as if escaping to have made one side of a square, of which the ruins of from confinement and hurried down the glen, wheeling the conventual buildings formed other two, and the gar- around the base of the rock on which the ruins were dens a fourth. The side of these buildings which over- situated, and brawling in foam and fury with every

187 The Antiquary shelve and stone which obstructed its passage. A simi- with five thousand volumes. And here I might well take lar contrast was seen between the level green meadow, up the lamentation of the learned Leland, who, regret- in which the ruins were situated, and the large timber- ting the downfall of the conventual libraries, exclaims, trees which were scattered over it, compared with the like Rachel weeping for her children, that if the Papal precipitous banks which arose at a short distance laws, decrees, decretals, clementines, and other such drugs around, partly fringed with light and feathery of the devil—yea, if Heytesburg’s sophisms, Porphyry’s underwood, partly rising in steeps clothed with purple universals, Aristotle’s logic, and Dunse’s divinity, with heath, and partly more abruptly elevated into fronts of such other lousy legerdemains (begging your pardon, Miss grey rock, chequered with lichen, and with those hardy Wardour) and fruits of the bottomless pit,—had leaped plants which find root even in the most and crevices of out of our libraries, for the accommodation of grocers, the crags. candlemakers, soapsellers, and other worldly occupiers, “There was the retreat of learning in the days of dark- we might have been therewith contented. But to put our ness, Mr. Lovel!” said Oldbuck,—around whom the com- ancient chronicles, our noble histories, our learned company had now grouped themselves while they admired mentaries, and national muniments, to such offices of the unexpected opening of a prospect so romantic;— contempt and subjection, has greatly degraded our na- ”there reposed the sages who were aweary of the world, tion, and showed ourselves dishonoured in the eyes of and devoted either to that which was to come, or to the posterity to the utmost stretch of time—O negligence service of the generations who should follow them in this. most unfriendly to our land!” I will show you presently the library;—see that stretch “And, O John Knox” said the Baronet, “through whose of wall with square-shafted windows—there it existed, influence, and under whose auspices, the patriotic task stored, as an old manuscript in my possession assures me, was accomplished!”

188 Sir Walter Scott The Antiquary, somewhat in the situation of a wood- the verdant meadow where the ruins stood. “There they cock caught in his own springe, turned short round and lived,” continued the Antiquary, “with nought to do but coughed, to excuse a slight blush as he mustered his to spend their time in investigating points of remote answer—“as to the Apostle of the Scottish Reforma- antiquity, transcribing manuscripts, and composing new tion”— works for the information of posterity.” But Miss Wardour broke in to interrupt a conversa- “And,” added the Baronet, “in exercising the rites of tion so dangerous. “Pray, who was the author you devotion with a pomp and ceremonial worthy of the quoted, Mr. Oldbuck?” office of the priesthood.” “The learned Leland, Miss Wardour, who lost his senses “And if Sir Arthur’s excellence will permit,” said the on witnessing the destruction of the conventual librar- German, with a low bow, “the monksh might also make ies in England.” de vary curious experiment in deir laboraties, both in “Now, I think,” replied the young lady, “his misfor- chemistry and magia naturalis.” tune may have saved the rationality of some modern “I think,” said the clergyman, “they would have antiquaries, which would certainly have been drowned enough to do in collecting the teinds of the parsonage if so vast a lake of learning had not been diminished by and vicarage of three good parishes.” draining.” “And all,” added Miss Wardour, nodding to the Anti- “Well, thank Heaven, there is no danger now—they quary, “without interruption from womankind.” have hardly left us a spoonful in which to perform the “True, my fair foe,” said Oldbuck; “this was a para- dire feat.” dise where no Eve was admitted, and we may wonder So saying, Mr. Oldbuck led the way down the bank, the rather by what chance the good fathers came to lose by a steep but secure path, which soon placed them on it.”

189 The Antiquary With such criticisms on the occupations of those by dows, reared at such cost,—three words fill up his an- whom the ruins had been formerly possessed, they wan- swer—they were made up by the monks lang syne.’” dered for some time from one moss-grown shrine to an- The question was somewhat puzzling. Sir Arthur other, under the guidance of Oldbuck, who explained, looked upward, as if hoping to be inspired with an an- with much plausibility, the ground-plan of the edifice, swer—Oldbuck shoved back his wig—the clergyman was and read and expounded to the company the various of opinion that his parishioners were too deeply im- mouldering inscriptions which yet were to be traced upon pressed with the true presbyterian doctrine to preserve the tombs of the dead, or under the vacant niches of any records concerning the papistical cumberers of the the sainted images. land, offshoots as they were of the great overshadowing “What is the reason,” at length Miss Wardour asked tree of iniquity, whose roots are in the bowels of the the Antiquary, “why tradition has preserved to us such seven hills of abomination—Lovel thought the question meagre accounts of the inmates of these stately edi- was best resolved by considering what are the events fices, raised with such expense of labour and taste, and which leave the deepest impression on the minds of the whose owners were in their times personages of such common people—“These,” he contended, “were not such awful power and importance? The meanest tower of a as resemble the gradual progress of a fertilizing river, freebooting baron or squire who lived by his lance and but the headlong and precipitous fury of some porten- broadsword, is consecrated by its appropriate legend, tous flood. The eras by which the vulgar compute time, and the shepherd will tell you with accuracy the names have always reference to some period of fear and tribu- and feats of its inhabitants;—but ask a countryman lation, and they date by a tempest, an earthquake, or concerning these beautiful and extensive remains—these burst of civil commotion. When such are the facts most towers, these arches, and buttresses, and shafted win- alive, in the memory of the common people, we cannot

190 Sir Walter Scott wonder,” he concluded, “that the ferocious warrior is your juniper, it will not be any better—that is, it will not remembered, and the peaceful abbots are abandoned to be no worse—then you do take something of de fatsh of forgetfulness and oblivion.” de bear, and of de badger, and of de great eber, as you “If you pleashe, gentlemans and ladies, and ashking call de grand boar, and of de little sucking child as has pardon of Sir Arthur and Miss Wardour, and this wor- not been christened (for dat is very essentials), and you thy clergymansh, and my goot friend Mr. Oldenbuck, do make a candle, and put it into de hand of glory at de who is my countrymansh, and of goot young Mr. Lofel proper hour and minute, with de proper ceremonish, and also, I think it is all owing to de hand of glory.” he who seeksh for treasuresh shall never find none at all,” “The hand of what?” exclaimed Oldbuck. “I dare take my corporal oath of that conclusion,” “De hand of glory, my goot Master Oldenbuck, which said the Antiquary. “And was it the custom, Mr. is a vary great and terrible secrets—which de monksh Dousterswivel, in Westphalia, to make use of this el- used to conceal their treasures when they were triven egant candelabrum?” from their cloisters by what you call de Reform.” “Alwaysh, Mr. Oldenbuck, when you did not want no- “Ay, indeed! tell us about that,” said Oldbuck, “for body to talk of nothing you wash doing about—And these are secrets worth knowing.” the monksh alwaysh did this when they did hide their “Why, my goot Master Oldenbuck, you will only laugh church-plates, and their great chalices, and de rings, wid at me—But de hand of glory is vary well known in de very preshious shtones and jewels.” countries where your worthy progenitors did live—and it “But, notwithstanding, you knights of the Rosy Cross is hand cut off from a dead man, as has been hanged for have means, no doubt, of breaking the spell, and dis- murther, and dried very nice in de shmoke of juniper covering what the poor monks have put themselves to wood; and if you put a little of what you call yew wid so much trouble to conceal?”

191 The Antiquary “Ah! goot Mr. Oldenbuck,” replied the adept, shaking “I would gladly rather see some of these wonders than his head mysteriously, “you was very hard to believe; hear of them,” said Miss Wardour. but if you had seen de great huge pieces of de plate so “Ah, but, my much-honoured young lady, this is not massive, Sir Arthur,—so fine fashion, Miss Wardour— de time or de way to do de great wonder of finding all and de silver cross dat we did find (dat was Schroepfer de church’s plate and treasure; but to oblige you, and and my ownself) for de Herr Freygraf, as you call de Sir Arthur my patron, and de reverend clergymans, and Baron Von Blunderhaus, I do believe you would have goot Mr. Oldenbuck, and young Mr. Lofel, who is a very believed then.” goot young gentleman also, I will show you dat it is pos- “Seeing is believing indeed. But what was your art— sible, a vary possible, to discover de spring, of water, what was your mystery, Mr. Dousterswivel?” and de little fountain hidden in de ground, without any “Aha, Mr. Oldenbuck! dat is my little secret, mine goot mattock, or spade, or dig at all.” sir—you sall forgife me that I not tell that. But I will “Umph!” quoth the Antiquary, “I have heard of that tell you dere are various ways—yes, indeed, dere is de conundrum. That will be no very productive art in our dream dat you dream tree times—dat is a vary goot country;—you should carry that property to Spain or way.” Portugal, and turn it to good account.” “I am glad of that,” said Oldbuck; “I have a friend” “Ah! my goot Master Oldenbuck, dere is de Inquisi- (with a side-glance to Lovel) “who is peculiarly favoured tion and de Auto-da-fe’ —they would burn me, who am by the visits of Queen Mab.” but a simple philosopher, for one great conjurer.” “Den dere is de sympathies, and de antipathies, and “They would cast away their coals then,” said de strange properties and virtues natural of divers herb, Oldbuck; “but,” continued he, in a whisper to Lovel, and of de little divining-rod.” “were they to pillory him for one of the most impudent

192 Sir Walter Scott rascals that ever wagged a tongue, they would square comfortable, Rhinewine. But, aha!—see there!” Accord- the punishment more accurately with his deserts. But ingly, the assistants observed the rod to turn in his fin- let us see: I think he is about to show us some of his gers, although he pretended to hold it very tight.—“Dere legerdemain.” is water here about, sure enough,” and, turning this way In truth, the German was now got to a little copse- and that way, as the agitation of the divining-rod seemed thicket at some distance from the ruins, where he af- to increase or diminish, he at length advanced into the fected busily to search for such a wand as would suit the midst of a vacant and roofless enclosure which had been purpose of his mystery: and after cutting and examin- the kitchen of the priory, when the rod twisted itself so ing, and rejecting several, he at length provided himself as to point almost straight downwards. “Here is de with a small twig of hazel terminating in a forked end, place,” said the adept, “and if you do not find de water which he pronounced to possess the virtue proper for here, I will give you all leave to call me an impudent the experiment that he was about to exhibit. Holding knave.” the forked ends of the wand, each between a finger and “I shall take that license,” whispered the Antiquary thumb, and thus keeping the rod upright, he proceeded to Lovel, “whether the water is discovered or no.” to pace the ruined aisles and cloisters, followed by the A servant, who had come up with a basket of cold rest of the company in admiring procession. “I believe refreshments, was now despatched to a neighbouring dere was no waters here,” said the adept, when he had forester’s hut for a mattock and pick-axe. The loose made the round of several of the buildings, without stones and rubbish being removed from the spot indi- perceiving any of those indications which he pretended cated by the German, they soon came to the sides of a to expect—“I believe those Scotch monksh did find de regularly-built well; and when a few feet of rubbish were water too cool for de climate, and alwaysh drank de goot cleared out by the assistance of the forester and his sons,

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

194 Sir Walter Scott call faith—that spoils the great enterprise.” “At least, however, let my daughter read the narrative CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH she has taken down of the story of Martin Waldeck.” “Ah! that was vary true story—but Miss Wardour, she is so sly and so witty, that she has made it just like one As when a Gryphon through the wilderness, romance—as well as Goethe or Wieland could have done With winged course, o’er hill and moory dale, Pursues the Arimaspian, who by stealth it, by mine honest wort.” Had from his wakeful custody purloined “To say the truth, Mr. Dousterswivel,” answered Miss The guarded gold: So eagerly the Fiend— Wardour, “the romantic predominated in the legend so Paradise Lost. much above the probable, that it was impossible for a lover of fairyland like me to avoid lending a few touches to make it perfect in its kind. But here it is, and if you

WHEN THEIR COLLATION was ended, Sir Arthur resumed do not incline to leave this shade till the heat of the day the account of the mysteries of the divining-rod, as a has somewhat declined, and will have sympathy with subject on which he had formerly conversed with my bad composition, perhaps Sir Arthur or Mr. Oldbuck Dousterswivel. “My friend Mr. Oldbuck will now be pre- will read it to us.” pared, Mr. Dousterswivel, to listen with more respect to “Not I,” said Sir Arthur; “I was never fond of reading the stories you have told us of the late discoveries in aloud.” Germany by the brethren of your association.” “Nor I,” said Oldbuck, “for I have forgot my spec- “Ah, Sir Arthur, that was not a thing to speak to those tacles. But here is Lovel, with sharp eyes and a good gentlemans, because it is want of credulity—what you voice; for Mr. Blattergowl, I know, never reads anything,

195 The Antiquary lest he should be suspected of reading his sermons.” ers or foresters, is of a kind that renders them pecu- The task was therefore imposed upon Lovel, who re- liarly prone to superstition, and the natural phenom- ceived, with some trepidation, as Miss Wardour deliv- ena which they witness in pursuit of their solitary or ered, with a little embarrassment, a paper containing subterraneous profession, are often set down by them the lines traced by that fair hand, the possession of which to the interference of goblins or the power of magic. he coveted as the highest blessing the earth could offer Among the various legends current in that wild coun- to him. But there was a necessity of suppressing his try, there is a favourite one, which supposes the Harz to emotions; and after glancing over the manuscript, as if be haunted by a sort of tutelar demon, in the shape of a to become acquainted with the character, he collected wild man, of huge stature, his head wreathed with oak himself, and read the company the following tale:— leaves, and his middle cinctured with the same, bearing in his hand a pine torn up by the roots. It is certain that The Fortunes of Martin Waldeck. many persons profess to have seen such a form traversing, with huge strides, in a line parallel to their own The solitudes of the Harz forest in Germany,* but espe- course, the opposite ridge of a mountain, when divided cially the mountains called Blocksberg, or rather from it by a narrow glen; and indeed the fact of the Brockenberg, are the chosen scenes for tales of witches, apparition is so generally admitted, that modern scep- demons, and apparitions. ticism has only found refuge by ascribing it to optical The occupation of the inhabitants, who are either min- deception.*

* The outline of this story is taken from the German, though *The shadow of the person who sees the phantom, being re- the Author is at present unable to say in which of the vari- flected upon a cloud of mist, like the image of the magic ous collections of the popular legends in that language the lantern upon a white sheet, is supposed to have formed the original is to be found. apparition. 196 Sir Walter Scott In elder times, the intercourse of the demon with the The doctrines of Luther had already begun to spread inhabitants was more familiar, and, according to the among the peasantry (for the incident is placed under traditions of the Harz, he was wont, with the caprice the reign of Charles V. ), and they laughed to scorn the usually ascribed to these earth-born powers, to inter- zeal with which the venerable man insisted upon his fere with the affairs of mortals, sometimes for their weal, topic. At length, as his vehemence increased with oppo- sometimes for their wo. But it was observed that even sition, so their opposition rose in proportion to his ve- his gifts often turned out, in the long run, fatal to those hemence. The inhabitants did not like to hear an accus- on whom they were bestowed, and it was no uncommon tomed quiet demon, who had inhabited the Brockenberg thing for the pastors, in their care of their flocks, to for so many ages, summarily confounded with Baal-peor, compose long sermons, the burden whereof was a warn- Ashtaroth, and Beelzebub himself, and condemned with- ing against having any intercourse, direct or indirect, out reprieve to the bottomless Tophet. The apprehen- with the Harz demon. The fortunes of Martin Waldeck sions that the spirit might avenge himself on them for have been often quoted by the aged to their giddy chil- listening to such an illiberal sentence, added to their dren, when they were heard to scoff at a danger which national interest in his behalf. A travelling friar, they appeared visionary. said, that is here to-day and away to-morrow, may say A travelling capuchin had possessed himself of the what he pleases: but it is we, the ancient and constant pulpit of the thatched church at a little hamlet called inhabitants of the country, that are left at the mercy of Morgenbrodt, lying in the Harz district, from which he the insulted demon, and must, of course, pay for all. declaimed against the wickedness of the inhabitants, Under the irritation occasioned by these reflections, the their communication with fiends, witches, and fairies, peasants from injurious language betook themselves to and, in particular, with the woodland goblin of the Harz. stones, and having pebbled the priest pretty handsomely,

197 The Antiquary they drove him out of the parish to preach against de- abyss so steep and fearful, that neither horse nor man mons elsewhere. were ever seen more? Had he not given to Dame Gertrude Three young men, who had been present and assisting Trodden a curious spell for making butter come? and on this occasion were upon their return to the hut where was she not burnt for a witch by the grand criminal judge they carried on the laborious and mean occupation of of the Electorate, because she availed herself of his gift? preparing charcoal for the smelting furnaces. On the way, But these, and many other instances which they quoted, their conversation naturally turned upon the demon of of mischance and ill-luck ultimately attending on the the Harz and the doctrine of the capuchin. Max and apparent benefits conferred by the Harz spirit, failed to George Waldeck, the two elder brothers, although they make any impression upon Martin Waldeck, the young- allowed the language of the capuchin to have been in- est of the brothers. discreet and worthy of censure, as presuming to deter- Martin was youthful, rash, and impetuous; excelling mine upon the precise character and abode of the spirit, in all the exercises which distinguish a mountaineer, and yet contended it was dangerous, in the highest degree, brave and undaunted from his familiar intercourse with to accept of his gifts, or hold any communication with the dangers that attend them. He laughed at the timid- him, He was powerful, they allowed, but wayward and ity of his brothers. “Tell me not of such folly,” he said; capricious, and those who had intercourse with him sel- “the demon is a good demon—he lives among us as if he dom came to a good end. Did he not give the brave were a peasant like ourselves—haunts the lonely crags knight, Ecbert of Rabenwald, that famous black steed, and recesses of the mountains like a huntsman or by means of which he vanquished all the champions at goatherd—and he who loves the Harz forest and its wild the great tournament at Bremen? and did not the same scenes cannot be indifferent to the fate of the hardy steed afterwards precipitate itself with its rider into an children of the soil. But, if the demon were as mali-

198 Sir Walter Scott cious as you would make him, how should he derive draw his attention, by calling it to the consideration of power over mortals, who barely avail themselves of his the approaching boar-chase. This talk brought them to gifts, without binding themselves to submit to his plea- their hut, a wretched wigwam, situated upon one side sure? When you carry your charcoal to the furnace, is of a wild, narrow, and romantic dell, in the recesses of not the money as good that is paid you by blaspheming the Brockenberg. They released their sister from attend- Blaize, the old reprobate overseer, as if you got it from ing upon the operation of charring the wood, which re- the pastor himself? It is not the goblins gifts which can quires constant attention, and divided among themselves endanger you, then, but it is the use you shall make of the duty of watching it by night, according to their cus- them that you must account for. And were the demon tom, one always waking, while his brothers slept. to appear to me at this moment, and indicate to me a Max Waldeck, the eldest, watched during the first two gold or silver mine, I would begin to dig away even be- hours of the night, and was considerably alarmed by fore his back were turned,—and I would consider my- observing, upon the opposite bank of the glen, or val- self as under protection of a much Greater than he, while ley, a huge fire surrounded by some figures that appeared I made a good use of the wealth he pointed out to me.” to wheel around it with antic gestures. Max at first be- To this the elder brother replied, that wealth ill won thought him of calling up his brothers; but recollecting was seldom well spent; while Martin presumptuously the daring character of the youngest, and finding it declared, that the possession of all the treasures of the impossible to wake the elder without also disturbing Harz would not make the slightest alteration on his Martin—conceiving also what he saw to be an illusion habits, morals, or character. of the demon, sent perhaps in consequence of the ven- His brother entreated Martin to talk less wildly upon turous expressions used by Martin on the preceding the subject, and with some difficulty contrived to with- evening, he thought it best to betake himself to the safe-

199 The Antiquary guard of such prayers as he could murmur over, and to The appearance, of the assistants who surrounded it watch in great terror and annoyance this strange and resembled those phantoms which are seen in a troubled alarming apparition. After blazing for some time, the dream, and at once confirmed the idea he had enter- fire faded gradually away into darkness, and the rest of tained from the first, that they did not belong to the Max’s watch was only disturbed by the remembrance human world. Amongst these strange unearthly forms, of its terrors. George Waldeck distinguished that of a giant overgrown George now occupied the place of Max, who had re- with hair, holding an uprooted fir in his hand, with tired to rest. The phenomenon of a huge blazing fire, which, from time to time, he seemed to stir the blazing upon the opposite bank of the glen, again presented it- fire, and having no other clothing than a wreath of oak self to the eye of the watchman. It was surrounded as leaves around his forehead and loins. George’s heart sunk before by figures, which, distinguished by their opaque within him at recognising the well-known apparition of forms, being between the spectator and the red glaring the Harz demon, as he had been often described to him light, moved and fluctuated around it as if engaged in by the ancient shepherds and huntsmen who had seen some mystical ceremony. George, though equally cau- his form traversing the mountains. He turned, and was tious, was of a bolder character than his elder brother. about to fly; but upon second thoughts, blaming his own He resolved to examine more nearly the object of his cowardice, he recited mentally the verse of the Psalm- wonder; and, accordingly after crossing the rivulet which ist, “All good angels, praise the Lord!” which is in that divided the glen, he climbed up the opposite bank, and country supposed powerful as an exorcism, and turned approached within an arrow’s flight of the fire, which himself once more towards the place where he had seen blazed apparently with the same fury as when he first the fire. But it was no longer visible. witnessed it. The pale moon alone enlightened the side of the val-

200 Sir Walter Scott ley; and when George, with trembling steps, a moist ject of his watch. Martin’s first thought was to call up brow, and hair bristling upright under his collier’s cap, the slumberers; but observing that both his brothers came to the spot on which the fire had been so lately slept unwontedly deep and heavily, he respected their visible, marked as it was by a scathed oak-tree, there repose, and set himself to supply the furnace with fuel appeared not on the heath the slightest vestiges of what without requiring their aid. What he heaped upon it was he had seen. The moss and wild flowers were unscorched, apparently damp and unfit for the purpose, for the fire and the branches of the oak-tree, which had so lately seemed rather to decay than revive. Martin next went appeared enveloped in wreaths of flame and smoke, were to collect some boughs from a stack which had been care- moist with the dews of midnight. fully cut and dried for this purpose; but, when he re- George returned to his hut with trembling steps, and, turned, he found the fire totally extinguished. This was arguing like his elder brother, resolved to say nothing a serious evil, and threatened them with loss of their of what he had seen, lest he should awake in Martin trade for more than one day. The vexed and mortified that daring curiosity which he almost deemed to be al- watchman set about to strike a light in order to rekindle lied with impiety. the fire but the tinder was moist, and his labour proved It was now Martin’s turn to watch. The household cock in this respect also ineffectual. He was now about to had given his first summons, and the night was well- call up his brothers, for circumstances seemed to be press- nigh spent. Upon examining the state of the furnace in ing, when flashes of light glimmered not only through which the wood was deposited in order to its being coked the window, but through every crevice of the rudely built or charred, he was surprised to find that the fire had not hut, and summoned him to behold the same apparition been sufficiently maintained; for in his excursion and which had before alarmed the successive watches of his its consequences, George had forgot the principal ob- brethren. His first idea was, that the Muhllerhaussers,

201 The Antiquary their rivals in trade, and with whom they had had many With the same success as his brother George, but with quarrels, might have encroached upon their bounds for courage far superior, Martin crossed the brook, ascended the purpose of pirating their wood; and he resolved to the hill, and approached so near the ghostly assembly, awake his brothers, and be revenged on them for their that he could recognise, in the presiding figure, the at- audacity. But a short reflection and observation on the tributes of the Harz demon. A cold shuddering assailed gestures and manner of those who seemed to “work in him for the first time in his life; but the recollection that the fire,” induced him to dismiss this belief, and although he had at a distance dared and even courted the inter- rather sceptical in such matters, to conclude that what course which was now about to take place, confirmed he saw was a supernatural phenomenon. “But be they his staggering courage; and pride supplying what he men or fiends,” said the undaunted forester, “that busy wanted in resolution, he advanced with tolerable firm- themselves yonder with such fantastical rites and ges- ness towards the fire, the figures which surrounded it tures, I will go and demand a light to rekindle our fur- appearing still more wild, fantastical, and supernatu- nace.” He, relinquished at the same time the idea of ral, the more near he approached to the assembly. He awaking his brethren. There was a belief that such ad- was received with a loud shout of discordant and un- ventures as he was about to undertake were accessible natural laughter, which, to his stunned ears, seemed only to one person at a time; he feared also that his broth- more alarming than a combination of the most dismal ers, in their scrupulous timidity, might interfere to pre- and melancholy sounds that could be imagined. “Who vent his pursuing the investigation he had resolved to art thou?” said the giant, compressing his savage and commence; and, therefore, snatching his boar-spear from exaggerated features into a sort of forced gravity, while the wall, the undaunted Martin Waldeck set forth on they were occasionally agitated by the convulsion of the adventure alone. the laughter which he seemed to suppress.

202 Sir Walter Scott “Martin Waldeck, the forester,” answered the hardy fire of his furnace; but after many efforts, and all exer- youth;—“and who are you?” tions of bellows and fire-prong, the coal he had brought “The King of the Waste and of the Mine,” answered from the demon’s fire became totally extinct without the spectre;—“and why hast thou dared to encroach on kindling any of the others. He turned about, and ob- my mysteries?” served the fire still blazing on the hill, although those “I came in search of light to rekindle my fire,” an- who had been busied around it had disappeared. As he swered Martin, hardily, and then resolutely asked in his conceived the spectre had been jesting with him, he gave turn, “What mysteries are those that you celebrate way to the natural hardihood of his temper, and, deter- here?” mining to see the adventure to an end, resumed the road “We celebrate,” answered the complaisant demon, “the to the fire, from which, unopposed by the demon, he wedding of Hermes with the Black Dragon—But take brought off in the same manner a blazing piece of char- thy fire that thou camest to seek, and begone! no mor- coal, but still without being able to succeed in lighting tal may look upon us and live.” his fire. Impunity having increased his rashness, he re- The peasant struck his spear-point into a large piece solved upon a third experiment, and was as successful of blazing wood, which he heaved up with some diffi- as before in reaching the fire; but when he had again culty, and then turned round to regain his hut, the shouts appropriated a piece of burning coal, and had turned to of laughter being renewed behind him with treble vio- depart, he heard the harsh and supernatural voice which lence, and ringing far down the narrow valley. When had before accosted him, pronounce these words, “Dare Martin returned to the hut, his first care, however much not return hither a fourth time!” astonished with what he had seen, was to dispose the The attempt to kindle the fire with this last coal hav- kindled coal among the fuel so as might best light the ing proved as ineffectual as on the former occasions,

203 The Antiquary Martin relinquished the hopeless attempt, and flung the neighbourhood, was invested with all the privileges himself on his bed of leaves, resolving to delay till the of a man of family. His courage in public war, as well as next morning the communication of his supernatural in private feuds, together with the number of retainers adventure to his brothers. He was awakened from a whom he kept in pay, sustained him for some time heavy sleep into which he had sunk, from fatigue of against the odium which was excited by his sudden el- body and agitation of mind, by loud exclamations of evation, and the arrogance of his pretensious. surprise and joy. His brothers, astonished at finding the And now it was seen in the instance of Martin Waldeck, fire extinguished when they awoke, had proceeded to as it has been in that of many others, how little mortals arrange the fuel in order to renew it, when they found in can foresee the effect of sudden prosperity on their own the ashes three huge metallic masses, which their skill disposition. The evil propensities in his nature, which (for most of the peasants in the Harz are practical min- poverty had checked and repressed, ripened and bore eralogists) immediately ascertained to be pure gold. their unhallowed fruit under the influence of tempta- It was some damp upon their joyful congratulations tion and the means of indulgence. As Deep calls unto when they learned from Martin the mode in which he Deep, one bad passion awakened another the fiend of had obtained this treasure, to which their own experi- avarice invoked that of pride, and pride was to be sup- ence of the nocturnal vision induced them to give full ported by cruelty and oppression. Waldeck’s character, credit. But they were unable to resist the temptation of always bold and daring but rendered harsh and assum- sharing in their brother’s wealth. Taking now upon him ing by prosperity, soon made him odious, not to the as head of the house, Martin Waldeck bought lands and nobles only, but likewise to the lower ranks, who saw, forests, built a castle, obtained a patent of nobility, and, with double dislike, the oppressive rights of the feudal greatly to the indignation of the ancient aristocracy of nobility of the empire so remorselessly exercised by one

204 Sir Walter Scott who had risen from the very dregs of the people. His pear among the chivalry of the province, and demand adventure, although carefully concealed, began likewise permission to enter the lists. This was considered as fill- to be whispered abroad, and the clergy already stigma- ing up the measure of his presumption. A thousand tized as a wizard and accomplice of fiends, the wretch, voices exclaimed, “We will have no cinder-sifter mingle who, having acquired so huge a treasure in so strange a in our games of chivalry.” Irritated to frenzy, Martin manner, had not sought to sanctify it by dedicating a drew his sword and hewed down the herald, who, in com- considerable portion to the use of the church. Sur- pliance with the general outcry, opposed his entry into rounded by enemies, public and private, tormented by the lists. An hundred swords were unsheathed to avenge a thousand feuds, and threatened by the church with what was in those days regarded as a crime only inferior excommunication, Martin Waldeck, or, as we must now to sacrilege or regicide. Waldeck, after defending him- call him, the Baron von Waldeck, often regretted bit- self like a lion, was seized, tried on the spot by the judges terly the labours and sports of his unenvied poverty. of the lists, and condemned, as the appropriate punish- But his courage failed him not under all these difficul- ment for breaking the peace of his sovereign, and vio- ties, and seemed rather to augment in proportion to the lating the sacred person of a herald-at-arms, to have danger which darkened around him, until an accident his right hand struck from his body, to be ignominiously precipitated his fall. deprived of the honour of nobility, of which he was A proclamation by the reigning Duke of Brunswick unworthy, and to be expelled from the city. When he had invited to a solemn tournament all German nobles had been stripped of his arms, and sustained the muti- of free and honourable descent; and Martin Waldeck, lation imposed by this severe sentence, the unhappy vic- splendidly armed, accompanied by his two brothers, and tim of ambition was abandoned to the rabble, who fol- a gallantly-equipped retinue, had the arrogance to ap- lowed him with threats and outcries levelled alternately

205 The Antiquary against the necromancer and oppressor, which at length site to the cart which contained the miserable Waldeck, ended in violence. His brothers (for his retinue were fled his huge features dilated into a grin of unutterable con- and dispersed) at length succeeded in rescuing him from tempt and malignity, as he asked the sufferer, “How like the hands of the populace, when, satiated with cruelty, you the fire my coals have kindled?” The power of mo- they had left him half dead through loss of blood, and tion, which terror suspended in his two brothers, seemed through the outrages he had sustained. They were not to be restored to Martin by the energy of his courage. permitted, such was the ingenious cruelty of their en- He raised himself on the cart, bent his brows, and, emies, to make use of any other means of removing him, clenching his fist, shook it at the spectre with a ghastly excepting such a collier’s cart as they had themselves look of hate and defiance. The goblin vanished with his formerly used, in which they deposited their brother on usual tremendous and explosive laugh, and left Waldeck a truss of straw, scarcely expecting to reach any place exhausted with this effort of expiring nature. of shelter ere death should release him from his misery. The terrified brethren turned their vehicle toward the When the Waldecks, journeying in this miserable man- towers of a convent, which arose in a wood of pine-trees ner, had approached the verge of their native country, beside the road. They were charitably received by a bare- in a hollow way, between two mountains, they perceived footed and long-bearded capuchin, and Martin survived a figure advancing towards them, which at first sight only to complete the first confession he had made since seemed to be an aged man. But as he approached, his the day of his sudden prosperity, and to receive absolu- limbs and stature increased, the cloak fell from his shoul- tion from the very priest whom, precisely on that day ders, his pilgrim’s staff was changed into an uprooted three years, he had assisted to pelt out of the hamlet of pine-tree, and the gigantic figure of the Harz demon Morgenbrodt. The three years of precarious prosperity passed before them in his terrors. When he came oppo- were supposed to have a mysterious correspondence with

206 Sir Walter Scott the number of his visits to the spectral fire upon the bill. The body of Martin Waldeck was interred in the con- CHAPTER NINETEENTH vent 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, Here has been such a stormy encounter Betwixt my cousin Captain, and this soldier, to which no one asserted any claim, lay waste until they About I know not what!—nothing, indeed; were reassumed by the emperor as a lapsed fief, and the Competitions, degrees, and comparatives ruins of the castle, which Waldeck had called by his own Of soldiership!— name, are still shunned by the miner and forester as A Faire Qurrell. haunted by evil spirits. Thus were the miseries attendant upon wealth, hastily attained and ill employed, exemplified in the fortunes of Martin Waldeck. 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 al- chemists, 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,

207 The Antiquary —I bear an English heart, was at once greeted by the greater part of the company. Unused at ghosts and rattling bones to start.” “My dear Hector!” said Miss M’Intyre, as she rose to take his hand— “Under your favour, my goot Mr. Oldenbuck,” said “Hector, son of Priam, whence comest thou?” said the the German, “Miss Wardour has turned de story, as she Antiquary. does every thing as she touches, very pretty indeed; but “From Fife, my liege,” answered the young soldier, all the history of de Harz goblin, and how he walks and continued, when he had politely saluted the rest of among de desolate mountains wid a great fir-tree for his the company, and particularly Sir Arthur and his daugh- walking cane, and wid de great green bush around his ter—“I learned from one of the servants, as I rode to- head and his waist—that is as true as I am an honest wards Monkbarns to pay my respects to you, that I man.” should find the present company in this place, and I “There is no disputing any proposition so well guar- willingly embrace the opportunity to pay my respects anteed,” answered the Antiquary, drily. But at this mo- to so many of my friends at once.” ment the approach of a stranger cut short the conver- “And to a new one also, my trusty Trojan,” said sation. Oldbuck. “Mr. Lovel, this is my nephew, Captain The new comer was a handsome young man, about M’Intyre—Hector, I recommend Mr. Lovel to your ac- five-and-twenty, in a military undress, and bearing, in quaintance.” his look and manner, a good deal of the martial profes- The young soldier fixed his keen eye upon Lovel, and sion—nay, perhaps a little more than is quite consistent paid his compliment with more reserve than cordiality with the ease of a man of perfect good-breeding, in and as our acquaintance thought his coldness almost whom no professional habit ought to predominate. He supercilious, he was equally frigid and haughty in mak-

208 Sir Walter Scott ing the necessary return to it; and thus a prejudice was exclusively so. All this, Lovel well knew, might be seemed to arise between them at the very commence- only that sort of egotistical gallantry which induces ment of their acquaintance. some young men of the present day to give themselves The observations which Lovel made during the remain- the air of engrossing the attention of the prettiest der of this pleasure party did not tend to reconcile him women in company, as if the others were unworthy of with this addition to their society. Captain M’Intyre, their notice. But he thought he observed in the conduct with the gallantry to be expected from his age and proof Captain M’Intyre something of marked and peculiar fession, attached himself to the service of Miss Wardour, tenderness, which was calculated to alarm the jealousy and offered her, on every possible opportunity, those of a lover. Miss Wardour also received his attentions; marks of attention which Lovel would have given the and although his candour allowed they were of a kind world to have rendered, and was only deterred from of- which could not be repelled without some strain of af- fering by the fear of her displeasure. With forlorn de- fectation, yet it galled him to the heart to witness that jection at one moment, and with irritated susceptibil- she did so. ity at another, he saw this handsome young soldier as- The heart-burning which these reflections occasioned sume and exercise all the privileges of a cavaliere servente. proved very indifferent seasoning to the dry antiquar- He handed Miss Wardour’s gloves, he assisted her in ian discussions with which Oldbuck, who continued to putting on her shawl, he attached himself to her in the demand his particular attention, was unremittingly per- walks, had a hand ready to remove every impediment secuting him; and he underwent, with fits of impatience in her path, and an arm to support her where it was that amounted almost to loathing, a course of lectures rugged or difficult; his conversation was addressed upon monastic architecture, in all its styles, from the chiefly to her, and, where circumstances permitted, it massive Saxon to the florid Gothic, and from that to

209 The Antiquary the mixed and composite architecture of James the tastic, and ignorant architect has chosen to represent First’s time, when, according to Oldbuck, all orders were the whole five orders of architecture on the front of one confounded, and columns of various descriptions arose building.” side by side, or were piled above each other, as if sym- By such attacks as these, Oldbuck, unconscious of the metry had been forgotten, and the elemental principles torture he was giving, compelled Lovel to give him a of art resolved into their primitive confusion. “What share of his attention,—as a skilful angler, by means of can be more cutting to the heart than the sight of evils,” his line, maintains an influence over the most frantic said Oldbuck, in rapturous enthusiasm, “which we are movements of his agonized prey. compelled to behold, while we do not possess the power They were now on their return to the spot where they of remedying them?” Lovel answered by an involulatary had left the carriages; and it is inconceivable how often, groan. “I see, my dear young friend, and most conge- in the course of that short walk, Lovel, exhausted by nial spirit, that you feel these enormities almost as much the unceasing prosing of his worthy companion, men- as I do. Have you ever approached them, or met them, tally bestowed on the devil, or any one else that would without longing to tear, to deface, what is so have rid him of hearing more of them, all the orders dishonourable?” and disorders of architecture which had been invented “Dishonourable!” echoed Lovel—”in what respect or combined from the building of Solomon’s temple dishonourable?” downwards. A slight incident occurred, however, which “I mean, disgraceful to the arts.” sprinkled a little patience on the heat of his “Where? how?” distemperature. “Upon the portico, for example, of the schools of Ox- Miss Wardour, and her self-elected knight companion, ford, where, at immense expense, the barbarous, fan- rather preceded the others in the narrow path, when

210 Sir Walter Scott the young lady apparently became desirous to unite wars, his conquests, and his trophies; and worthy Dr. herself with the rest of the party, and, to break off her Blattergowl was induced, from the mention of a grant tete-a-tete with the young officer, fairly made a pause until of lands, cum decimis inclusis tam vicariis quam Mr. Oldbuck came up. “I wished to ask you a question, garbalibus, et nunquan antea separatis, to enter into a Mr. Oldbuck, concerning the date of these interesting long explanation concerning the interpretation given by ruins.” the Teind Court in the consideration of such a clause, It would be doing injustice to Miss Wardour’s savoir which had occurred in a process for localling his last faire, to suppose she was not aware that such a question augmentation of stipend. The orators, like three racers, would lead to an answer of no limited length. The Anti- each pressed forward to the goal, without much regard- quary, starting like a war-horse at the trumpet sound, ing how each crossed and jostled his competitors. Mr. plunged at once into the various arguments for and Oldbuck harangued, the Baronet declaimed, Mr. against the date of 1273, which had been assigned to Blattergowl prosed and laid down the law, while the the priory of St. Ruth by a late publication on Scottish Latin forms of feudal grants were mingled with the jar- architectural antiquities. He raked up the names of all gon of blazonry, and the yet more barbarous phraseol- the priors who had ruled the institution, of the nobles ogy of the Teind Court of Scotland. “He was,” exclaimed who had bestowed lands upon it, and of the monarchs Oldbuck, speaking of the Prior Adhemar, “indeed an who had slept their last sleep among its roofless courts. exemplary prelate; and, from his strictness of morals, As a train which takes fire is sure to light another, if rigid execution of penance, joined to the charitable dis- there be such in the vicinity, the Baronet, catching at position of his mind, and the infirmities endured by his the name of one of his ancestors which occurred in great age and ascetic habits”— Oldbuck’s disquisition, entered upon an account of his Here he chanced to cough, and Sir Arthur burst in, or

211 The Antiquary rather continued—“was called popularly Hell-in-Har- Yet, howsoever uninteresting this piebald jargon might ness; he carried a shield, gules with a sable fess, which seem, it was obviously Miss Wardour’s purpose to give we have since disused, and was slain at the battle of it her attention, in preference to yielding Captain Vernoil, in France, after killing six of the English with M’Intyre an opportunity of renewing their private con- his own”— versation. So that, after waiting for a little time with “Decreet of certification,” proceeded the clergyman, displeasure, ill concealed by his haughty features, he left in that prolonged, steady, prosing tone, which, however her to enjoy her bad taste, and taking his sister by the overpowered at first by the vehemence of competition, arm, detained her a little behind the rest of the party. promised, in the long run, to obtain the ascendancy in “So I find, Mary, that your neighbour has neither be- this strife of narrators;—“Decreet of certification hav- come more lively nor less learned during my absence.” ing gone out, and parties being held as confessed, the “We lacked your patience and wisdom to instruct us, proof seemed to be held as concluded, when their law- Hector.” yer moved to have it opened up, on the allegation that “Thank you, my dear sister. But you have got a wiser, they had witnesses to bring forward, that they had been if not so lively an addition to your society, than your unin the habit of carrying the ewes to lamb on the teind- worthy brother—Pray, who is this Mr. Lovel, whom our free land; which was a mere evasion, for”— old uncle has at once placed so high in his good graces?— But here the Baronet and Mr. Oldbuck having recov- he does not use to be so accessible to strangers.” ered their wind, and continued their respective ha- “Mr. Lovel, Hector, is a very gentleman-like young rangues, the three strands of the conversation, to speak man.” the language of a rope-work, were again twined together “Ay,—that is to say, he bows when he comes into a into one undistinguishable string of confusion. room, and wears a coat that is whole at the elbows.”

212 Sir Walter Scott “No, brother; it says a great deal more. It says that to nourish any affection for Miss Wardour”— his manners and discourse express the feelings and edu- “If, Mary?—what an if was there!” cation of the higher class.” “—I own I consider your perseverance as hopeless.” “But I desire to know what is his birth and his rank in “And why hopeless, my sage sister?” asked Captain society, and what is his title to be in the circle in which I M’Intyre: “Miss Wardour, in the state of her father’s find him domesticated?” affairs, cannot pretend to much fortune;—and, as to “If you mean, how he comes to visit at Monkbarns, family, I trust that of Mlntyre is not inferior.” you must ask my uncle, who will probably reply, that “But, Hector,” continued his sister, “Sir Arthur always he invites to his own house such company as he pleases; considers us as members of the Monkbarns family.” and if you mean to ask Sir Arthur, you must know that “Sir Arthur may consider what he pleases,” answered Mr. Lovel rendered Miss Wardour and him a service of the Highlander scornfully; “but any one with common the most important kind.” sense will consider that the wife takes rank from the “What! that romantic story is true, then?—And pray, husband, and that my father’s pedigree of fifteen un- does the valorous knight aspire, as is befitting on such blemished descents must have ennobled my mother, if occasions, to the hand of the young lady whom he re- her veins had been filled with printer’s ink.” deemed from peril? It is quite in the rule of romance, I “For God’s sake, Hector,” replied his anxious sister, am aware; and I did think that she was uncommonly “take care of yourself! a single expression of that kind, dry to me as we walked together, and seemed from time repeated to my uncle by an indiscreet or interested eaves- to time as if she watched whether she was not giving dropper, would lose you his favour for ever, and destroy offence to her gallant cavalier.” all chance of your succeeding to his estate.” “Dear Hector,” said his sister, “if you really continue “Be it so,” answered the heedless young man; “I am

213 The Antiquary one of a profession which the world has never been able upon topics not worth the spark of a flint—his investi- to do without, and will far less endure to want for half a gations about invalided pots and pans and tobacco-stop- century to come; and my good old uncle may tack his pers past service—all these things put me out of pa- good estate and his plebeian name to your apron-string tience. I have something of Hotspur in me, sister, I must if he pleases, Mary, and you may wed this new favourite confess.” of his if you please, and you may both of you live quiet, “Too much, too much, my dear brother! Into how peaceable, well-regulated lives, if it pleases Heaven. My many risks, and, forgive me for saying, some of them part is taken—I’ll fawn on no man for an inheritance little creditable, has this absolute and violent temper which should be mine by birth.” led you! Do not let such clouds darken the time you are Miss M’Intyre laid her hand on her brother’s arm, and now to pass in our neighbourhood, but let our old bene- entreated him to suppress his vehemence. “Who,” she factor see his kinsman as he is—generous, kind, and said, “injures or seeks to injure you, but your own hasty lively, without being rude, headstrong, and impetuous.” temper?—what dangers are you defying, but those you “Well,” answered Captain M’Intyre, “I am schooled— have yourself conjured up?—Our uncle has hitherto good-manners be my speed! I’ll do the civil thing by been all that is kind and paternal in his conduct to us, your new friend—I’ll have some talk with this Mr. and why should you suppose he will in future be other- Lovel.” wise than what he has ever been, since we were left as With this determination, in which he was for the time orphans to his care?” perfectly sincere, he joined the party who were walking “He is an excellent old gentleman, I must own,” re- before them. The treble disquisition was by this time plied M’Intyre, “and I am enraged at myself when I ended; and Sir Arthur was speaking on the subject of chance to offend him; but then his eternal harangues foreign news, and the political and military situation of

214 Sir Walter Scott the country, themes upon which every man thinks him- “Indeed! that is more wonderful than the other cir- self qualified to give an opinion. An action of the pre- cumstance!—for although I did not serve with General ceding year having come upon the tapis, Lovel, acciden- Sir——, yet I had an opportunity of knowing the names tally mingling in the conversation, made some assertion of the officers who held situations in his family, and I concerning it, of the accuracy of which Captain cannot recollect that of Lovel.” M’Intyre seemed not to be convinced, although his At this observation Lovel again blushed so deeply as doubts were politely expressed. to attract the attention of the whole company, while, a “You must confess yourself in the wrong here, Hec- scornful laugh seemed to indicate Captain M’Intyre’s tor,” said his uncle, “although I know no man less will- triumph. “There is something strange in this,” said ing to give up an argument; but you were in England at Oldbuck to himself; “but I will not readily give up my the time, and Mr. Lovel was probably concerned in the phoenix of post-chaise companions—all his actions, lan- affair.” guage, and bearing, are those of a gentleman.” “I am speaking to a military man, then?” said Lovel in the meanwhile had taken out his pocket-book, M’Intyre; “may I inquire to what regiment Mr. Lovel and selecting a letter, from which he took off the enve- belongs?”—Mr. Lovel gave him the number of the regi- lope, he handed it to Mlntyre. “You know the General’s ment. “It happens strangely that we should never have hand, in all probability—I own I ought not to show these met before, Mr. Lovel. I know your regiment very well, exaggerated expressions of his regard and esteem for and have served along with them at different times.” me.” The letter contained a very handsome compliment A blush crossed Lovel’s countenance. “I have not lately from the officer in question for some military service been with my regiment,” he replied; “I served the last lately performed. Captain M’Intyre, as he glanced his campaign upon the staff of General Sir——.” eye over it, could not deny that it was written in the

215 The Antiquary General’s hand, but drily observed, as he returned it, by the rule to be sociable, and Lovel, conceiving him- that the address was wanting. “The address, Captain self the object of cold and suspicious looks from the M’Intyre,” answered Lovel, in the same tone, “shall be rest of the company, and sensible that his indirect re- at your service whenever you choose to inquire after it!” plies had given them permission to entertain strange “I certainly shall not fail to do so,” rejoined the sol- opinions respecting him, made a gallant determination dier. to sacrifice the pleasure he had proposed in spending “Come, come,” exclaimed Oldbuck, “what is the mean- the day at Knockwinnock. ing of all this? Have we got Hiren here?—We’ll have no He affected, therefore, to complain of a violent head- swaggering youngsters. Are you come from the wars ache, occasioned by the heat of the day, to which he abroad, to stir up domestic strife in our peaceful land? had not been exposed since his illness, and made a for- Are you like bull-dog puppies, forsooth, that when the mal apology to Sir Arthur, who, listening more to re- bull, poor fellow, is removed from the ring, fall to brawl cent suspicion than to the gratitude due for former ser- among themselves, worry each other, and bite honest vices, did not press him to keep his engagement more folk’s shins that are standing by?” than good-breeding exactly demanded. Sir Arthur trusted, he said, the young gentlemen would When Lovel took leave of the ladies, Miss Wardour’s not so far forget themselves as to grow warm upon such manner seemed more anxious than he had hitherto re- a trifling subject as the back of a letter. marked it. She indicated by a glance of her eye towards Both the disputants disclaimed any such intention, Captain M’Intyre, perceptible only by Lovel, the sub- and, with high colour and flashing eyes, protested they ject of her alarm, and hoped, in a voice greatly under were never so cool in their lives. But an obvious damp her usual tone, it was not a less pleasant engagement was cast over the party;—they talked in future too much which deprived them of the pleasure of Mr. Lovel’s com-

216 Sir Walter Scott pany. “No engagement had intervened,” he assured her; But Lovel persisted in his design of returning to “it was only the return of a complaint by which he had Fairport. been for some time occasionally attacked.” The Antiquary then assumed a graver tone.—“Take “The best remedy in such a case is prudence, and I— heed, young man, to your present feelings. Your life has every friend of Mr. Lovel’s will expect him to employ been given you for useful and valuable purposes, and it.” should be reserved to illustrate the literature of your Lovel bowed low and coloured deeply, and Miss country, when you are not called upon to expose it in Wardour, as if she felt that she had said too much, turned her defence, or in the rescue of the innocent. Private and got into the carriage. Lovel had next to part with war, a practice unknown to the civilised ancients, is, of Oldbuck, who, during this interval, had, with Caxon’s all the absurdities introduced by the Gothic tribes, the assistance, been arranging his disordered periwig, and most gross, impious, and cruel. Let me hear no more of brushing his coat, which exhibited some marks of the these absurd quarrels, and I will show you the treatise rude path they had traversed. “What, man!” said upon the duello, which I composed when the town-clerk Oldbuck, “you are not going to leave us on account of and provost Mucklewhame chose to assume the privi- that foolish Hector’s indiscreet curiosity and vehemence? leges of gentlemen, and challenged each other. I thought Why, he is a thoughtless boy—a spoiled child from the of printing my Essay, which is signed Pacificator; but time he was in the nurse’s arms—he threw his coral and there was no need, as the matter was taken up by the bells at my head for refusing him a bit of sugar; and you town-council of the borough.” have too much sense to mind such a shrewish boy: “But I assure you, my dear sir, there is nothing be- aequam servare mentem is the motto of our friend Horace. tween Captain M’Intyre and me that can render such I’ll school Hector by and by, and put it all to rights.” respectable interference necessary.”

217 The Antiquary “See it be so; for otherwise, I will stand second to both “Simply, sir,” replied Lovel, “that my name is Lovel, parties.” and that my residence is, for the present, Fairport, as So saying, the old gentleman got into the chaise, close you will see by this card.” to which Miss M’Intyre had detained her brother, upon “And is this all the information you are disposed to the same principle that the owner of a quarrelsome dog give me?” keeps him by his side to prevent his fastening upon an- “I see no right you have to require more.” other. But Hector contrived to give her precaution the “I find you, sir, in company with my sister,” said the slip, for, as he was on horseback, he lingered behind the young soldier, “and I have a right to know who is ad- carriages until they had fairly turned the corner in the mitted into Miss M’Intyre’s society.” road to Knockwinnock, and then, wheeling his horse’s “I shall take the liberty of disputing that right,” re- head round, gave him the spur in the opposite direction. plied Lovel, with a manner as haughty as that of the A very few minutes brought him up with Lovel, who, young soldier;—“you find me in society who are satis- perhaps anticipating his intention, had not put his horse fied with the degree of information on my affairs which beyond a slow walk, when the clatter of hoofs behind I have thought proper to communicate, and you, a mere him announced Captain Mlntyre. The young soldier, his stranger, have no right to inquire further.” natural heat of temper exasperated by the rapidity of “Mr. Lovel, if you served as you say you have”— motion, reined his horse up suddenly and violently by “If!” interrupted Lovel,—“if I have served as I say I Lovel’s side, and touching his hat slightly, inquired, in a have?” very haughty tone of voice, “What am I to understand, “Yes, sir, such is my expression—if you have so served, sir, by your telling me that your address was at my ser- you must know that you owe me satisfaction either in vice?” one way or other.”

218 Sir Walter Scott “If that be your opinion, I shall be proud to give it to you, Captain M’Intyre, in the way in which the word is generally used among gentlemen.” CHAPTER TWENTIETH “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, —If you fail Honour here, Never presume to serve her any more; having stopped the carriage, had her neck stretched out Bid farewell to the integrity of armes; of the window to see where he was. And the honourable name of soldier “What is the matter with you now?” said the Anti- Fall from you, like a shivered wreath of laurel By thunder struck from a desertlesse forehead. quary, “riding to and fro as your neck were upon the wager—why do you not keep up with the carriage?” A Faire Quarrell. “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, EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, a gentleman came to wait my young gentleman—you shall return with me this upon Mr. Lovel, who was up and ready to receive him. night to Monkbarns.” So saying, he bid the postilion go He was a military gentleman, a friend of Captain on. M’Intyre’s, 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 guess the occasion of my troubling you so early?”

219 The Antiquary “A message from Captain M’Intyre, I presume?” the name by which Mr. Lovel has been at all times dis- “The same. He holds himself injured by the manner tinguished—if Mr. Lovel will have the goodness to ex- in which you declined yesterday to answer certain in- plain this circumstance, which, in my opinion, he should quiries which he conceived himself entitled to make re- do in justice to his own character, I will answer for the specting a gentleman whom he found in intimate soci- amicable arrangement of this unpleasant business.” ety with his family.” “Which is to say, Mr. Lesley, that if I condescend to “May I ask, if you, Mr. Lesley, would have inclined to answer questions which no man has a right to ask, and satisfy interrogatories so haughtily and unceremoniously which are now put to me under penalty of Captain put to you?” M’Intyre’s resentment, Captain MIntyre will condescend “Perhaps not;—and therefore, as I know the warmth to rest satisfied? Mr. Lesley, I have just one word to say of my friend M’Intyre on such occasions, I feel very on this subject—I have no doubt my secret, if I had desirous of acting as peacemaker. From Mr. Lovel’s very one, might be safely entrusted to your honour, but I do gentleman-like manners, every one must strongly wish not feel called upon to satisfy the curiosity of any one. to see him repel all that sort of dubious calumny which Captain M’Intyre met me in society which of itself was will attach itself to one whose situation is not fully ex- a warrant to all the world, and particularly ought to be plained. If he will permit me, in friendly conciliation, such to him, that I was a gentleman. He has, in my opin- to inform Captain M’Intyre of his real name, for we are ion, no right to go any further, or to inquire the pedi- led to conclude that of Lovel is assumed”— gree, rank, or circumstances, of a stranger, who, with- “I beg your pardon, sir, but I cannot admit that infer- out seeking any intimate connection with him, or his, ence.” chances to dine with his uncle, or walk in company with “—Or at least,” said Lesley, proceeding, “that it is not his sister.”

220 Sir Walter Scott “In that case, Captain M’Intyre requests you to be Lesley had taken his hat, and was as far as the door of informed, that your farther visits at Monkbarns, and the apartment, when, as if moved by the peculiarity of all connection with Miss M’Intyre, must be dropt, as Lovel’s situation, he returned, and thus addressed him: disagreeable to him.” “Mr. Lovel, there is something so singular in all this, “I shall certainly,” said Lovel, “visit Mr. Oldbuck when that I cannot help again resuming the argument. You it suits me, without paying the least respect to his must be yourself aware at this moment of the inconve- nephew’s threats or irritable feelings. I respect the young nience of your preserving an incognito, for which, I am lady’s name too much (though nothing can be slighter convinced, there can be no dishonourable reason. Still, than our acquaintance) to introduce it into such a dis- this mystery renders it difficult for you to procure the cussion.” assistance of a friend in a crisis so delicate—nay, let me “Since that is your resolution, sir,” answered Lesley, add, that many persons will even consider it as a piece “Captain M’Intyre requests that Mr. Lovel, unless he of Quixotry in M’Intyre to give you a meeting, while wishes to be announced as a very dubious character, will your character and circumstances are involved in such favour him with a meeting this evening, at seven, at the obscurity.” thorn-tree in the little valley close by the ruins of St. “I understand your innuendo, Mr. Lesley,” rejoined Ruth.” Lovel; and though I might be offended at its severity, I “Most unquestionably, I will wait upon him. There is am not so, because it is meant kindly. But, in my opin- only one difficulty —I must find a friend to accompany ion, he is entitled to all the privileges of a gentleman, to me, and where to seek one on this short notice, as I have whose charge, during the time he has been known in the no acquaintance in Fairport—I will be on the spot, how- society where he happens to move, nothing can be laid ever—Captain M’Intyre may be assured of that.” that is unhandsome or unbecoming. For a friend, I dare

221 The Antiquary say I shall find some one or other who will do me that nally regard such a crisis as now approached, without good turn; and if his experience be less than I could deep feelings of awe and uncertainty. In a few hours he wish, I am certain not to suffer through that circum- might be in another world to answer for an action which stance when you are in the field for my antagonist.” his calmer thought told him was unjustifiable in a reli- “I trust you will not,” said Lesley; “but as I must, for gious point of view, or he might be wandering about in my own sake, be anxious to divide so heavy a responsi- the present like Cain, with the blood of his brother on bility with a capable assistant, allow me to say, that Lieu- his head. And all this might be saved by speaking a single tenant Taffril’s gun-brig is come into the roadstead, and word. Yet pride whispered, that to speak that word now, he himself is now at old Caxon’s, where he lodges. I think would be ascribed to a motive which would degrade him you have the same degree of acquaintance with him as more low than even the most injurious reasons that could with me, and, as I am sure I should willingly have ren- be assigned for his silence. Every one, Miss Wardour in- dered you such a service were I not engaged on the other cluded, must then, he thought, account him a mean side, I am convinced he will do so at your first request.” dishonoured poltroon, who gave to the fear of meeting “At the thorn-tree, then, Mr. Lesley, at seven this Captain M’Intyre the explanation he had refused to the evening—the arms, I presume, are pistols?” calm and handsome expostulations of Mr. Lesley. “Exactly. M’Intyre has chosen the hour at which he M’Intyre’s insolent behaviour to himself personally, the can best escape from Monkbarns—he was with me this air of pretension which he assumed towards Miss morning by five, in order to return and present himself Wardour, and the extreme injustice, arrogance, and in- before his uncle was up. Good-morning to you, Mr. civility of his demands upon a perfect stranger, seemed Lovel.” And Lesley left the apartment. to justify him in repelling his rude investigation. In Lovel was as brave as most men; but none can inter- short, he formed the resolution which might have been

222 Sir Walter Scott expected from so young a man,—to shut the eyes, “I hope the mystery arises from no false shame at the namely, of his calmer reason, and follow the dictates of lowness of your friends perhaps, or connections?” his offended pride. With this purpose he sought Lieu- “No, on my word,” replied Lovel. tenant Taffril. “I have little sympathy for that folly,” said Taffril— The lieutenant received him with the good breeding ”indeed I cannot be supposed to have any; for, speaking of a gentleman and the frankness of a sailor, and lis- of my relations, I may be said to have come myself from tened with no small surprise to the detail which pre- before the mast, and I believe I shall very soon form a ceded his request that he might be favoured with his connection, which the world will think low enough, with company at his meeting with Captain M’Intyre. When a very amiable girl, to whom I have been attached since he had finished, Taffril rose up and walked through his we were next-door neighbours, at a time when I little apartment once or twice. “This is a most singular cir- thought of the good fortune which has brought me for- cumstance,” he said, “and really”— ward in the service.” “I am conscious, Mr. Taffril, how little I am entitled “I assure you, Mr. Taffril,” replied Lovel, “whatever to make my present request, but the urgency of circum- were the rank of my parents, I should never think of stances hardly leaves me an alternative.” concealing it from a spirit of petty pride. But I am so “Permit me to ask you one question,” asked the sailor;— situated at present, that I cannot enter on the subject “is there anything of which you are ashamed in the cir- of my family with any propriety.” cumstances which you have declined to communicate.” “It is quite enough,” said the honest sailor—“give me “Upon my honour, no; there is nothing but what, in a your hand; I’ll see you as well through this business as I very short time, I trust I may publish to the whole can, though it is but an unpleasant one after all—But world.” what of that? our own honour has the next call on us

223 The Antiquary after our country;—you are a lad of spirit, and I own I ther party. Is there anything I can do for you in case of think Mr. Hector M’Intyre, with his long pedigree and an accident?” his airs of family, very much of a jackanapes. His fa- “I have but little occasion to trouble you,” said Lovel. ther was a soldier of fortune as I am a sailor—he him- “This small billet contains the key of my escritoir, and self, I suppose, is little better, unless just as his uncle my very brief secret. There is one letter in the escritoir” pleases; and whether one pursues fortune by land, or (digesting a temporary swelling of the heart as he spoke), sea, makes no great difference, I should fancy.” “which I beg the favour of you to deliver with your own “None in the universe, certainly,” answered Lovel. hand.” “Well,” said his new ally, “we will dine together and “I understand,” said the sailor. “Nay, my friend, never arrange matters for this rencounter. I hope you under- be ashamed for the matter—an affectionate heart may stand the use of the weapon?” overflow for an instant at the eyes, if the ship were clear- “Not particularly,” Lovel replied. ing for action; and, depend on it, whatever your injunc- “I am sorry for that—M’Intyre is said to be a marks- tions are, Dan Taffril will regard them like the bequest man.” of a dying brother. But this is all stuff;—we must get “I am sorry for it also,” said Lovel, “both for his sake our things in fighting order, and you will dine with me and my own: I must then, in self-defence, take my aim and my little surgeon’s mate, at the Graeme’s-Arms over as well as I can.” the way, at four o’clock.” “Well,” added Taffril, “I will have our surgeon’s mate “Agreed,” said Lovel. on the field—a good clever young fellow at caulking a “Agreed,” said Taffril; and the whole affair was ar- shot-hole. I will let Lesley, who is an honest fellow for a ranged. landsman, know that he attends for the benefit of ei- It was a beautiful summer evening, and the shadow

224 Sir Walter Scott of the solitary thorn-tree was lengthening upon the short was old Ochiltree. “This is embarrassing enough,” said greensward of the narrow valley, which was skirted by Lovel:—“How shall we get rid of this old fellow?” the woods that closed around the ruins of St. Ruth.* “Here, father Adam,” cried Taffril, who knew the men- Lovel and Lieutenant Taffril, with the surgeon, came dicant of yore —“here’s half-a-crown for you. You must upon the ground with a purpose of a nature very un- go to the Four Horse-shoes yonder—the little inn, you congenial to the soft, mild, and pacific character of the know, and inquire for a servant with blue and yellow hour and scene. The sheep, which during the ardent heat livery. If he is not come, you’ll wait for him, and tell of the day had sheltered in the breaches and hollows of him we shall be with his master in about an hour’s time. the gravelly bank, or under the roots of the aged and At any rate, wait there till we come back,—and—Get stunted trees, had now spread themselves upon the face off with you—Come, come, weigh anchor.” of the hill to enjoy their evening’s pasture, and bleated, “I thank ye for your awmous,” said Ochiltree, pocket- to each other with that melancholy sound which at once ing the piece of money; “but I beg your pardon, Mr. gives life to a landscape, and marks its solitude.—Taffril Taffril—I canna gang your errand e’en now.” and Lovel came on in deep conference, having, for fear “Why not, man? what can hinder you?” of discovery, sent their horses back to the town by the “I wad speak a word wi’ young Mr. Lovel.” Lieutenant’s servant. The opposite party had not yet “With me?” answered Lovel: “what would you say with appeared on the field. But when they came upon the me? Come, say on, and be brief.” ground, there sat upon the roots of the old thorn a fig- The mendicant led him a few paces aside. “Are ye in- ure as vigorous in his decay as the moss-grown but strong debted onything to the Laird o’ Monkbarns?” and contorted boughs which served him for a canopy. It “Indebted!—no, not I—what of that?—what makes *Supposed to have been suggested by the old Abbey of you think so?” Arbroath in Forfarshire. 225 The Antiquary “Ye maun ken I was at the shirra’s the day; for, God “You are either mad, Adam, or have a mind to drive help me, I gang about a’ gates like the troubled spirit; me mad.” and wha suld come whirling there in a post-chaise, but “Nane o’ the twa,” said Edie, suddenly changing his Monkbarns in an unco carfuffle—now, it’s no a little manner from the protracted drawl of the mendicant to thing that will make his honour take a chaise and post- a brief and decided tone. “The shirra sent for his clerk, horse twa days rinnin’.” and as the lad is rather light o’ the tongue, I fand it was “Well, well; but what is all this to me?” for drawing a warrant to apprehend you—I thought it “Ou, ye’se hear, ye’se hear. Weel, Monkbarns is clos- had been on a fugie warrant for debt; for a’ body kens eted wi’ the shirra whatever puir folk may be left there- the laird likes naebody to pit his hand in his pouch— out—ye needna doubt that—the gentlemen are aye unco But now I may haud my tongue, for I see the M’Intyre civil amang themsells.” lad and Mr. Lesley coming up, and I guess that “For heaven’s sake, my old friend”— Monkbarns’s purpose was very kind, and that yours is “Canna ye bid me gang to the deevil at ance, Mr. Lovel? muckle waur than it should be.” it wad be mair purpose fa’ard than to speak o’ heaven The antagonist now approached, and saluted with the in that impatient gate.” stern civility which befitted the occasion. “What has “But I have private business with Lieutenant Taffril this old fellow to do here?” said M’Intyre. here.” “I am an auld fallow,” said Edie, “but I am also an “Weel, weel, a’ in gude time,” said the beggar—”I can auld soldier o’ your father’s, for I served wi’ him in the use a little wee bit freedom wi’ Mr. Daniel Taffril;— 42d.” mony’s the peery and the tap I worked for him langsyne, “Serve where you please, you have no title to intrude for I was a worker in wood as weel as a tinkler.” on us,” said M’Intyre, “or”—and he lifted his cane in

226 Sir Walter Scott terrorem, though without the idea of touching the old works of God to break his laws? Have ye left the works of man. man, the houses and the cities that are but clay and dust, But Ochiltree’s courage was roused by the insult. like those that built them—and are ye come here among “Haud down your switch, Captain M’Intyre! I am an the peaceful hills, and by the quiet waters, that will last auld soldier, as I said before, and I’ll take muckle frae whiles aught earthly shall endure, to destroy each other’s your father’s son; but no a touch o’ the wand while my lives, that will have but an unco short time, by the course pike-staff will haud thegither.” of nature, to make up a lang account at the close o’t? O “Well, well, I was wrong—I was wrong,” said sirs! hae ye brothers, sisters, fathers, that hae tended ye, M’Intyre; “here’s a crown for you—go your ways— and mothers that hae travailed for ye, friends that hae ca’d what’s the matter now?” ye like a piece o’ their ain heart? and is this the way ye tak The old man drew himself up to the full advantage of to make them childless and brotherless and friendless? his uncommon height, and in despite of his dress, which Ohon! it’s an ill feight whar he that wins has the warst o’t. indeed had more of the pilgrim than the ordinary beggar, Think on’t, bairns. I’m a puir man—but I’m an auld man looked from height, manner, and emphasis of voice and too—and what my poverty takes awa frae the weight o’ gesture, rather like a grey palmer or eremite preacher, the my counsel, grey hairs and a truthfu’ heart should add it ghostly counsellor of the young men who were around him, twenty times. Gang hame, gang hame, like gude lads— than the object of their charity. His speech, indeed, was as the French will be ower to harry us ane o’ thae days, and homely as his habit, but as bold and unceremonious as his ye’ll hae feighting eneugh, and maybe auld Edie will hirple erect and dignified demeanour. “What are ye come here out himsell if he can get a feal-dyke to lay his gun ower, for, young men?” he said, addressing himself to the sur- and may live to tell you whilk o’ ye does the best where prised audience; “are ye come amongst the most lovely there’s a good cause afore ye.”

227 The Antiquary There was something in the undaunted and indepen- sons that have carried this matter so far as we have done, dent manner, hardy sentiment, and manly rude elocu- and who should part without carrying it any farther, tion of the old man, that had its effect upon the party, might go to supper at the Graeme’s-Arms very joyously, and particularly on the seconds, whose pride was unin- but would rise the next morning with reputations as terested in bringing the dispute to a bloody arbitrament, ragged as our friend here, who has obliged us with a and who, on the contrary, eagerly watched for an op- rather unnecessary display of his oratory. I speak for portunity to recommend reconciliation. myself, that I find myself bound to call upon you to “Upon my word, Mr. Lesley,” said Taffril, “old Adam proceed without more delay.” speaks like an oracle. Our friends here were very angry “And I,” said Lovel, “as I never desired any, have also yesterday, and of course very foolish;—today they to request these gentlemen to arrange preliminaries as should be cool, or at least we must be so in their behalf. fast as possible.” I think the word should be forget and forgive on both “Bairns! bairns!” cried old Ochiltree; but perceiving sides, —that we should all shake hands, fire these fool- he was no longer attended to—“Madmen, I should say— ish crackers in the air, and go home to sup in a body at but your blood be on your heads!” And the old man drew the Graeme’s-Arms.” off from the ground, which was now measured out by “I would heartily recommend it,” said Lesley; “for, the seconds, and continued muttering and talking to amidst a great deal of heat and irritation on both sides, himself in sullen indignation, mixed with anxiety, and I confess myself unable to discover any rational ground with a strong feeling of painful curiosity. Without pay- of quarrel.” ing farther attention to his presence or remonstrances, “Gentlemen,” said M’Intyre, very coldly, “all this Mr. Lesley and the Lieutenant made the necessary ar- should have been thought of before. In my opinion, per- rangements for the duel, and it was agreed that both

228 Sir Walter Scott parties should fire when Mr. Lesley dropped his hand- is past recalling. But awa, awa, if ye wad save your young kerchief. blood from a shamefu’ death—I see the men out by yon- The fatal sign was given, and both fired almost in the der that are come ower late to part ye—but, out and same moment. Captain M’Intyre’s ball grazed the side alack! sune eneugh, and ower sune, to drag ye to prison.” of his opponent, but did not draw blood. That of Lovel “He is right—he is right,” exclaimed Taffril; “you must was more true to the aim; M’Intyre reeled and fell. Rais- not attempt to get on the high-road—get into the wood ing himself on his arm, his first exclamation was, “It is till night. My brig will be under sail by that time, and at nothing—it is nothing—give us the other pistols.” But three in the morning, when the tide will serve, I shall in an instant he said, in a lower tone, “I believe I have have the boat waiting for you at the Mussel-crag. Away- enough—and what’s worse, I fear I deserve it. Mr. Lovel, away, for Heaven’s sake!” or whatever your name is, fly and save yourself—Bear “O yes! fly, fly!” repeated the wounded man, his words all witness, I provoked this matter.” Then raising him- faltering with convulsive sobs. self again on his arm, he added, “Shake hands, Lovel— “Come with me,” said the mendicant, almost drag- I believe you to be a gentleman—forgive my rudeness, ging him off; “the Captain’s plan is the best—I’ll carry and I forgive you my death—My poor sister!” ye to a place where ye might be concealed in the mean- The surgeon came up to perform his part of the trag- time, were they to seek ye ‘wi’ sleuth-hounds.” edy, and Lovel stood gazing on the evil of which he had “Go, go,” again urged Lieutenant Taffril—”to stay been the active, though unwilling cause, with a dizzy here is mere madness.” and bewildered eye. He was roused from his trance by “It was worse madness to have come hither,” said the grasp of the mendicant. “Why stand you gazing on Lovel, pressing his hand—“But farewell!” And he fol- your deed?—What’s doomed is doomed—what’s done lowed Ochiltree into the recesses of the wood.

229 The Antiquary Scotland, were allowed to stray in the copse) had made along the very verge of its overhanging banks. From CHAPTER TWENTY-FIRST 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, embar- —The Lord Abbot had a soul rassed, and occupied by a thousand inquietudes, as he Subtile and quick, and searching as the fire; By magic stairs he went as deep as hell, then was, what would he now have given to regain the And if in devils’ possession gold be kept, sense of innocence which alone can counter-balance a He brought some sure from thence—’tis hid in caves, thousand evils! “Yet, then,” such was his hasty and in- Known, save to me, to none.— voluntary reflection, “even then, guiltless and valued The Wonder of a Kingdome. 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 LOVEL ALMOST MECHANICALLY followed the beggar, who deserted me, as the actual fiend himself is said to do led the way with a hasty and steady pace, through bush those whom he has tempted to guilt.” Even his affec- and bramble, avoiding the beaten path, and often turn- tion for Miss Wardour sunk for the time before the first ing to listen whether there were any sounds of pursuit pangs of remorse, and he thought he could have encoun- behind them. They sometimes descended into the very tered every agony of slighted love to have had the con- bed of the torrent, sometimes kept a narrow and pre- scious freedom from blood-guiltiness which he possessed carious path, that the sheep (which, with the sluttish in the morning. negligence towards property of that sort universal in These painful reflections were not interrupted by any

230 Sir Walter Scott conversation on the part of his guide, who threaded the deed have escaped the attention even of those who had thicket before him, now holding back the sprays to make stood at its very opening, so uninviting was the portal his path easy, now exhorting him to make haste, now at which the beggar entered. But within, the cavern was muttering to himself, after the custom of solitary and higher and more roomy, cut into two separate branches, neglected old age, words which might have escaped which, intersecting each other at right angles, formed Lovel’s ear even had he listened to them, or which, ap- an emblem of the cross, and indicated the abode of an prehended and retained, were too isolated to convey any anchoret of former times. There are many caves of the connected meaning,—a habit which may be often ob- same kind in different parts of Scotland. I need only served among people of the old man’s age and calling. instance those of Gorton, near Rosslyn, in a scene well At length, as Lovel, exhausted by his late indisposi- known to the admirers of romantic nature. tion, the harrowing feelings by which he was agitated, The light within the eave was a dusky twilight at the and the exertion necessary to keep up with his guide in entrance, which failed altogether in the inner recesses. a path so rugged, began to flag and fall behind, two or “Few folks ken o’ this place,” said the old man; “to the three very precarious steps placed him on the front of a best o’my knowledge, there’s just twa living by mysell, precipice overhung with brushwood and copse. Here a and that’s Jingling Jock and the Lang Linker. I have cave, as narrow in its entrance as a fox-earth, was indi- had mony a thought, that when I fand mysell auld and cated by a small fissure in the rock, screened by the forfairn, and no able to enjoy God’s blessed air ony boughs of an aged oak, which, anchored by its thick langer, I wad drag mysell here wi’ a pickle ait-meal; and and twisted roots in the upper part of the cleft, flung its see, there’s a bit bonny dropping well that popples that branches almost straight outward from the cliff, con- self-same gate simmer and winter;—and I wad e’en cealing it effectually from all observation. It might in- streek mysell out here, and abide my removal, like an

231 The Antiquary auld dog that trails its useless ugsome carcass into some to say about it, as he has about maist things, if he ken’d bush or bracken no to gie living things a scunner wi’ the only about the place. But whether it was made for man’s sight o’t when it’s dead—Ay, and then, when the dogs devices or God’s service, I have seen ower muckle sin barked at the lone farm-stead, the gudewife wad cry, done in it in my day, and far ower muckle have I been Whisht, stirra, that’ll be auld Edie,’ and the bits o’ weans partaker of—ay, even here in this dark cove. Mony a wad up, puir things, and toddle to the door to pu’ in the gudewife’s been wondering what for the red cock didna auld Blue-Gown that mends a’ their bonny-dies—But craw her up in the morning, when he’s been roasting, there wad be nae mair word o’ Edie, I trow.” puir fallow, in this dark hole—And, ohon! I wish that He then led Lovel, who followed him unresistingly, into and the like o’ that had been the warst o’t! Whiles they one of the interior branches of the cave. “Here,” he said, wad hae heard the din we were making in the very bow- “is a bit turnpike-stair that gaes up to the auld kirk els o’ the earth, when Sanders Aikwood, that was for- abune. Some folks say this place was howkit out by the ester in thae days, the father o’ Ringan that now is, was monks lang syne to hide their treasure in, and some said gaun daundering about the wood at e’en, to see after that they used to bring things into the abbey this gate the Laird’s game and whiles he wad hae seen a glance o’ by night, that they durstna sae weel hae brought in by the light frae the door o’ the cave, flaughtering against the main port and in open day—And some said that the hazels on the other bank;—and then siccan stories ane o’ them turned a saint (or aiblins wad hae had folk as Sanders had about the worricows and gyre-carlins think sae), and settled him down in this Saint Ruth’s that haunted about the auld wa’s at e’en, and the lights cell, as the auld folks aye ca’d it, and garr’d big the stair, that he had seen, and the cries that he had heard, when that he might gang up to the kirk when they were at the there was nae mortal e’e open but his ain; and eh! as he divine service. The Laird o’ Monkbarns wad hae a hantle wad thrum them ower and ower to the like o’ me ayont

232 Sir Walter Scott the ingle at e’en, and as I wad gie the auld silly carle the captain-lad will do weel eneugh—and, after a’, ye grane for grane, and tale for tale, though I ken’d muckle are no the first that has had this misfortune. I hae seen better about it than ever he did. Ay, ay—they were daft mony a man killed, and helped to kill them mysell, days thae;—but they were a’ vanity, and waur,—and though there was nae quarrel between us—and if it isna it’s fitting that they wha hae led a light and evil life, wrang to kill folk we have nae quarrel wi’, just because and abused charity when they were young, suld aiblins they wear another sort of a cockade, and speak a for- come to lack it when they are auld.” eign language, I canna see but a man may have excuse While Ochiltree was thus recounting the exploits and for killing his ain mortal foe, that comes armed to the tricks of his earlier life, with a tone in which glee and fair field to kill him. I dinna say it’s right—God forbid compunction alternately predominated, his unfortunate —or that it isna sinfu’ to take away what ye canna re- auditor had sat down upon the hermit’s seat, hewn out store, and that’s the breath of man, whilk is in his nos- of the solid rock, and abandoned himself to that lassi- trils; but I say it is a sin to be forgiven if it’s repented of. tude, both of mind and body, which generally follows a Sinfu’ men are we a’; but if ye wad believe an auld grey course of events that have agitated both, The effect of sinner that has seen the evil o’ his ways, there is as much his late indisposition, which had much weakened his promise atween the twa boards o’ the Testament as wad system, contributed to this lethargic despondency. “The save the warst o’ us, could we but think sae.” puir bairn!” said auld Edie, “an he sleeps in this damp With such scraps of comfort and of divinity as he pos- hole, he’ll maybe wauken nae mair, or catch some sair sessed, the mendicant thus continued to solicit and com- disease. It’s no the same to him as to the like o’ us, that pel the attention of Lovel, until the twilight began to can sleep ony gate an anes our wames are fu’. Sit up, fade into night. “Now,” said Ochiltree, “I will carry ye Maister Lovel, lad! After a’s come and gane, I dare say to a mair convenient place, where I hae sat mony a time

233 The Antiquary to hear the howlit crying out of the ivy tod, and to see wi’ as little concern as an he were a brock.” the moonlight come through the auld windows o’ the While the mendicant spoke thus, he was busied in re- ruins. There can be naebody come here after this time moving a few loose stones in one angle of the eave, which o’ night; and if they hae made ony search, thae black- obscured the entrance of the staircase of which he had guard shirra’-officers and constables, it will hae been spoken, and led the way into it, followed by Lovel in ower lang syne. Od, they are as great cowards as ither passive silence. folk, wi’ a’ their warrants and king’s keys*—I hae gien “The air’s free eneugh,” said the old man; “the monks some o’ them a gliff in my day, when they were coming took care o’ that, for they werena a lang-breathed gen- rather ower near me—But, lauded be grace for it! they eration, I reckon; they hae contrived queer tirlie-wirlie canna stir me now for ony waur than an auld man and a holes, that gang out to the open air, and keep the stair beggar, and my badge is a gude protection; and then as caller as a kail-blade.” Miss Isabella Wardour is a tower o’ strength, ye ken”— Lovel accordingly found the staircase well aired, and, (Lovel sighed)—“Aweel, dinna be cast down—bowls may though narrow, it was neither ruinous nor long, but a’ row right yet—gie the lassie time to ken her mind. speedily admitted them into a narrow gallery contrived She’s the wale o’ the country for beauty, and a gude to run within the side wall of the chancel, from which it friend o’ mine—I gang by the bridewell as safe as by the received air and light through apertures ingeniously hid- kirk on a Sabbath—deil ony o’ them daur hurt a hair o’ den amid the florid ornaments of the Gothic architec- auld Edie’s head now; I keep the crown o’ the causey ture. when I gae to the borough, and rub shouthers wi’ a bailie “This secret passage ance gaed round great part o’ the biggin,” said the beggar, “and through the wa’ o’ the * The king’s keys are, in law phrase, the crow-bars and ham- mers used to force doors and locks, in execution of the king’s place I’ve heard Monkbarns ca’ the Refractory” [mean- warrant. 234 Sir Walter Scott ing probably Refectory], “and so awa to the Prior’s ain unseen, might watch the behaviour of his monks, and house. It’s like he could use it to listen what the monks ascertain, by personal inspection, their punctual atten- were saying at meal-time,—and then he might come ben dance upon those rites of devotion which his rank ex- here and see that they were busy skreighing awa wi’ the empted him from sharing with them. As this niche made psalms doun below there; and then, when he saw a’ was one of a regular series which stretched along the wall of right and tight, he might step awa and fetch in a bonnie the chancel, and in no respect differed from the rest when lass at the cove yonder—for they were queer hands the seen from below, the secret station, screened as it was monks, unless mony lees is made on them. But our folk by the stone figure of St. Michael and the dragon, and were at great pains lang syne to big up the passage in the open tracery around the niche, was completely hid some parts, and pu’ it down in others, for fear o’ some from observation. The private passage, confined to its uncanny body getting into it, and finding their way down pristine breadth, had originally continued beyond this to the cove: it wad hae been a fashious job that—by my seat; but the jealous precautions of the vagabonds who certie, some o’ our necks wad hae been ewking.” frequented the cave of St. Ruth had caused them to build They now came to a place where the gallery was en- it carefully up with hewn stones from the ruin. larged into a small circle, sufficient to contain a stone “We shall be better here,” said Edie, seating himself on seat. A niche, constructed exactly before it, projected the stone bench, and stretching the lappet of his blue forward into the chancel, and as its sides were latticed, gown upon the spot, when he motioned Lovel to sit down as it were, with perforated stone-work, it commanded a beside him—“we shall be better here than doun below; full view of the chancel in every direction, and was prob- the air’s free and mild, and the savour of the wallflowers, ably constructed, as Edie intimated, to be a convenient and siccan shrubs as grow on thae ruined wa’s, is far mair watch-tower, from which the superior priest, himself refreshing than the damp smell doun below yonder. They

235 The Antiquary smell sweetest by night-time thae flowers, and they’re the frankincent that they speak of in the Holy Scrip- maist aye seen about rained buildings. Now, Maister Lovel, ture, and wi’ organs assuredly, and men and women sing- can ony o’ you scholars gie a gude reason for that?” ers, and sackbuts, and dulcimers, and a’ instruments o’ Lovel replied in the negative. music—I wonder if that was acceptable, or whether it “I am thinking,” resumed the beggar, “that they’ll be, is of these grand parafle o’ ceremonies that holy writ like mony folk’s gude gifts, that often seem maist gra- says, It is an abomination to me. cious in adversity—or maybe it’s a parable, to teach us I am thinking, Maister Lovel, if twa puir contrite spir- no to slight them that are in the darkness of sin and the its like yours and mine fand grace to make our peti- decay of tribulation, since God sends odours to refresh tion”— the mirkest hour, and flowers and pleasant bushes to Here Lovel laid his hand eagerly on the mendicant’s clothe the ruined buildings. And now I wad like a wise arm, saying,—“Hush! I heard some one speak.” man to tell me whether Heaven is maist pleased wi’ the “I am dull o’ hearing,” answered Edie, in a whisper, sight we are looking upon—thae pleasant and quiet lang “but we’re surely safe here—where was the sound?” streaks o’ moonlight that are lying sae still on the floor Lovel pointed to the door of the chancel, which, highly o’ this auld kirk, and glancing through the great pillars ornamented, occupied the west end of the building, sur- and stanchions o’ the carved windows, and just dancing mounted by the carved window, which let in a flood of like on the leaves o’ the dark ivy as the breath o’ wind moonlight over it. shakes it—I wonder whether this is mair pleasing to “They can be nane o’ our folk,” said Edie in the same Heaven than when it was lighted up wi’ lamps, and low and cautious tone; “there’s but twa o’ them kens o’ candles nae doubt, and roughies,* and wi’ the mirth and the place, and they’re mony a mile off, if they are still bound on their weary pilgrimage. I’ll never think it’s * Links, or torches. 236 Sir Walter Scott the officers here at this time o’ night. I am nae believer wood long before any danger of close pursuit. They kept in auld wives’ stories about ghaists, though this is gey themselves, therefore, as still as possible, and observed like a place for them. —But mortal, or of the other with eager and anxious curiosity every accent and mo- world, here they come!—twa men and a light.” tion of these nocturnal wanderers. And in very truth, while the mendicant spoke, two After conversing together some time in whispers, the human figures darkened with their shadows the entrance two figures advanced into the middle of the chancel; of the chancel—which had before opened to the moon- and a voice, which Lovel at once recognised, from its lit meadow beyond, and the small lantern which one of tone and dialect, to be that of Dousterswivel, pro- them displayed, glimmered pale in the clear and strong nounced in a louder but still a smothered tone, “Indeed, beams of the moon, as the evening star does among the mine goot sir, dere cannot be one finer hour nor season lights of the departing day. The first and most obvious for dis great purpose. You shall see, mine goot sir, dat it idea was, that, despite the asseverations of Edie is all one bibble-babble dat Mr. Oldenbuck says, and dat Ochiltree, the persons who approached the ruins at an he knows no more of what he speaks than one little child. hour so uncommon must be the officers of justice in Mine soul! he expects to get as rich as one Jew for his quest of Lovel. But no part of their conduct confirmed poor dirty one hundred pounds, which I care no more the suspicion. A touch and a whisper from the old man about, by mine honest wort, than I care for an hundred warned Lovel that his best course was to remain quiet, stivers. But to you, my most munificent and reverend and watch their motions from their present place of con- patron, I will show all de secrets dat art can show—ay, cealment. Should anything appear to render retreat nec- de secret of de great Pymander.” essary, they had behind them the private stair-case and “That other ane,” whispered Edie, “maun be, accord- cavern, by means of which they could escape into the ing to a’ likelihood, Sir Arthur Wardour—I ken naebody

237 The Antiquary but himsell wad come here at this time at e’en wi’ that space of twenty-eight day—every shild knows dat. Well, German blackguard;—ane wad think he’s bewitched I take a silver plate when she is in her fifteenth man- him—he gars him e’en trow that chalk is cheese. Let’s sion, which mansion is in de head of Libra, and I en- see what they can be doing.” grave upon one side de worts, [Shedbarschemoth This interruption, and the low tone in which Sir Arthur Schartachan]—dat is, de Emblems of de Intelligence spoke, made Lovel lose all Sir Arthur’s answer to the of de moon—and I make this picture like a flying ser- adept, excepting the last three emphatic words, “Very pent with a turkey-cock’s head—vary well. Then upon great expense;” to which Dousterswivel at once replied— this side I make de table of de moon, which is a square ”Expenses!—to be sure—dere must be de great expenses. of nine, multiplied into itself, with eighty-one numbers You do not expect to reap before you do sow de seed: de on every side, and diameter nine—dere it is done very expense is de seed—de riches and de mine of goot metal, proper. Now I will make dis avail me at de change of and now de great big chests of plate, they are de crop— every quarter-moon dat I shall find by de same propor- vary goot crop too, on mine wort. Now, Sir Arthur, you tions of expenses I lay out in de suffumigations, as nine, have sowed this night one little seed of ten guineas like to de product of nine multiplied into itself—But I shall one pinch of snuff, or so big; and if you do not reap de find no more to-night as maybe two or dree times nine, great harvest—dat is, de great harvest for de little pinch because dere is a thwarting power in de house of of seed, for it must be proportions, you must know— ascendency.” then never call one honest man, Herman Dousterswivel. “But, Dousterswivel,” said the simple Baronet, “does Now you see, mine patron—for I will not conceal mine not this look like magic?—I am a true though unwor- secret from you at all—you see this little plate of silver; thy son of the Episcopal church, and I will have noth- you know de moon measureth de whole zodiack in de ing to do with the foul fiend.”

238 Sir Walter Scott “Bah! bah!—not a bit magic in it at all—not a bit— one strong castle, and you would hold de sword while I It is all founded on de planetary influence, and de sym- did say de needful worts. Den you should see de solid pathy and force of numbers. I will show you much finer wall open like de gate of ane city, and den—let me see— dan dis. I do not say dere is not de spirit in it, because of ay, you should see first one stag pursued by three black de suffumigation; but, if you are not afraid, he shall not greyhounds, and they should pull him down as they do be invisible.” at de elector’s great hunting-match; and den one ugly, “I have no curiosity to see him at all,” said the Bar- little, nasty black negro should appear and take de stag onet, whose courage seemed, from a certain quaver in from them—and paf—all should be gone; den you should his accent, to have taken a fit of the ague. hear horns winded dat all de ruins should ring—mine “Dat is great pity,” said Dousterswivel; “I should have wort, they should play fine hunting piece, as goot as liked to show you de spirit dat guard dis treasure like him you call’d Fischer with his oboi; vary well—den one fierce watchdog—but I know how to manage him;— comes one herald, as we call Ernhold, winding his horn— you would not care to see him?” and den come de great Peolphan, called de mighty “Not at all,” answered the Baronet, in a tone of feigned Hunter of de North, mounted on hims black steed. But indifference; “I think we have but little time.” you would not care to see all this?”* “You shall pardon me, my patron; it is not yet twelve, “Why, I am not afraid,” answered the poor Baronet,— and twelve precise is just our planetary hours; and I ”if—that is—does anything—any great mischiefs, hap- could show you de spirit vary well, in de meanwhile, pen on such occasions?” just for pleasure. You see I would draw a pentagon within “Bah! mischiefs? no!—sometimes if de circle be no a circle, which is no trouble at all, and make my quite just, or de beholder be de frightened coward, and suffumigation within it, and dere we would be like in * Note F. Witchcraft. 239 The Antiquary not hold de sword firm and straight towards him, de “Was that an echo?” said the Baronet, astonished at Great Hunter will take his advantage, and drag him the sternutation which resounded from above; “or”— exorcist out of de circle and throttle him. Dat does hap- drawing close to the adept, “can it be the spirit you talked pens.” of, ridiculing our attempt upon his hidden treasures?” “Well then, Dousterswivel, with every confidence in “N—n—no,” muttered the German, who began to par- my courage and your skill, we will dispense with this take of his pupil’s terrors, “I hope not.” apparition, and go on to the business of the night.” Here a violent of sneezing, which the mendicant was “With all mine heart—it is just one thing to me—and unable to suppress, and which could not be considered now it is de time—hold you de sword till I kindle de by any means as the dying fall of an echo, accompanied little what you call chip.” by a grunting half-smothered cough, confounded the two Dousterswivel accordingly set fire to a little pile of treasure-seekers. “Lord have mercy on us!” said the chips, touched and prepared with some bituminous sub- Baronet. stance to make them burn fiercely; and when the flame “Alle guten Geistern loben den Herrn!” ejaculated the was at the highest, and lightened, with its shortlived terrified adept. “I was begun to think,” he continued, glare, all the ruins around, the German flung in a hand- after a moment’s silence, “that this would be de ful of perfumes which produced a strong and pungent bestermost done in de day-light—we was bestermost to odour. The exorcist and his pupil both were so much go away just now.” affected as to cough and sneeze heartily; and, as the “You juggling villain!” said the Baronet, in whom these vapour floated around the pillars of the building, and expressions awakened a suspicion that overcame his ter- penetrated every crevice, it produced the same effect on rors, connected as it was with the sense of desperation the beggar and Lovel. arising from the apprehension of impending ruin —“you

240 Sir Walter Scott juggling mountebank! this is some legerdemain trick of “No, you cheating scoundrel!” said the knight, un- yours to get off from the performance of your promise, sheathing the sword which he had brought for the pur- as you have so often done before. But, before Heaven! I poses of the exorcism, “that shift shall not serve you— will this night know what I have trusted to when I suf- Monkbarns warned me long since of your juggling fered you to fool me on to my ruin! Go on, then—come pranks—I will see this treasure before you leave this fairy, come fiend, you shall show me that treasure, or place, or I will have you confess yourself an impostor, confess yourself a knave and an impostor, or, by the faith or, by Heaven, I’ll run this sword through you, though of a desperate and ruined man, I’ll send you where you all the spirits of the dead should rise around us!” shall see spirits enough.” “For de lofe of Heaven be patient, mine honoured pa- The treasure-finder, trembling between his terror for tron, and you shall hafe all de treasure as I knows of— the supernatural beings by whom he supposed himself yes, you shall indeed—But do not speak about de spir- to be surrounded, and for his life, which seemed to be at its—it makes dem angry.” the mercy of a desperate man, could only bring out, Edie Ochiltree here prepared himself to throw in an- “Mine patron, this is not the allerbestmost usage. Con- other groan, but was restrained by Lovel, who began to sider, mine honoured sir, that de spirits”— take a more serious interest, as he observed the earnest Here Edie, who began to enter into the humour of the and almost desperate demeanour of Sir Arthur. scene, uttered an extraordinary howl, being an exalta- Dousterswivel, having at once before his eyes the fear tion and a prolongation of the most deplorable whine of the foul fiend, and the violence of Sir Arthur, played in which he was accustomed to solicit charity. his part of a conjuror extremely ill, hesitating to as- Dousterswivel flung himself on his knees—“Dear Sir sume the degree of confidence necessary to deceive the Arthurs, let us go, or let me go!” latter, lest it should give offence to the invisible cause of

241 The Antiquary his alarm. However, after rolling his eyes, muttering and tools necessary for digging), something was heard to ring sputtering German exorcisms, with contortions of his like the sound of a falling piece of metal, and face and person, rather flowing from the impulse of ter- Dousterswivel, hastily catching up the substance which ror than of meditated fraud, he at length proceeded to produced it, and which his shovel had thrown out along a corner of the building where a flat stone lay upon the with the earth, exclaimed, “On mine dear wort, mine ground, bearing upon its surface the effigy of an armed patrons, dis is all—it is indeed; I mean all we can do to- warrior in a recumbent posture carved in bas-relief. He night;”—and he gazed round him with a cowering and muttered to Sir Arthur, “Mine patrons, it is here—Got fearful glance, as if to see from what comer the avenger save us all!” of his imposture was to start forth. Sir Arthur, who, after the first moment of his super- “Let me see it,” said Sir Arthur; and then repeated, stitious fear was over, seemed to have bent up all his still more sternly, “I will be satisfied—I will judge by faculties to the pitch of resolution necessary to carry mine own eyes.” He accordingly held the object to the on the adventure, lent the adept his assistance to turn light of the lantern. It was a small case, or casket, —for over the stone, which, by means of a lever that the adept Lovel could not at the distance exactly discern its shape, had provided, their joint force with difficulty effected. which, from the Baronet’s exclamation as he opened it, No supernatural light burst forth from below to indi- he concluded was filled with coin. “Ay,” said the Bar- cate the subterranean treasury, nor was there any ap- onet, “this is being indeed in good luck! and if it omens parition of spirits, earthly or infernal. But when proportional success upon a larger venture, the venture Dousterswivel had, with great trepidation, struck a few shall be made. That six hundred of Goldieword’s, added strokes with a mattock, and as hastily thrown out a shov- to the other incumbent claims, must have been ruin in- elful or two of earth (for they came provided with the deed. If you think we can parry it by repeating this

242 Sir Walter Scott experiment—suppose when the moon next changes,—I makes an unco difference. I hae seen mony a man wad will hazard the necessary advance, come by it how I hae felled another an anger him, that wadna muckle hae may.” liked a clink against Crummies-horn yon time. But “Oh, mine good patrons, do not speak about all dat,” what’s to be done?” said Dousterswivel, “as just now, but help me to put de “I suppose,” said Lovel, “his faith in this fellow is en- shtone to de rights, and let us begone our own ways.” tirely restored by this deception, which, unquestionably, And accordingly, so soon as the stone was replaced, he he had arranged beforehand.” hurried Sir Arthur, who was now resigned once more to “What! the siller?—Ay, ay—trust him for that—they his guidance, away from a spot, where the German’s that hide ken best where to find. He wants to wile him guilty conscience and superstitious fears represented out o’ his last guinea, and then escape to his ain coun- goblins as lurking behind each pillar with the purpose try, the land-louper. I wad likeit weel just to hae come of punishing his treachery. in at the clipping-time, and gien him a lounder wi’ my “Saw onybody e’er the like o’ that!” said Edie, when pike-staff; he wad hae taen it for a bennison frae some they had disappeared like shadows through the gate by o’ the auld dead abbots. But it’s best no to be rash; stick- which they had entered—“saw ony creature living e’er ing disna gang by strength, but by the guiding o’ the the like o’ that!—But what can we do for that puir doited gally. I’se be upsides wi’ him ae day.” deevil of a knight-baronet? Od, he showed muckle mair “What if you should inform Mr. Oldbuck?” said Lovel. spunk, too, than I thought had been in him—I thought “Ou, I dinna ken—Monkbarns and Sir Arthur are like, he wad hae sent cauld iron through the vagabond—Sir and yet they’re no like neither. Monkbarns has whiles Arthur wasna half sae bauld at Bessie’s-apron yon influence wi’ him, and whiles Sir Arthur cares as little night—but then, his blood was up even now, and that about him as about the like o’ me. Monkbarns is no that

243 The Antiquary ower wise himsell, in some things;—he wad believe a bodle “Ou, puir thing, how could she stop her father doing to be an auld Roman coin, as he ca’s it, or a ditch to be a his pleasure?—and, besides, what wad it help? There’s camp, upon ony leasing that idle folk made about it. I a sough in the country about that six hundred pounds, hae garr’d him trow mony a queer tale mysell, gude forgie and there’s a writer chield in Edinburgh has been driv- me. But wi’ a’ that, he has unco little sympathy wi’ ither ing the spur-rowels o’ the law up to the head into Sir folks; and he’s snell and dure eneugh in casting up their Arthur’s sides to gar him pay it, and if he canna, he nonsense to them, as if he had nane o’ his ain. He’ll listen maun gang to jail or flee the country. He’s like a desper- the hale day, an yell tell him about tales o’ Wallace, and ate man, and just catches at this chance as a’ he has Blind Harry, and Davie Lindsay; but ye maunna speak left, to escape utter perdition; so what signifies plagu- to him about ghaists or fairies, or spirits walking the earth, ing the puir lassie about what canna be helped? And or the like o’ that;—he had amaist flung auld Caxon out besides, to say the truth, I wadna like to tell the secret o’ the window (and he might just as weel hae flung awa o’ this place. It’s unco convenient, ye see yoursell, to his best wig after him), for threeping he had seen a ghaist hae a hiding-hole o’ ane’s ain; and though I be out o’ at the humlock-knowe. Now, if he was taking it up in the line o’ needing ane e’en now, and trust in the power this way, he wad set up the tother’s birse, and maybe do o’ grace that I’ll neer do onything to need ane again, yet mair ill nor gude—he’s done that twice or thrice about naebody kens what temptation ane may be gien ower thae mine-warks; ye wad thought Sir Arthur had a plea- to—and, to be brief, I downa bide the thought of any- sure in gaun on wi’ them the deeper, the mair he was body kennin about the place;—they say, keep a thing warned against it by Monkbarns.” seven year, an’ yell aye find a use for’t—and maybe I “What say you then,” said Lovel, “to letting Miss may need the cove, either for mysell, or for some ither Wardour know the circumstance?” body.”

244 Sir Walter Scott This argument, in which Edie Ochiltree, notwithstand- his own in observing the heavenly bodies, stood inde- ing his scraps of morality and of divinity, seemed to pendent of the assistance of a watch or time-keeper— take, perhaps from old habit, a personal interest, could it was fitting they should leave their hiding-place, and not be handsomely controverted by Lovel, who was at betake themselves to the seashore, in order to meet Lieu- that moment reaping the benefit of the secret of which tenant Taffril’s boat according to appointment. the old man appeared to be so jealous. They retreated by the same passage which had admit- This incident, however, was of great service to Lovel, ted them to the prior’s secret seat of observation, and as diverting his mind from the unhappy occurrence of when they issued from the grotto into the wood, the the evening, and considerably rousing the energies which birds which began to chirp, and even to sing, announced had been stupefied by the first view of his calamity. He that the dawn was advanced. This was confirmed by reflected that it by no means necessarily followed that a the light and amber clouds that appeared over the sea, dangerous wound must be a fatal one—that he had been as soon as their exit from the copse permitted them to hurried from the spot even before the surgeon had ex- view the horizon.—Morning, said to be friendly to the pressed any opinion of Captain M’Intyre’s situation— muses, has probably obtained this character from its and that he had duties on earth to perform, even should effect upon the fancy and feelings of mankind. Even to the very worst be true, which, if they could not restore those who, like Lovel, have spent a sleepless and anx- his peace of mind or sense of innocence, would furnish ious night, the breeze of the dawn brings strength and a motive for enduring existence, and at the same time quickening both of mind and body. It was, therefore, render it a course of active benevolence.—Such were with renewed health and vigour that Lovel, guided by Lovel’s feelings, when the hour arrived when, according the trusty mendicant, brushed away the dew as he tra- to Edie’s calculation—who, by some train or process of versed the downs which divided the Den of St. Ruth, as

245 The Antiquary the woods surrounding the ruins were popularly called, into his hand. “I think,” said Edie, as he tendered it from the sea-shore. back again, “the hale folk here have either gane daft, or The first level beam of the sun, as his brilliant disk they hae made a vow to rain my trade, as they say ower began to emerge from the ocean, shot full upon the little muckle water drowns the miller. I hae had mair gowd gun-brig which was lying-to in the offing—close to the offered me within this twa or three weeks than I ever shore the boat was already waiting, Taffril himself, with saw in my life afore. Keep the siller, lad—yell hae need his naval cloak wrapped about him, seated in the stern. o’t, I’se warrant ye, and I hae nane my claes is nae great He jumped ashore when he saw the mendicant and Lovel things, and I get a blue gown every year, and as mony approach, and, shaking the latter heartily by the hand, siller groats as the king, God bless him, is years auld— begged him not to be cast down. “M’Intyre’s wound,” you and I serve the same master, ye ken, Captain Taffril; he said, “was doubtful, but far from desperate.” His there’s rigging provided for—and my meat and drink I attention had got Lovel’s baggage privately sent on get for the asking in my rounds, or, at an orra time, I board the brig; “and,” he said, “he trusted that, if Lovel can gang a day without it, for I make it a rule never to chose to stay with the vessel, the penalty of a short cruise pay for nane; —so that a’ the siller I need is just to buy would be the only disagreeable consequence of his tobacco and sneeshin, and maybe a dram at a time in a rencontre. As for himself, his time and motions were a cauld day, though I am nae dram-drinker to be a good deal at his own disposal, he said, excepting the gaberlunzie;—sae take back your gowd, and just gie me necessary obligation of remaining on his station.” a lily-white shilling.” “We will talk of our farther motions,” said Lovel, “as Upon these whims, which he imagined intimately con- we go on board.” nected with the honour of his vagabond profession, Edie Then turning to Edie, he endeavoured to put money was flint and adamant, not to be moved by rhetoric or

246 Sir Walter Scott 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 VOLUME TWO very important services which he had rendered 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, CHAPTER FIRST 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 Wiser Raymondus, in his closet pent, impulse of six stout rowers, and Lovel beheld him again Laughs at such danger and adventurement wave his blue bonnet as a token of farewell ere he turned When half his lands are spent in golden smoke, from his fixed posture, and began to move slowly along And now his second hopeful glasse is broke, But yet, if haply his third furnace hold, the sands as if resuming his customary perambulations. Devoteth all his pots and pans to gold.*

ABOUT A WEEK after the adventures commemorated in our last chapter, Mr. Oldbuck, descending to his breakfast- *The author cannot remember where these lines are to be found: perhaps in Bishop Hall’s Satires. [They occur in Book iv. Satire iii.] 247 The Antiquary parlour, found that his womankind were not upon duty, his “Awa to the town about the captain’s fowling-gun, and toast not made, and the silver jug, which was wont to re- his setting-dog.” ceive his libations of mum, not duly aired for its reception. “And who the devil’s to dress my periwig, you silly “This confounded hot-brained boy!” he said to him- jade?—when you knew that Miss Wardour and Sir self; “now that he begins to get out of danger, I can Arthur were coming here early after breakfast, how could tolerate this life no longer. All goes to sixes and sevens— you let Caxon go on such a Tomfool’s errand?” an universal saturnalia seems to be proclaimed in my “Me! what could I hinder him?—your honour wadna peaceful and orderly family. I ask for my sister—no an- hae us contradict the captain e’en now, and him maybe swer. I call, I shout—I invoke my inmates by more names deeing?” than the Romans gave to their deities—at length Jenny, “Dying!” said the alarmed Antiquary,—“eh! what? whose shrill voice I have heard this half-hour lilting in has he been worse?” the Tartarean regions of the kitchen, condescends to “Na, he’s no nae waur that I ken of.”* hear me and reply, but without coming up stairs, so the “Then he must be better—and what good is a dog and conversation must be continued at the top of my lungs. a gun to do here, but the one to destroy all my furni- “—Here he again began to hollow aloud—“Jenny, ture, steal from my larder, and perhaps worry the cat, where’s Miss Oldbuck?” and the other to shoot somebody through the head. He “Miss Grizzy’s in the captain’s room.” has had gunning and pistolling enough to serve him one “Umph!—I thought so—and where’s my niece?” while, I should think.” “Miss Mary’s making the captain’s tea.” *It is, I believe, a piece of free-masonry, or a point of con- “Umph! I supposed as much again—and where’s science, among the Scottish lower orders, never to admit that a patient is doing better. The closest approach to recovery Caxon?” which they can be brought to allow, is, that the pairty inquired after is “Nae waur.” 248 Sir Walter Scott Here Miss Oldbuck entered the parlour, at the door of Miss M’Intyre now entered, and began to her usual which Oldbuck was carrying on this conversation, he morning’s task of arranging her uncle’s breakfast, with bellowing downward to Jenny, and she again screaming the alertness of one who is too late in setting about a upward in reply. task, and is anxious to make up for lost time. But this “Dear brother,” said the old lady, “ye’ll cry yoursell did not avail her. “Take care, you silly womankind— as hoarse as a corbie—is that the way to skreigh when that mum’s too near the fire—the bottle will burst; and there’s a sick person in the house?” I suppose you intend to reduce the toast to a cinder as a “Upon my word, the sick person’s like to have all the burnt-offering for Juno, or what do you call her—the house to himself,—I have gone without my breakfast, and female dog there, with some such Pantheon kind of a am like to go without my wig; and I must not, I suppose, name, that your wise brother has, in his first moments presume to say I feel either hunger or cold, for fear of dis- of mature reflection, ordered up as a fitting inmate of turbing the sick gentleman who lies six rooms off, and who my house (I thank him), and meet company to aid the feels himself well enough to send for his dog and gun, rest of the womankind of my household in their daily though he knows I detest such implements ever since our conversation and intercourse with him.” elder brother, poor Williewald, marched out of the world “Dear uncle, don’t be angry about the poor spaniel; on a pair of damp feet, caught in the Kittlefitting-moss. she’s been tied up at my brother’s lodgings at Fairport, But that signifies nothing; I suppose I shall be expected by and she’s broke her chain twice, and came running down and by to lend a hand to carry Squire Hector out upon his here to him; and you would not have us beat the faith- litter, while he indulges his sportsmanlike propensities by ful beast away from the door?—it moans as if it had shooting my pigeons, or my turkeys—I think any of the some sense of poor Hector’s misfortune, and will hardly ferae naturae are safe from him for one while.” stir from the door of his room.”

249 The Antiquary “Why,” said his uncle, “they said Caxon had gone to “And much good that will do, when he has frightened Fairport after his dog and gun.” the lad out of the country! I tell thee, Mary, Hector’s “O dear sir, no,” answered Miss M’Intyre, “it was to understanding, and far more that of feminity, is inad- fetch some dressings that were wanted, and Hector only equate to comprehend the extent of the loss which he wished him to bring out his gun, as he was going to has occasioned to the present age and to posterity— Fairport at any rate.” aureum quidem opus—a poem on such a subject, with “Well, then, it is not altogether so foolish a business, notes illustrative of all that is clear, and all that is dark, considering what a mess of womankind have been about and all that is neither dark nor clear, but hovers in dusky it—Dressings, quotha?—and who is to dress my wig?— twilight in the region of Caledonian antiquities. I would But I suppose Jenny will undertake”—continued the old have made the Celtic panegyrists look about them. bachelor, looking at himself in the glass—“to make it Fingal, as they conceitedly term Fin-Mac-Coul, should somewhat decent. And now let us set to breakfast—with have disappeared before my search, rolling himself in what appetite we may. Well may I say to Hector, as Sir his cloud like the spirit of Loda. Such an opportunity Isaac Newton did to his dog Diamond, when the animal can hardly again occur to an ancient and grey-haired (I detest dogs) flung down the taper among calculations man; and to see it lost by the madcap spleen of a hot- which had occupied the philosopher for twenty years, and headed boy! But I submit—Heaven’s will be done!” consumed the whole mass of materials—Diamond, Dia- Thus continued the Antiquary to maunder, as his sis- mond, thou little knowest the mischief thou hast done!” ter expressed it, during the whole time of breakfast, “I assure you, sir,” replied his niece, “my brother is while, despite of sugar and honey, and all the comforts quite sensible of the rashness of his own behaviour, and of a Scottish morning tea-table, his reflections rendered allows that Mr. Lovel behaved very handsomely.” the meal bitter to all who heard them. But they knew

250 Sir Walter Scott the nature of the man. “Monkbarns’s bark,” said Miss Arthur, referring to his previous inquiries by letter and Griselda Oldbuck, in confidential intercourse with Miss message, requested to be particularly informed of Cap- Rebecca Blattergowl, “is muckle waur than his bite.” tain M’Intyre’s health. In fact, Mr. Oldbuck had suffered in mind extremely “Better than he deserves,” was the answer—”better while his nephew was in actual danger, and now felt him- than he deserves, for disturbing us with his vixen brawls, self at liberty, upon his returning health, to indulge in and breaking God’s peace and the King’s.” complaints respecting the trouble he had been put to, “The young gentleman,” Sir Arthur said, “had been and the interruption of his antiquarian labours. Lis- imprudent; but he understood they were indebted to him tened to, therefore, in respectful silence, by his niece and for the detection of a suspicious character in the young sister, he unloaded his discontent in such grumblings as man Lovel.” we have rehearsed, venting many a sarcasm against “No more suspicious than his own,” answered the An- womankind, soldiers, dogs, and guns, all which imple- tiquary, eager in his favourites defence;—“the young ments of noise, discord, and tumult, as he called them, gentleman was a little foolish and headstrong, and re- he professed to hold in utter abomination. fused to answer Hector’s impertinent interrogatories— This expectoration of spleen was suddenly interrupted that is all. Lovel, Sir Arthur, knows how to choose his by the noise of a carriage without, when, shaking off confidants better—Ay, Miss Wardour, you may look at all sullenness at the sound, Oldbuck ran nimbly up stairs me—but it is very true;—it was in my bosom that he and down stairs, for both operations were necessary ere deposited the secret cause of his residence at Fairport; he could receive Miss Wardour and her father at the door and no stone should have been left unturned on my part of his mansion. to assist him in the pursuit to which he had dedicated A cordial greeting passed on both sides. And Sir himself.”

251 The Antiquary On hearing this magnanimous declaration on the part ing to converse with the ladies of Monkbarns, but with of the old Antiquary, Miss Wardour changed colour more the distracted feelings of Macbeth, when compelled to than once, and could hardly trust her own ears. For of disguise his evil conscience by listening and replying to all confidants to be selected as the depositary of love the observations of the attendant thanes upon the storm affairs,—and such she naturally supposed must have of the preceding night, while his whole soul is upon the been the subject of communication,—next to Edie stretch to listen for the alarm of murder, which he knows Ochiltree, Oldbuck seemed the most uncouth and ex- must be instantly raised by those who have entered the traordinary; nor could she sufficiently admire or fret at sleeping apartment of Duncan. But the conversation the extraordinary combination of circumstances which of the two virtuosi turned on a subject very different thus threw a secret of such a delicate nature into the from that which Miss Wardour apprehended. possession of persons so unfitted to be entrusted with “Mr. Oldbuck,” said Sir Arthur, when they had, after it. She had next to fear the mode of Oldbuck’s entering a due exchange of ceremonies, fairly seated themselves upon the affair with her father, for such, she doubted in the sanctum sanctorum of the Antiquary,—“you, who not, was his intention. She well knew that the honest know so much of my family matters, may probably be gentleman, however vehement in his prejudices, had no surprised at the question I am about to put to you.” great sympathy with those of others, and she had to “Why, Sir Arthur, if it relates to money, I am very fear a most unpleasant explosion upon an e’claircissement sorry, but”— taking place between them. It was therefore with great “It does relate to money matters, Mr. Oldbuck.” anxiety that she heard her father request a private in- “Really, then, Sir Arthur,” continued the Antiquary, terview, and observed Oldbuck readily arise and show “in the present state of the money-market—and stocks the way to his library. She remained behind, attempt- being so low”—

252 Sir Walter Scott “You mistake my meaning, Mr. Oldbuck,” said the “But there’s another term’s interest due since that, Baronet; “I wished to ask your advice about laying out Sir Arthur, and it amounts (errors excepted) to eleven a large sum of money to advantage.” hundred and thirteen pounds, seven shillings, five pen- “The devil!” exclaimed the Antiquary; and, sensible nies, and three-fourths of a penny sterling—But look that his involuntary ejaculation of wonder was not over over the summation yourself.” and above civil, he proceeded to qualify it by expressing “I daresay you are quite right, my dear sir,” said the his joy that Sir Arthur should have a sum of money to Baronet, putting away the book with his hand, as one lay out when the commodity was so scarce. “And as for rejects the old-fashioned civility that presses food upon the mode of employing it,” said he, pausing, “the funds you after you have eaten till you nauseate—“perfectly are low at present, as I said before, and there are good right, I dare say; and in the course of three days or less bargains of land to be had. But had you not better be- you shall have the full value—that is, if you choose to gin by clearing off encumbrances, Sir Arthur?—There accept it in bullion.” is the sum in the personal bond—and the three notes of “Bullion! I suppose you mean lead. What the deuce! hand,” continued he, taking out of the right-hand have we hit on the vein then at last? But what could I do drawer of his cabinet a certain red memorandum-book, with a thousand pounds’ worth, and upwards, of lead? of which Sir Arthur, from the experience of former fre- The former abbots of Trotcosey might have roofed their quent appeals to it, abhorred the very sight—“with the church and monastery with it indeed—but for me”— interest thereon, amounting altogether to—let me “By bullion,” said the Baronet, “I mean the precious see”— metals,—gold and silver.” “To about a thousand pounds,” said Sir Arthur, hast- “Ay! indeed?—and from what Eldorado is this trea- ily; “you told me the amount the other day.” sure to be imported?”

253 The Antiquary “Not far from hence,” said Sir Arthur, significantly. of the reality of those expectations which I now hold “And naow I think of it, you shall see the whole process, out to you. And I assure you, Mr. Oldbuck, that in en- on one small condition.” tering fully upon this topic, it is my purpose to show my “And what is that?” craved the Antiquary. confidence in you, and my sense of your kindness on “Why, it will be necessary for you to give me your many former occasions.” friendly assistance, by advancing one hundred pounds Mr. Oldbuck professed his sense of obligation, but care- or thereabouts.” fully avoided committing himself by any promise of Mr. Oldbuck, who had already been grasping in idea farther assistance. the sum, principal and interest, of a debt which he had “Mr. Dousterswivel,” said Sir Arthur, “having discovered”— long regarded as wellnigh desperate, was so much as- Here Oldbuck broke in, his eyes sparkling with indig- tounded at the tables being so unexpectedly turned upon nation. “Sir Arthur, I have so often warned you of the him, that he could only re-echo, in an accent of wo and knavery of that rascally quack, that I really wonder surprise, the words, “Advance one hundred pounds!” you should quote him to me.” “Yes, my good sir,” continued Sir Arthur; “but upon “But listen—listen,” interrupted Sir Arthur in his the best possible security of being repaid in the course turn, “it will do you no harm. In short, Dousterswivel of two or three days.” persuaded me to witness an experiment which he had There was a pause—either Oldbuck’s nether jaw had made in the ruins of St. Ruth—and what do you think not recovered its position, so as to enable him to utter a we found?” negative, or his curiosity kept him silent. “Another spring of water, I suppose, of which the “I would not propose to you,” continued Sir Arthur, rogue had beforehand taken care to ascertain the situa- “to oblige me thus far, if I did not possess actual proofs tion and source.”

254 Sir Walter Scott “No, indeed—a casket of gold and silver coins—here “Indeed!” said Oldbuck; “and what means of discov- they are.” ery did you employ?” With that, Sir Arthur drew from his pocket a large “Only a simple suffumigation,” said the Baronet, “ac- ram’s horn, with a copper cover, containing a consider- companied by availing ourselves of the suitable plan- able quantity of coins, chiefly silver, but with a few gold etary hour.” pieces intermixed. The Antiquary’s eyes glistened as he “Simple suffumigation? simple nonsensification— eagerly spread them out on the table. planetary hour? planetary fiddlestick! Sapiens “Upon my word—Scotch, English, and foreign coins, dominabitur astris. My dear Sir Arthur, that fellow has of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, and some of made a gull of you above ground and under ground, them rari—et rariores—etiam rarissimi! Here is the bon- and he would have made a gull of you in the air too, if net-piece of James V., the unicorn of James II.,—ay, he had been by when you was craned up the devil’s turn- and the gold festoon of Queen Mary, with her head and pike yonder at Halket-head—to be sure the transfor- the Dauphin’s. And these were really found in the ruins mation would have been then peculiarly apropos.” of St. Ruth?” “Well, Mr. Oldbuck, I am obliged to you for your in- “Most assuredly—my own eyes witnessed it.” different opinion of my discernment; but I think you “Well,” replied Oldbuck; “but you must tell me the will give me credit for having seen what I say I saw.” when—the where-the how.” “Certainly, Sir Arthur,” said the Antiquary,—“to this “The when,” answered Sir Arthur, “was at midnight the extent at least, that I know Sir Arthur Wardour will last full moon—the where, as I have told you, in the ruins not say he saw anything but what he thought he saw.” of St. Ruth’s priory—the how, was by a nocturnal experi- “Well, then,” replied the Baronet, “as there is a heaven ment of Dousterswivel, accompanied only by myself.” above us, Mr. Oldbuck, I saw, with my own eyes, these

255 The Antiquary coins dug out of the chancel of St. Ruth at midnight. Oldbuck)—who mimicked the motion of snuff-taking And as to Dousterswivel, although the discovery be and its effects.” owing to his science, yet, to tell the truth, I do not think “These indications, however singular as proceeding he would have had firmness of mind to have gone from such a personage, seem to have been apropos to the through with it if I had not been beside him.” matter,” said the Antiquary; “for you see the case, which “Ay! indeed?” said Oldbuck, in the tone used when one includes these coins, has all the appearance of being an wishes to hear the end of a story before making any old-fashioned Scottish snuff-mill. But you persevered, comment. in spite of the terrors of this sneezing goblin?” “Yes truly,” continued Sir Arthur—“I assure you I “Why, I think it probable that a man of inferior sense was upon my guard—we did hear some very uncom- or consequence might have given way; but I was jealous mon sounds, that is certain, proceeding from among the of an imposture, conscious of the duty I owed to my ruins.” family in maintaining my courage under every contin- “Oh, you did?” said Oldbuck; “an accomplice hid gency, and therefore I compelled Dousterswivel, by ac- among them, I suppose?” tual and violent threats, to proceed with what he was “Not a jot,” said the Baronet;—“the sounds, though about to do;—and, sir, the proof of his skill and hon- of a hideous and preternatural character, rather re- esty is this parcel of gold and silver pieces, out of which sembled those of a man who sneezes violently than any I beg you to select such coins or medals as will best suit other—one deep groan I certainly heard besides; and your collection.” Dousterswivel assures me that he beheld the spirit “Why, Sir Arthur, since you are so good, and on condi- Peolphan, the Great Hunter of the North—(look for tion you will permit me to mark the value according to him in your Nicolaus Remigius, or Petrus Thyracus, Mr. Pinkerton’s catalogue and appreciation, against your

256 Sir Walter Scott account in my red book, I will with pleasure select”— ing merely one part of his trick or mystery. And with “Nay,” said Sir Arthur Wardour, “I do not mean you respect to the gold or silver coins, they are so mixed and should consider them as anything but a gift of friend- mingled in country and date, that I cannot suppose they ship and least of all would I stand by the valuation of could be any genuine hoard, and rather suppose them your friend Pinkerton, who has impugned the ancient to be, like the purses upon the table of Hudibras’s law- and trustworthy authorities upon which, as upon ven- yer— erable and moss-grown pillars, the credit of Scottish antiquities reposed.” —Money placed for show, “Ay, ay,” rejoined Oldbuck, “you mean, I suppose, Mair Like nest-eggs, to make clients lay, and Boece, the Jachin and Boaz, not of history but of And for his false opinions pay.— falsification and forgery. And notwithstanding all you have told me, I look on your friend Dousterswivel to be It is the trick of all professions, my dear Sir Arthur. as apocryphal as any of them.” Pray, may I ask you how much this discovery cost you?” “Why then, Mr. Oldbuck,” said Sir Arthur, “not to “About ten guineas.” awaken old disputes, I suppose you think, that because “And you have gained what is equivalent to twenty in I believe in the ancient history of my country, I have actual bullion, and what may be perhaps worth as much neither eyes nor ears to ascertain what modern events more to such fools as ourselves, who are willing to pay pass before me?” for curiosity. This was allowing you a tempting profit “Pardon me, Sir Arthur,” rejoined the Antiquary; “but on the first hazard, I must needs admit. And what is the I consider all the affectation of terror which this wor- next venture he proposes?” thy gentleman, your coadjutor, chose to play off, as be- “An hundred and fifty pounds;—I have given him one-

257 The Antiquary third part of the money, and I thought it likely you man, Sir Arthur: it is systems, not individuals, that in- might assist me with the balance.” cur my reprobation.” He rang the bell. “Jenny, Sir “I should think that this cannot be meant as a part- Arthur and I offer our compliments to Mr. ing blow—is not of weight and importance sufficient; Dousterswivel, the gentleman in Sir Arthur’s carriage, he will probably let us win this hand also, as sharpers and beg to have the pleasure of speaking with him here.” manage a raw gamester.—Sir Arthur, I hope you be- Jenny departed and delivered her message. It had been lieve I would serve you?” by no means a part of the project of Dousterswivel to “Certainly, Mr. Oldbuck; I think my confidence in you let Mr. Oldbuck into his supposed mystery. He had re- on these occasions leaves no room to doubt that.” lied upon Sir Arthur’s obtaining the necessary accom- “Well, then, allow me to speak to Dousterswivel. If modation without any discussion as to the nature of the money can be advanced usefully and advantageously the application, and only waited below for the purpose for you, why, for old neighbourhood’s sake, you shall of possessing himself of the deposit as soon as possible, not want it but if, as I think, I can recover the treasure for he foresaw that his career was drawing to a close. for you without making such an advance, you will, I But when summoned to the presence of Sir Arthur and presume, have no objection!” Mr. Oldbuck, he resolved gallantly to put confidence in “Unquestionably, I can have none whatsoever.” his powers of impudence, of which, the reader may have “Then where is Dousterswivel?” continued the Anti- observed, his natural share was very liberal. quary. “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

258 Sir Walter Scott “Ach, Mr. Oldenbuck, mine goot and honoured patron should not have told a word about dat little matter; for, CHAPTER SECOND though I have all reliance—yes, indeed, on goot Mr. Oldenbuck’s prudence and discretion, and his great friendship for Sir Arthur Wardour—yet, my heavens! it —And this Doctor, is an great ponderous secret.” Your sooty smoky-bearded compeer, he Will close you so much gold in a bolt’s head, “More ponderous than any of the metal we shall make And, on a turn, convey in the stead another by it, I fear,” answered Oldbuck. With sublimed mercury, that shall burst i’ the heat, “Dat is just as you shall have de faith and de patience And all fly out in fumo.— for de grand experiment. —If you join wid Sir Arthur, The Alchemist. as he is put 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 “HOW DO YOU DO, goot Mr. Oldenbuck? and I do hope de pure gold and silver, I cannot tell how much.” your young gentleman, Captain M’Intyre, is getting “Nor any one for you, I believe,” said the Antiquary. better again? Ach! it is a bat business when young “But, hark you, Mr. Dousterswivel: Suppose, without gentlemens will put lead balls into each other’s body.” troubling this same sneezing spirit with any farther fu- “Lead adventures of all kinds are very precarious, Mr. migations, we should go in a body, and having fair day- Dousterswivel; but I am happy to learn,” continued the light and our good consciences to befriend us, using no Antiquary, “from my friend Sir Arthur, that you have other conjuring implements than good substantial pick- taken up a better trade, and become a discoverer of gold.” axes and shovels, fairly trench the area of the chancel

259 The Antiquary in the ruins of St. Ruth, from one end to the other, and confidence in the general soundness of his opinions. He so ascertain the existence of this supposed treasure, therefore looked at him as if desiring his leave before without putting ourselves to any farther expense—the indulging his credulity. Dousterswivel saw he was in ruins belong to Sir Arthur himself, so there can be no danger of losing his dupe, unless he could make some objection—do you think we shall succeed in this way of favourable impression on the adviser. managing the matter?” “I know, my goot Mr. Oldenbuck, it is one vanity to “Bah!—you will not find one copper thimble—But Sir speak to you about de spirit and de goblin. But look at Arthur will do his pleasure. I have showed him how it is this curious horn;—I know, you know de curiosity of all possible—very possible—to have de great sum of money de countries, and how de great Oldenburgh horn, as they for his occasions—I have showed him de real experiment. keep still in the Museum at Copenhagen, was given to If he likes not to believe, goot Mr. Oldenbuck, it is noth- de Duke of Oldenburgh by one female spirit of de wood. ing to Herman Dousterswivel—he only loses de money Now I could not put one trick on you if I were willing— and de gold and de silvers—dat is all.” you who know all de curiosity so well—and dere it is de Sir Arthur Wardour cast an intimidated glance at horn full of coins;—if it had been a box or case, I would Oldbuck who, especially when present, held, notwith- have said nothing.” standing their frequent difference of opinion, no ordi- “Being a horn,” said Oldbuck, “does indeed strengthen nary influence over his sentiments. In truth, the Bar- your argument. It was an implement of nature’s fash- onet felt, what he would not willingly have acknowl- ioning, and therefore much used among rude nations, edged, that his genius stood rebuked before that of the although, it may be, the metaphorical horn is more fre- Antiquary. He respected him as a shrewd, penetrating, quent in proportion to the progress of civilisation. And sarcastic character—feared his satire, and had some this present horn,” he continued, rubbing it upon his

260 Sir Walter Scott sleeve, “is a curious and venerable relic, and no doubt his alleged skill in any occult or crafty science, to dis- was intended to prove a cornucopia, or horn of plenty, cover such goods as are lost, stolen or concealed, he shall to some one or other; but whether to the adept or his suffer punishment by pillory and imprisonment, as a patron, may be justly doubted.” common cheat and impostor.” “Well, Mr. Oldenbuck, I find you still hard of belief— “And is dat de laws?” asked Dousterswivel, with some but let me assure you, de monksh understood de agitation. magisterium.” “Thyself shall see the act,” replied the Antiquary. “Let us leave talking of the magisterium, Mr. “Den, gentlemens, I shall take my leave of you, dat is Dousterswivel, and think a little about the magistrate. all; I do not like to stand on your what you call pillory—it Are you aware that this occupation of yours is against is very bad way to take de air, I think; and I do not like the law of Scotland, and that both Sir Arthur and my- your prisons no more, where one cannot take de air at all.” self are in the commission of the peace?” “If such be your taste, Mr. Dousterswivel,” said the “Mine heaven! and what is dat to de purpose when I Antiquary, “I advise you to stay where you are, for I am doing you all de goot I can?” cannot let you go, unless it be in the society of a con- “Why, you must know that when the legislature abol- stable; and, moreover, I expect you will attend us just ished the cruel laws against witchcraft, they had no hope now to the ruins of St. Ruth, and point out the place of destroying the superstitious feelings of humanity on where you propose to find this treasure.” which such chimeras had been founded; and to prevent “Mine heaven, Mr. Oldenbuck! what usage is this to those feelings from being tampered with by artful and your old friend, when I tell you so plain as I can speak, designing persons, it is enacted by the ninth of George dat if you go now, you will not get so much treasure as the Second, chap. 5, that whosoever shall pretend, by one poor shabby sixpence?”

261 The Antiquary “I will try the experiment, however, and you shall be during the interval. I fear he may have some intelligence dealt with according to its success,—always with Sir with the Intelligences you talk of, and that whatever Arthur’s permission.” may be now hidden at Saint Ruth may disappear before Sir Arthur, during this investigation, had looked ex- we get there.” tremely embarrassed, and, to use a vulgar but expres- “Well, gentlemens,” said Dousterswivel, sullenly, “I sive phrase, chop-fallen. Oldbuck’s obstinate disbelief will make no objections to go along with you but I tell led him strongly to suspect the imposture of you beforehand, you shall not find so much of anything Dousterswivel, and the adept’s mode of keeping his as shall be worth your going twenty yard from your own ground was less resolute than he had expected. Yet he gate.” did not entirely give him up. “We will put that to a fair trial,” said the Antiquary; “Mr. Oldbuck,” said the Baronet, “you do Mr. and the Baronet’s equipage being ordered, Miss Wardour Dousterswivel less than justice. He has undertaken to received an intimation from her father, that she was to make this discovery by the use of his art, and by apply- remain at Monkbarns until his return from an airing. ing characters descriptive of the Intelligences presiding The young lady was somewhat at a loss to reconcile this over the planetary hour in which the experiment is to direction with the communication which she supposed be made; and you require him to proceed, under pain of must have passed between Sir Arthur and the Antiquary; punishment, without allowing him the use of any of but she was compelled, for the present, to remain in a the preliminaries which he considers as the means of most unpleasant state of suspense. procuring success.” The journey of the treasure-seekers was melancholy “I did not say that exactly—I only required him to be enough. Dousterswivel maintained a sulky silence, brood- present when we make the search, and not to leave us ing at once over disappointed expectation and the risk of

262 Sir Walter Scott punishment; Sir Arthur, whose golden dreams had been rock and flood—here’s something for thee to buy gradually fading away, surveyed, in gloomy prospect, the snuff,”—and, fumbling for his purse, he pulled out at impending difficulties of his situation; and Oldbuck, who the same time the horn which enclosed the coins. perceived that his having so far interfered in his neighbours “Ay, and there’s something to pit it in,” said the men- affairs gave the Baronet a right to expect some actual and dicant, eyeing the ram’s horn—“that loom’s an auld ac- efficient assistance, sadly pondered to what extent it would quaintance o’ mine. I could take my aith to that be necessary to draw open the strings of his purse. Thus sneeshing-mull amang a thousand—I carried it for mony each being wrapped in his own unpleasant ruminations, a year, till I niffered it for this tin ane wi’ auld George there was hardly a word said on either side, until they Glen, the dammer and sinker, when he took a fancy till’t reached the Four Horse-shoes, by which sign the little inn doun at Glen-Withershins yonder.” was distinguished. They procured at this place the neces- “Ay! indeed?” said Oldbuck;—“so you exchanged it sary assistance and implements for digging, and, while they with a miner? but I presume you never saw it so well were busy about these preparations, were suddenly joined filled before”—and opening it, he showed the coins. by the old beggar, Edie Ochiltree. “Troth, ye may swear that, Monkbarns: when it was “The Lord bless your honour,” began the Blue-Gown, mine it neer had abune the like o’ saxpenny worth o’ with the genuine mendicant whine, “and long life to black rappee in’t at ance. But I reckon ye’ll be gaun to you!—weel pleased am I to hear that young Captain mak an antic o’t, as ye hae dune wi’ mony an orra thing M’Intyre is like to be on his legs again sune—Think on besides. Od, I wish anybody wad mak an antic o’ me; your poor bedesman the day.” but mony ane will find worth in rousted bits o’ capper “Aha, old true-penny!” replied the Antiquary. “Why, and horn and airn, that care unco little about an auld thou hast never come to Monkbarns since thy perils by carle o’ their ain country and kind.”

263 The Antiquary “You may now guess,” said Oldbuck, turning to Sir the goodness to supply us with a few thumping bluster- Arthur, “to whose good offices you were indebted the ing terms of art, which, if they fail in our present ser- other night. To trace this cornucopia of yours to a miner, vice, may at least be useful to those who have not the is bringing it pretty near a friend of ours—I hope we happiness to be bachelors, to still their brawling chil- shall be as successful this morning, without paying for dren withal?” it.” “Mr. Oldenbuck,” said Dousterswivel, doggedly, “I “And whare is your honours gaun the day,” said the have told you already that you will make no good work mendicant, “wi’ a’ your picks and shules?—Od, this will at all, and I will find some way of mine own to thank be some o’ your tricks, Monkbarns: ye’ll be for whirling you for your civilities to me—yes, indeed.” some o’ the auld monks down by yonder out o’ their “If your honours are thinking of tirling the floor,” graves afore they hear the last call—but, wi’ your leave, said old Edie, “and wad but take a puir body’s advice, I I’se follow ye at ony rate, and see what ye mak o’t.” would begin below that muckle stane that has the man The party soon arrived at the ruins of the priory, and, there streekit out upon his back in the midst o’t.” having gained the chancel, stood still to consider what “I have some reason for thinking favourably of that course they were to pursue next. The Antiquary, mean- plan myself,” said the Baronet. time, addressed the adept. “And I have nothing to say against it,” said Oldbuck: “Pray, Mr. Dousterswivel, what is your advice in this “it was not unusual to hide treasure in the tombs of the matter? Shall we have most likelihood of success if we deceased—many instances might be quoted of that from dig from east to west, or from west to east?—or will you Bartholinus and others.” assist us with your triangular vial of May-dew, or with The tombstone, the same beneath which the coins had your divining-rod of witches-hazel?—or will you have been found by Sir Arthur and the German, was once

264 Sir Walter Scott more forced aside, and the earth gave easy way to the as he spoke it, “are the same with those on Misticot’s spade. tower, supposed to have been built by Malcolm the “It’s travell’d earth that,” said Edie, “it howks gae usurper. No man knew where he was buried, and there eithly—I ken it weel, for ance I wrought a simmer wi’ is an old prophecy in our family, that bodes us no good auld Will Winnet, the bedral, and howkit mair graves when his grave shall be discovered.” than ane in my day; but I left him in winter, for it was “I wot,” said the beggar, “I have often heard that when unco cald wark; and then it cam a green Yule, and the I was a bairn— folk died thick and fast—for ye ken a green Yule makes a fat kirkyard; and I never dowed to bide a hard turn o’ If Malcolm the Misticot’s grave were fun’, wark in my life—sae aff I gaed, and left Will to delve The lands of Knockwinnock were lost and won.” his last dwellings by himsell for Edie.” The diggers were now so far advanced in their labours Oldbuck, with his spectacles on his nose, had already as to discover that the sides of the grave which they knelt down on the monument, and was tracing, partly were clearing out had been originally secured by four with his eye, partly with his finger, the mouldered de- walls of freestone, forming a parallelogram, for the re- vices upon the effigy of the deceased warrior. “It is the ception, probably, of the coffin. Knockwinnock arms, sure enough,” he exclaimed, “It is worth while proceeding in our labours,” said the “quarterly with the coat of Wardour.” Antiquary to Sir Arthur, “were it but for curiosity’s sake. “Richard, called the red-handed Wardour, married Sybil I wonder on whose sepulchre they have bestowed such Knockwinnock, the heiress of the Saxon family, and by uncommon pains.” that alliance,” said Sir Arthur, “brought the castle and “The arms on the shield,” said Sir Arthur, and sighed estate into the name of Wardour, in the year of God 1150.”

265 The Antiquary “Very true, Sir Arthur; and here is the baton-sinister, five feet, and as the flinging out the soil became more the mark of illegitimacy, extended diagonally through and more difficult, they began at length to tire of the both coats upon the shield. Where can our eyes have job. been, that they did not see this curious monument be- “We’re down to the till now,” said one of them, “and fore?” the neer a coffin or onything else is here—some “Na, whare was the through-stane, that it didna come cunninger chiel’s been afore us, I reckon;”—and the before our een till e’enow?” said Ochiltree; “for I hae labourer scrambled out of the grave. ken’d this auld kirk, man and bairn, for saxty lang years, “Hout, lad,” said Edie, getting down in his room— and I neer noticed it afore; and it’s nae sic mote neither, “let me try my hand for an auld bedral;—ye’re gude but what ane might see it in their parritch.” seekers, but ill finders.” All were now induced to tax their memory as to the So soon as he got into the grave, he struck his pike- former state of the ruins in that corner of the chancel, staff forcibly down; it encountered resistance in its de- and all agreed in recollecting a considerable pile of rub- scent, and the beggar exclaimed, like a Scotch school- bish which must have been removed and spread abroad boy when he finds anything, “Nae halvers and quar- in order to malke the tomb visible. Sir Arthur might, ters—hale o’ mine ain and ‘nane o’ my neighbour’s.” indeed, have remembered seeing the monument on the Everybody, from the dejected Baronet to the sullen former occasion, but his mind was too much agitated to adept, now caught the spirit of curiosity, crowded round attend to the circumstance as a novelty. the grave, and would have jumped into it, could its space While the assistants were engaged in these recollec- have contained them. The labourers, who had begun to tions and discussions, the workmen proceeded with their flag in their monotonous and apparently hopeless task, labour. They had already dug to the depth of nearly now resumed their tools, and plied them with all the

266 Sir Walter Scott ardour of expectation. Their shovels soon grated upon that the lower layers were of inferior value; but he could a hard wooden surface, which, as the earth was cleared perceive no difference in this respect, and found himself away, assumed the distinct form of a chest, but greatly compelled to admit, that Sir Arthur had possessed him- smaller than that of a coffin. Now all hands were at self of bullion to the value, perhaps of a thousand work to heave it out of the grave, and all voices, as it pounds sterling. Sir Arthur now promised the assistants was raised, proclaimed its weight and augured its value. a handsome recompense for their trouble, and began to They were not mistaken. busy himself about the mode of conveying this rich When the chest or box was placed on the surface, and windfall to the Castle of Knockwinnock, when the adept, the lid forced up by a pickaxe, there was displayed first recovering from his surprise, which had squalled that a coarse canvas cover, then a quantity of oakum, and exhibited by any other individual of the party, twitched beneath that a number of ingots of silver. A general his sleeve, and having offered his humble congratula- exclamation hailed a discovery so surprising and unex- tions, turned next to Oldbuck with an air of triumph. pected. The Baronet threw his hands and eyes up to “I did tell you, my goot friend, Mr. Oldenbuck, dat I heaven, with the silent rapture of one who is delivered was to seek opportunity to thank you for your civility; from inexpressible distress of mind. Oldbuck, almost now do you not think I have found out vary goot way to unable to credit his eyes, lifted one piece of silver after return thank?” another. There was neither inscription nor stamp upon “Why, Mr. Dousterswivel, do you pretend to have had them, excepting one, which seemed to be Spanish. He any hand in our good success?—you forget you refused could have no doubt of the purity and great value of us all aid of your science, man; and you are here with- the treasure before him. Still, however, removing piece out your weapons that should have fought the battle by piece, he examined row by row, expecting to discover which you pretend to have gained in our behalf: you

267 The Antiquary have used neither charm, lamen, sigil, talisman, spell, crystal, pentacle, magic mirror, nor geomantic figure. Where be your periapts, and your abracadabras man? CHAPTER THIRD your Mayfern, your vervain,

Your toad, your crow, your dragon, and your panther, Clause.—You now shall know the king o’ the beggars’ treasure:— Yes—ere to-morrow you shall find your harbour Your sun, your moon, your firmament, your adrop, Here,—fail me not, for if I live I’ll fit you. Your Lato, Azoch, Zernich, Chibrit, Heautarit, With all your broths, your menstrues, your materials, The Beggar’s Bush. Would burst a man to name?—

Ah! rare Ben Jonson! long peace to thy ashes for a THE GERMAN, determined, it would seem, to assert the scourge of the quacks of thy day!—who expected to see vantage-ground on which the discovery had placed him, them revive in our own?” replied with great pomp and stateliness to the attack of The answer of the adept to the Antiquary’s tirade we the Antiquary. must defer to our next chapter. “Maister Oldenbuck, 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 waist- 268 Sir Walter Scott coat pocket, and show me what you shall find dere.” of leaving him to his “ain purchase,” as Ochiltree ex- Sir Arthur obeyed his direction, and pulled out the pressed it; but the beggar, drawing him aside, whispered small plate of silver which he had used under the adept’s a word or two in his ear, to which he seemed to give auspices upon the former occasion. “It is very true,” serious attention, said Sir Arthur, looking gravely at the Antiquary; “this Meanwhile Sir Arthur, his heart warm with his good is the graduated and calculated sigil by which Mr. fortune, said aloud, “Never mind our friend Monkbarns, Dousterswivel and I regulated our first discovery.” Mr. Dousterswivel, but come to the Castle to-morrow, “Pshaw! pshaw! my dear friend,” said Oldbuck, “you and I’ll convince you that I am not ungrateful for the are too wise to believe in the influence of a trumpery hints you have given me about this matter—and the crown-piece, beat out thin, and a parcel of scratches fifty Fairport dirty notes, as you call them, are heartily upon it. I tell thee, Sir Arthur, that if Dousterswivel at your service. Come, my lads, get the cover of this had known where to get this treasure himself, you would precious chest fastened up again.” not have been lord of the least share of it.” But the cover had in the confusion fallen aside among “In troth, please your honour,” said Edie, who put in the rubbish, or the loose earth which had been removed his word on all occasions, “I think, since Mr. from the grave—in short, it was not to be seen. Dunkerswivel has had sae muckle merit in discovering “Never mind, my good lads, tie the tarpaulin over it, a’ the gear, the least ye can do is to gie him that o’t and get it away to the carriage.—Monkbarns, will you that’s left behind for his labour; for doubtless he that walk? I must go back your way to take up Miss kend where to find sae muckle will hae nae difficulty to Wardour.” find mair.” “And, I hope, to take up your dinner also, Sir Arthur, Dousterswivel’s brow grew very dark at this proposal and drink a glass of wine for joy of our happy adven-

269 The Antiquary ture. Besides, you should write about the business to said Sir Arthur. “My lads” (to the work-people), “come the Exchequer, in case of any interference on the part with me to the Four Horse-shoes, that I may take down of the Crown. As you are lord of the manor, it will be all your names.—Dousterswivel, I won’t ask you to go easy to get a deed of gift, should they make any claim. down to Monkbarns, as the laird and you differ so widely We must talk about it, though.” in opinion; but do not fail to come to see me to-mor- “And I particularly recommend silence to all who are row.” present,” said Sir Arthur, looking round. All bowed and Dousterswivel growled out an answer, in which the professed themselves dumb. words, “duty,”—“mine honoured patron,”—and “wait “Why, as to that,” said Monkbarns, “recommending upon Sir Arthurs,”—were alone distinguishable; and af- secrecy where a dozen of people are acquainted with ter the Baronet and his friend had left the ruins, followed the circumstance to be concealed, is only putting the by the servants and workmen, who, in hope of reward truth in masquerade, for the story will be circulated and whisky, joyfully attended their leader, the adept re- under twenty different shapes. But never mind—we will mained in a brown study by the side of the open grave. state the true one to the Barons, and that is all that is “Who was it as could have thought this?” he ejacu- necessary.” lated unconsciously. “Mine heiligkeit! I have heard of “I incline to send off an express to-night,” said the such things, and often spoken of such things—but, Baronet. sapperment! I never, thought to see them! And if I had “I can recommend your honour to a sure hand,” said gone but two or dree feet deeper down in the earth— Ochiltree; “little Davie Mailsetter, and the butcher’s mein himmel! it had been all mine own—so much more reisting powny.” as I have been muddling about to get from this fool’s “We will talk over the matter as we go to Monkbarns,” man.”

270 Sir Walter Scott Here the German ceased his soliloquy, for, raising his side, as happy and content as the day was lang.” eyes, he encountered those of Edie Ochiltree, who had “Indeed, Edie, mine honest friends, dat is very true; not followed the rest of the company, but, resting as only I did not know, dat is, I was not sure, where to find usual on his pike-staff, had planted himself on the other the gelt myself.” side of the grave. The features of the old man, natu- “What! was it not by your honours advice and coun- rally shrewd and expressive almost to an appearance of sel that Monkbarns and the Knight of Knockwinnock knavery, seemed in this instance so keenly knowing, that came here then?” even the assurance of Dousterswivel, though a professed “Aha—yes; but it was by another circumstance. I did adventurer, sunk beneath their glances. But he saw the not know dat dey would have found de treasure, mine necessity of an e’claircissement, and, rallying his spir- friend; though I did guess, by such a tintamarre, and its, instantly began to sound the mendicant on the oc- cough, and sneeze, and groan, among de spirit one other currences of the day. “Goot Maister Edies Ochiltrees”— night here, dat there might be treasure and bullion here- “Edie Ochiltree, nae maister—your puir bedesman and about. Ach, mein himmel! the spirit will hone and groan the king’s,” answered the Blue-Gown. over his gelt, as if he were a Dutch Burgomaster count- “Awell den, goot Edie, what do you think of all dis?” ing his dollars after a great dinner at the Stadthaus.” “I was just thinking it was very kind (for I darena say “And do you really believe the like o’ that, Mr. very simple) o’ your honour to gie thae twa rich gentles, Dusterdeevil!—a skeelfu’ man like you—hout fie!” wha hae lands and lairdships, and siller without end, “Mein friend,” answered the adept, foreed by circum- this grand pose o’ silver and treasure (three times tried stances to speak something nearer the truth than he gen- in the fire, as the Scripture expresses it), that might hae erally used to do, “I believed it no more than you and no made yoursell and ony twa or three honest bodies be- man at all, till I did hear them hone and moan and groan

271 The Antiquary myself on de oder night, and till I did this day see de better than me—I am nae that book learned, at least cause, which was an great chest all full of de pure silver I’m no that muckle in practice.” from Mexico—and what would you ave nae think den?” With this modest declaration of ignorance, Ochiltree “And what wad ye gie to ony ane,” said Edie, “that brought forth from behind a pillar the cover of the box wad help ye to sic another kistfu’ o’ silver!” or chest of treasure, which, when forced from its hinges, “Give?—mein himmel!—one great big quarter of it.” had been carelessly flung aside during the ardour of cu- “Now if the secret were mine,” said the mendicant, “I riosity to ascertain the contents which it concealed, and wad stand out for a half; for you see, though I am but a had been afterwards, as it seems, secreted by the men- puir ragged body, and couldna carry silver or gowd to dicant. There was a word and a number upon the plank, sell for fear o’ being taen up, yet I could find mony folk and the beggar made them more distinct by spitting would pass it awa for me at unco muckle easier profit upon his ragged blue handkerchief, and rubbing off the than ye’re thinking on.” clay by which the inscription was obscured. It was in “Ach, himmel!—Mein goot friend, what was it I the ordinary black letter. said?—I did mean to say you should have de tree quar- “Can ye mak ought o’t?” said Edie to the adept. ter for your half, and de one quarter to be my fair half.” “S,” said the philosopher, like a child getting his les- “No, no, Mr. Dusterdeevil, we will divide equally what son in the primer—“S, T, A, R, C, H,—Starch!—dat is we find, like brother and brother. Now, look at this board what de woman-washers put into de neckerchers, and that I just flung into the dark aisle out o’ the way, while de shirt collar.” Monkbarns was glowering ower a’ the silver yonder. He’s “Search!” echoed Ochiltree; “na, na, Mr. Dusterdeevil, a sharp chiel Monkbarns—I was glad to keep the like o’ ye are mair of a conjuror than a clerk—it’s search, man, this out o’ his sight. Ye’ll maybe can read the character search—See, there’s the Ye clear and distinct.”

272 Sir Walter Scott “Aha! I see it now—it is search—number one. Mein easily overreached, and yet (for even rogues acknowledge himmel! then there must be a number two, mein goot in some degree the spirit of precedence) our adept felt friend: for search is what you call to seek and dig, and the disgrace of playing a secondary part, and dividing this is but number one! Mine wort, there is one great big winnings with so mean an associate. His appetite for gain, prize in de wheel for us, goot Maister Ochiltree.” however, was sufficiently sharp to overpower his offended “Aweel, it may be sae; but we canna howk fort enow— pride, and though far more an impostor than a dupe, he we hae nae shules, for they hae taen them a’ awa—and was not without a certain degree of personal faith even it’s like some o’ them will be sent back to fling the earth in the gross superstitions by means of which he imposed into the hole, and mak a’ things trig again. But an ye’ll upon others. Still, being accustomed to act as a leader on sit down wi’ me a while in the wood, I’se satisfy your such occasions, he felt humiliated at feeling himself in honour that ye hae just lighted on the only man in the the situation of a vulture marshalled to his prey by a country that could hae tauld about Malcolm Misticot carrion-crow.—“Let me, however, hear this story to an and his hidden treasure—But first we’ll rub out the let- end,” thought Dousterswivel, “and it will be hard if I do ters on this board, for fear it tell tales.” not make mine account in it better as Maister Edie And, by the assistance of his knife, the beggar erased Ochiltrees makes proposes.” and defaced the characters so as to make them quite The adept, thus transformed into a pupil from a unintelligible, and then daubed the board with clay so teacher of the mystic art, followed Ochiltree in passive as to obliterate all traces of the erasure. acquiescence to the Prior’s Oak—a spot, as the reader Dousterswivel stared at him in ambiguous silence. There may remember, at a short distance from the ruins, where was an intelligence and alacrity about all the old man’s the German sat down, and silence waited the old man’s movements, which indicated a person that could not be communication.

273 The Antiquary “Maister Dustandsnivel,” said the narrator, “it’s an for us a’—when nae man wanted property if he had unco while since I heard this business treated anent;— strength to take it, or had it langer than he had power for the lairds of Knockwinnock, neither Sir Arthur, nor to keep it. It was just he ower her, and she ower him, his father, nor his grandfather—and I mind a wee bit whichever could win upmost, a’ through the east coun- about them a’—liked to hear it spoken about; nor they try here, and nae doubt through the rest o’ Scotland in dinna like it yet—But nae matter; ye may be sure it was the self and same manner. clattered about in the kitchen, like onything else in a “Sae in these days Sir Richard Wardour came into the great house, though it were forbidden in the ha’—and land, and that was the first o’ the name ever was in this sae I hae heard the circumstance rehearsed by auld ser- country. There’s been mony o’ them sin’ syne; and the vants in the family; and in thir present days, when things maist, like him they ca’d Hell-in-Harness, and the rest o’ that auld-warld sort arena keepit in mind round win- o’ them, are sleeping down in yon ruins. They were a ter fire-sides as they used to be, I question if there’s proud dour set o’ men, but unco brave, and aye stood up onybody in the country can tell the tale but mysell— for the weel o’ the country, God sain them a’—there’s aye out-taken the laird though, for there’s a parchment no muckle popery in that wish. They ca’d them the book about it, as I have heard, in the charter-room at Norman Wardours, though they cam frae the south to Knockwinnock Castle.” this country. So this Sir Richard, that they ca’d Red- “Well, all dat is vary well—but get you on with your hand, drew up wi’ the auld Knockwinnock o’ that day— stories, mine goot friend,” said Dousterswivel. for then they were Knockwinnocks of that Ilk—and wad “Aweel, ye see,” continued the mendicant, “this was a fain marry his only daughter, that was to have the castle job in the auld times o’ rugging and riving through the and the land. Laith, laith was the lass—(Sybil hale country, when it was ilka ane for himsell, and God Knockwinnock they ca’d her that tauld me the tale)—

274 Sir Walter Scott laith, laith was she to gie into the match, for she had the Wardours out to the hill. There was a sort of fight- fa’en a wee ower thick wi’ a cousin o’ her ain that her ing and blude-spilling about it, for the gentles took dif- father had some ill-will to; and sae it was, that after she ferent sides; but Malcolm had the uppermost for a lang had been married to Sir Richard jimp four months—for time, and keepit the Castle of Knockwinnock, and marry him she maun, it’s like—ye’ll no hinder her gieing strengthened it, and built that muckle tower that they them a present o’ a bonny knave bairn. Then there was ca’ Misticot’s tower to this day.” siccan a ca’-thro’, as the like was never seen; and she’s “Mine goot friend, old Mr. Edie Ochiltree.” interrupted be burnt, and he’s be slain, was the best words o’ their the German, “this is all as one like de long histories of a mouths. But it was a’ sowdered up again some gait, and baron of sixteen quarters in mine countries; but I would the bairn was sent awa, and bred up near the Highlands, as rather hear of de silver and gold.” and grew up to be a fine wanle fallow, like mony ane “Why, ye see,” continued the mendicant, “this that comes o’ the wrang side o’ the blanket; and Sir Ri- Malcolm was weel helped by an uncle, a brother o’ his chard wi’ the Red-hand, he had a fair offspring o’his father’s, that was Prior o’ St. Ruth here; and muckle ain, and a was lound and quiet till his head was laid in treasure they gathered between them, to secure the suc- the ground. But then down came Malcolm Misticot— cession of their house in the lands of Knockwinnock. (Sir Arthur says it should be Misbegot, but they aye ca’d Folk said that the monks in thae days had the art of him Misticot that spoke o’t lang syne)—down cam this multiplying metals—at ony rate, they were very rich. Malcolm, the love-begot, frae Glen-isla, wi’ a string o’ At last it came to this, that the young Wardour, that lang-legged Highlanders at his heels, that’s aye ready was Red-hand’s son, challenged Misticot to fight with for onybody’s mischief, and he threeps the castle and him in the lists as they ca’d them—that’s no lists or lands are his ain as his mother’s eldest son, and turns a’ tailor’s runds and selvedges o’ claith, but a palin’-thing

275 The Antiquary they set up for them to fight in like game-cocks. Aweel, Search—No. I—that is as muckle as to say, search and Misticot was beaten, and at his brother’s mercy—but ye’ll find number twa. Besides, yon kist is only silver, he wadna touch his life, for the blood of Knockwinnock and I aye heard that’ Misticot’s pose had muckle yellow that was in baith their veins: so Malcolm was compelled gowd in’t.” to turn a monk, and he died soon after in the priory, of “Den, mine goot friends,” said the adept, jumping up pure despite and vexation. Naebody ever kenn’d whare hastily, “why do we not set about our little job directly?” his uncle the prior earded him, or what he did wi’ his “For twa gude reasons,” answered the beggar, who qui- gowd and silver, for he stood on the right o’ halie kirk, etly kept his sitting posture;—“first, because, as I said and wad gie nae account to onybody. But the prophecy before, we have naething to dig wi’, for they hae taen gat abroad in the country, that whenever Misticot’s grave awa the picks and shules; and, secondly, because there was fund out, the estate of Knockwinnock should be will be a wheen idle gowks coming to glower at the hole lost and won.” as lang as it is daylight, and maybe the laird may send “Ach! mine goot old friend, Maister Edie, and dat is somebody to fill it up—and ony way we wad be catched. not so very unlikely, if Sir Arthurs will quarrel wit his But if you will meet me on this place at twal o’clock wi’ goot friends to please Mr. Oldenbuck.—And so you do a dark lantern, I’ll hae tools ready, and we’ll gang qui- tink dat dis golds and silvers belonged to goot Mr. etly about our job our twa sells, and naebody the wiser Malcolm Mishdigoat?” for’t.” “Troth do I, Mr. Dousterdeevil.” “Be—be—but, mine goot friend,” said Dousterswivel, “And you do believe dat dere is more of dat sorts be- from whose recollection his former nocturnal adventure hind?” was not to be altogether erased, even by the splendid “By my certie do I—How can it be otherwise?— hopes which Edie’s narrative held forth, “it is not so

276 Sir Walter Scott goot or so safe, to be about goot Maister Mishdigoat’s naebody meddles wi’ the grave—it’s only saying the grabe at dat time of night—you have forgot how I told laird’s forbade it—then get my bit supper frae Ringan you de spirits did hone and mone dere. I do assure you, the poinder up by, and leave to sleep in his barn; and I’ll dere is disturbance dere.” slip out at night, and neer be mist.” “If ye’re afraid of ghaists,” answered the mendicant, “Do so, mine goot Maister Edie, and I will meet you coolly, “I’ll do the job mysell, and bring your share o’ here on this very place, though all de spirits should moan the siller to ony place you like to appoint.” and sneeze deir very brains out.” “No—no—mine excellent old Mr. Edie,—too much So saying he shook hands with the old man, and with trouble for you—I will not have dat—I will come my- this mutual pledge of fidelity to their appointment, they self—and it will be bettermost; for, mine old friend, it separated for the present. was I, Herman Dousterswivel, discovered Maister Mishdigoat’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 Arthur, for a little sport and pleasures. Yes, I did take some what you call rubbish, and did discover Maister Mishdigoat’s own monumentsh—It’s 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 for a while, and see that

277 The Antiquary Having made these sage reflections, he wrapped himself close in his cloak, and fixed his eye on the moon as CHAPTER FOURTH 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 —See thou shake the bags between the passing shadows fell full upon the rifted Of hoarding abbots; angels imprisoned Set thou at liberty— arches and shafted windows of the old building, which Bell, book, and candle, shall not drive me back, were thus for an instant made distinctly visible in their If gold and silver beckon to come on. ruinous state, and anon became again a dark, undistin- King John. guished, and shadowy mass. The little lake had its share of these transient beams of light, and showed its waters broken, whitened, and agitated under the passing

THE NIGHT SET IN stormy, with wind and occasional show- storm, which, when the clouds swept over the moon, ers of rain. “Eh, sirs,” said the old mendicant, as he were only distinguished by their sullen and murmuring took his place on the sheltered side of the large oak-tree plash against the beach. The wooded glen repeated, to to wait for his associate—“Eh, sirs, but human nature’s every successive gust that hurried through its narrow a wilful and wilyard thing!—Is it not an unco lucre o’ trough, the deep and various groan with which the trees gain wad bring this Dousterdivel out in a blast o’ wind replied to the whirlwind, and the sound sunk again, as like this, at twal o’clock at night, to thir wild gousty the blast passed away, into a faint and passing murmur, wa’s?—and amna I a bigger fule than himsell to bide resembling the sighs of an exhausted criminal after the here waiting for him?” first pangs of his torture are over. In these sounds, su-

278 Sir Walter Scott perstition might have found ample gratification for that night! Hae ye brought the lantern and a pock for the State of excited terror which she fears and yet loves. siller?” But such feeling is made no part of Ochiltree’s compo- “Ay-ay, mine goot friend,” said the German, “here it sition. His mind wandered back to the scenes of his is—my pair of what you call saddlebag; one side will be youth. for you, one side for me;—I will put dem on my horse to “I have kept guard on the outposts baith in Germany save you de trouble, as you are old man.” and America,” he said to himself, “in mony a waur night “Have you a horse here, then?” asked Edie Ochiltree. than this, and when I ken’d there was maybe a dozen o’ “O yes, mine friend—tied yonder by de stile,” re- their riflemen in the thicket before me. But I was aye sponded the adept. gleg at my duty—naebody ever catched Edie sleeping.” “Weel, I hae just ae word to the bargain—there sall As he muttered thus to himself, he instinctively shoul- nane o’ my gear gang on your beast’s back.” dered his trusty pike-staff, assumed the port of a senti- “What was it as you would be afraid of?” said the nel on duty, and, as a step advanced towards the tree, foreigner. called, with a tone assorting better with his military “Only of losing sight of horse, man, and money,” again reminiscences than his present state—“Stand! who goes replied the gaberlunzie. there?” “Does you know dat you make one gentlemans out to “De devil, goot Edie,” answered Dousterswivel, “why be one great rogue?” does you speak so loud as a baarenhauter, or what you “Mony gentlemen,” replied Ochiltree, “can make that call a factionary—I mean a sentinel?” out for themselves—But what’s the sense of quarrel- “Just because I thought I was a sentinel at that mo- ling?—If ye want to gang on, gang on—if no—I’ll gae ment,” answered the mendicant. “Here’s an awsome back to the gude ait-straw in Ringan Aikwood’s barn

279 The Antiquary that I left wi’ right ill-will e’now, and I’ll pit back the adept, led the way towards the ruins, but presently made pick and shule whar I got them.” a full halt in front of them. Dousterswivel deliberated a moment, whether, by suf- “Ye’re a learned man, Mr. Dousterdeevil, and ken fering Edie to depart, he might not secure the whole of muckle o’ the marvellous works o’ nature—Now, will ye the expected wealth for his own exclusive use. But the tell me ae thing?—D’ye believe in ghaists and spirits want of digging implements, the uncertainty whether, that walk the earth?—d’ye believe in them, ay or no?” if he had them, he could clear out the grave to a suffi- “Now, goot Mr. Edie,” whispered Dousterswivel, in an cient depth without assistance, and, above all, the re- expostulatory tone of voice, “is this a times or a places luctance which he felt, owing to the experience of the for such a questions?” former night, to venture alone on the terrors of Misticot’s “Indeed is it, baith the tane and the t’other, Mr. grave, satisfied him the attempt would be hazardous. Dustanshovel; for I maun fairly tell ye, there’s reports Endeavouring, therefore, to assume his usual cajoling that auld Misticot walks. Now this wad be an uncanny tone, though internally incensed, he begged “his goot night to meet him in, and wha kens if he wad be ower friend Maister Edie Ochiltrees would lead the way, and weel pleased wi’ our purpose of visiting his pose?” assured him of his acquiescence in all such an excellent “Alle guten Geister”—muttered the adept, the rest of friend could propose.” the conjuration being lost in a tremulous warble of his “Aweel, aweel, then,” said Edie, “tak gude care o’ your voice,—“I do desires you not to speak so, Mr. Edie; for, feet amang the lang grass and the loose stones. I wish from all I heard dat one other night, I do much be- we may get the light keepit in neist, wi’ this fearsome lieves”— wind—but there’s a blink o’ moonlight at times.” “Now I,” said Ochiltree, entering the chancel, and Thus saying, old Edie, closely accompanied by the flinging abroad his arm with an air of defiance, “I wadna

280 Sir Walter Scott gie the crack o’ my thumb for him were he to appear at Edie, standing much at his ease by the side of the hole, this moment: he’s but a disembodied spirit, as we are contented himself with exhorting his associate to labour embodied anes.” hard. “My certie! few ever wrought for siccan a day’s “For the lofe of heavens,” said Dousterswivel, “say wage; an it be but—say the tenth part o’ the size o’ the nothing at all neither about somebodies or nobodies!” kist, No. I., it will double its value, being filled wi’ gowd “Aweel,” said the beggar (expanding the shade of the instead of silver. Od, ye work as if ye had been bred to lantern), “here’s the stane, and, spirit or no spirit, I’se pick and shule—ye could win your round half-crown ilka be a wee bit deeper in the grave;” and he jumped into day. Tak care o’ your taes wi’ that stane!” giving a kick the place from which the precious chest had that morn- to a large one which the adept had heaved out with dif- ing been removed. After striking a few strokes, he tired, ficulty, and which Edie pushed back again to the great or affected to tire, and said to his companion, “I’m auld annoyance of his associate’s shins. and failed now, and canna keep at it—time about’s fair Thus exhorted by the mendicant, Dousterswivel play, neighbour; ye maun get in and tak the shule a bit, struggled and laboured among the stones and stiff clay, and shule out the loose earth, and then I’ll tak turn about toiling like a horse, and internally blaspheming in Ger- wi’ you.” man. When such an unhallowed syllable escaped his lips, Dousterswivel accordingly took the place which the Edie changed his battery upon him. beggar had evacuated, and toiled with all the zeal that “O dinna swear! dinna swear! Wha kens whals listen- awakened avarice, mingled with the anxious wish to fin- ing!—Eh! gude guide us, what’s you!—Hout, it’s just a ish the undertaking and leave the place as soon as pos- branch of ivy flightering awa frae the wa’; when the sible, could inspire in a mind at once greedy, suspicious, moon was in, it lookit unco like a dead man’s arm wi’ a and timorous. taper in’t—I thought it was Misticot himsell. But never

281 The Antiquary mind, work you away—fling the earth weel up by out o’ gear. Try the shule—at it again, Mr. Dusterdeevil.” the gate—Od, if ye’re no as clean a worker at a grave as The adept, without reply, scrambled out of the pit, Win Winnet himsell! What gars ye stop now?—ye’re just which was now about six feet deep, and addressed his at the very bit for a chance.” associate in a voice that trembled with anger. “Does you “Stop!” said the German, in a tone of anger and dis- know, Mr. Edies Ochiltrees, who it is you put off your appointment, “why, I am down at de rocks dat de cursed gibes and your jests upon?” ruins (God forgife me!) is founded upon.” “Brawly, Mr. Dusterdeevil—brawly do I ken ye, and “Weel,” said the beggar, “that’s the likeliest bit of ony. has done mony a day; but there’s nae jesting in the case, It will be but a muckle through-stane laid doun to kiver for I am wearying to see ae our treasures; we should hae the gowd—tak the pick till’t, and pit mair strength, had baith ends o’ the pockmanky filled by this time—I man—ae gude down-right devvel will split it, I’se war- hope it’s bowk eneugh to haud a’ the gear?” rant ye—Ay, that will do Od, he comes on wi’ Wallace’s “Look you, you base old person,” said the incensed straiks!” philosopher, “if you do put another jest upon me, I will In fact, the adept, moved by Edie’s exhortations, cleave your skull-piece with this shovels!” fetched two or three desperate blows, and succeeded in “And whare wad my hands and my pike-staff be a’ breaking, not indeed that against which he struck, the time?” replied Edie, in a tone that indicated no ap- which, as he had already conjectured, was the solid rock, prehension. “Hout, tout, Maister Dusterdeevil, I haena but the implement which he wielded, jarring at the same lived sae lang in the warld neither, to be shuled out o’t time his arms up to the shoulder-blades. that gate. What ails ye to be cankered, man, wi’ your “Hurra, boys!—there goes Ringan’s pick-axe!” cried friends? I’ll wager I’ll find out the treasure in a minute;” Edie “it’s a shame o’ the Fairport folk to sell siccan frail and he jumped into the pit, and took up the spade.

282 Sir Walter Scott “I do swear to you,” said the adept, whose suspicions shoulders three or four times with blows so substantial, were now fully awake, “that if you have played me one that he fell under the weight of them, and remained big trick, I will give you one big beating, Mr. Edies.” senseless for some minutes between fear and stupefac- “Hear till him now!” said Ochiltree, “he kens how to tion. When he came to himself, he was alone in the ru- gar folk find out the gear—Od, I’m thinking he’s been ined chancel, lying upon the soft and damp earth which drilled that way himsell some day.” had been thrown out of Misticot’s grave. He raised him- At this insinuation, which alluded obviously to the self with a confused sensation of anger, pain, and ter- former scene betwixt himself and Sir Arthur, the phi- ror, and it was not until he had sat upright for some losopher lost the slender remnant of patience he had minutes, that he could arrange his ideas sufficiently to left, and being of violent passions, heaved up the trun- recollect how he came there, or with what purpose. As cheon of the broken mattock to discharge it upon the his recollection returned, he could have little doubt that old man’s head. The blow would in all probability have the bait held out to him by Ochiltree, to bring him to been fatal, had not he at whom it was aimed exclaimed that solitary spot, the sarcasms by which he had pro- in a stern and firm voice, “Shame to ye, man!—do ye voked him into a quarrel, and the ready assistance which think Heaven or earth will suffer ye to murder an auld he had at hand for terminating it in the manner in which man that might be your father?—Look behind ye, man!” it had ended, were all parts of a concerted plan to bring Dousterswivel turned instinctively, and beheld, to his disgrace and damage on Herman Dousterswivel. He utter astonishment, a tall dark figure standing close could hardly suppose that he was indebted for the fa- behind him. The apparition gave him no time to pro- tigue, anxiety, and beating which he had undergone, ceed by exorcism or otherwise, but having instantly re- purely to the malice of Edie Ochiltree singly, but con- course to the voie de fait, took measure of the adept’s cluded that the mendicant had acted a part assigned to

283 The Antiquary him by some person of greater importance. His suspi- legs, he had mentally sworn the ruin of his benefactor, cions hesitated between Oldbuck and Sir Arthur which, unfortunately, he possessed too much the power Wardour. The former had been at no pains to conceal a of accelerating. marked dislike of him—but the latter he had deeply But although a purpose of revenge floated through injured; and although he judged that Sir Arthur did not his brain, it was no time to indulge such speculations. know the extent of his wrongs towards him, yet it was The hour, the place, his own situation, and perhaps the easy to suppose he had gathered enough of the truth to presence or near neighbourhood of his assailants, made make him desirous of revenge. Ochiltree had alluded to self-preservation the adept’s first object. The lantern had at least one circumstance which the adept had every been thrown down and extinguished in the scuffle. The reason to suppose was private between Sir Arthur and wind, which formerly howled so loudly through the aisles himself, and therefore must have been learned from the of the ruin, had now greatly fallen, lulled by the rain, former. The language of Oldbuck also intimated a con- which was descending very fast. The moon, from the viction of his knavery, which Sir Arthur heard without same cause, was totally obscured, and though making any animated defence. Lastly, the way in which Dousterswivel had some experience of the ruins, and Dousterswivel supposed the Baronet to have exercised knew that he must endeavour to regain the eastern door his revenge, was not inconsistent with the practice of of the chancel, yet the confusion of his ideas was such, other countries with which the adept was better ac- that he hesitated for some time ere he could ascertain in quainted than with those of North Britain. With him, what direction he was to seek it. In this perplexity, the as with many bad men, to suspect an injury, and to nour- suggestions of superstition, taking the advantage of ish the purpose of revenge, was one and the same move- darkness and his evil conscience, began again to present ment. And before Dousterswivel had fairly recovered his themselves to his disturbed imagination. “But bah!”

284 Sir Walter Scott quoth he valiantly to himself, “it is all nonsense all one solemn dirges of the Church of Rome. Why performed part of de damn big trick and imposture. Devil! that in such a solitude, and by what class of choristers, were one thick-skulled Scotch Baronet, as I have led by the questions which the terrified imagination of the adept, nose for five year, should cheat Herman Dousterswivel!” stirred with all the German superstitions of nixies, oak- As he had come to this conclusion, an incident occurred kings, wer-wolves, hobgoblins, black spirits and white, which tended greatly to shake the grounds on which he blue spirits and grey, durst not even attempt to solve. had adopted it. Amid the melancholy sough of the dy- Another of his senses was soon engaged in the investi- ing wind, and the plash of the rain-drops on leaves and gation. At the extremity of one of the transepts of the stones, arose, and apparently at no great distance from church, at the bottom of a few descending steps, was a the listener, a strain of vocal music so sad and solemn, small iron-grated door, opening, as far as he recollected, as if the departed spirits of the churchmen who had to a sort of low vault or sacristy. As he cast his eye in once inhabited these deserted rains were mourning the the direction of the sound, he observed a strong reflec- solitude and desolation to which their hallowed precincts tion of red light glimmering through these bars, and had been abandoned. Dousterswivel, who had now got against the steps which descended to them. upon his feet, and was groping around the wall of the Dousterswivel stood a moment uncertain what to do; chancel, stood rooted to the ground on the occurrence then, suddenly forming a desperate resolution, he moved of this new phenomenon. Each faculty of his soul down the aisle to the place from which the light pro- seemed for the moment concentred in the sense of hear- ceeded. ing, and all rushed back with the unanimous informa- Fortified with the sign of the cross, and as many ex- tion, that the deep, wild, and prolonged chant which he orcisms as his memory could recover, he advanced to now heard, was the appropriate music of one of the most the grate, from which, unseen, he could see what passed

285 The Antiquary in the interior of the vault. As he approached with timid his hand a huge torch of black wax. The smoky light and uncertain steps, the chant, after one or two wild from so many flambeaus, by the red and indistinct at- and prolonged cadences, died away into profound silence. mosphere which it spread around, gave a hazy, dubious, The grate, when he reached it, presented a singular spec- and as it were phantom-like appearance to the outlines tacle in the interior of the sacristy. An open grave, with of this singular apparition, The voice of the priest— four tall flambeaus, each about six feet high, placed at loud, clear, and sonorous—now recited, from the bre- the four corners—a bier, having a corpse in its shroud, viary which he held in his hand, those solemn words the arms folded upon the breast, rested upon tressels at which the ritual of the Catholic church has consecrated one side of the grave, as if ready to be interred—a priest, to the rendering of dust to dust. Meanwhile, dressed in his cope and stole, held open the service Dousterswivel, the place, the hour, and the surprise con- book—another churchman in his vestments bore a holy- sidered, still remained uncertain whether what he saw water sprinkler, and two boys in white surplices held was substantial, or an unearthly representation of the censers with incense—a man, of a figure once tall and rites to which in former times these walls were familiar, commanding, but now bent with age or infirmity, stood but which are now rarely practised in Protestant coun- alone and nearest to the coffin, attired in deep mourn- tries, and almost never in Scotland. He was uncertain ing—such were the most prominent figures of the group. whether to abide the conclusion of the ceremony, or to At a little distance were two or three persons of both endeavour to regain the chancel, when a change in his sexes, attired in long mourning hoods and cloaks; and position made him visible through the grate to one of five or six others in the same lugubrious dress, still far- the attendant mourners. The person who first espied ther removed from the body, around the walls of the him indicated his discovery to the individual who stood vault, stood ranged in motionless order, each bearing in apart and nearest the coffin, by a sign, and upon his

286 Sir Walter Scott making a sign in reply, two of the group detached them- lect, “Dear sirs, Mr. Dousterswivel, is this you? could selves, and, gliding along with noiseless steps, as if fear- not ye have let us ken an ye had wussed till hae been ing to disturb the service, unlocked and opened the grate present at the ceremony?—My lord couldna tak it weel which separated them from the adept. Each took him your coming blinking and jinking in, in that fashion.” by an arm, and exerting a degree of force, which he “In de name of all dat is gootness, tell me what you would have been incapable of resisting had his fear per- are?” interrupted the German in his turn. mitted him to attempt opposition, they placed him on “What I am? why, wha should I be but Ringan the ground in the chancel, and sat down, one on each Aikwood, the Knockwinnock poinder?—and what are side of him, as if to detain him. Satisfied he was in the ye doing here at this time o’ night, unless ye were come power of mortals like himself, the adept would have put to attend the leddy’s burial?” some questions to them; but while one pointed to the “I do declare to you, mine goot Poinder Aikwood,” vault, from which the sound of the priest’s voice was said the German, raising himself up, “that I have been distinctly heard, the other placed his finger upon his this vary nights murdered, robbed, and put in fears of lips in token of silence, a hint which the German thought my life.” it most prudent to obey. And thus they detained him “Robbed! wha wad do sic a deed here?—Murdered! od until a loud Alleluia, pealing through the deserted arches ye speak pretty blithe for a murdered man—Put in fear! of St. Ruth, closed the singular ceremony which it had what put you in fear, Mr. Dousterswivel?” been his fortune to witness. “I will tell you, Maister Poinder Aikwood Ringan, just When the hymn had died away with all its echoes, the dat old miscreant dog villain blue-gown, as you call Edie voice of one of the sable personages under whose guard Ochiltrees.” the adept had remained, said, in a familiar tone and dia- “I’ll neer believe that,” answered Ringan;—“Edie was

287 The Antiquary ken’d to me, and my father before me, for a true, loyal, cumbered himself of his cloak, and prepared to escort and sooth-fast man; and, mair by token, he’s sleeping Dousterswivel to the place of that rest which the adept up yonder in our barn, and has been since ten at e’en— so much needed. Sae touch ye wha liket, Mr. Dousterswivel, and whether “I will apply to the magistrates to-morrow,” said the onybody touched ye or no, I’m sure Edie’s sackless.” adept; “oder, I will have de law put in force against all “Maister Ringan Aikwood Poinders, I do not know the peoples.” what you call sackless,—but let alone all de oils and de While he thus muttered vengeance against the cause soot dat you say he has, and I will tell you I was dis of his injury, he tottered from among the ruins, sup- night robbed of fifty pounds by your oil and sooty friend, porting himself on Ringan and his son, whose assistance Edies Ochiltree; and he is no more in your barn even his state of weakness rendered very necessary. now dan I ever shall be in de kingdom of heafen.” When they were clear of the priory, and had gained “Weel, sir, if ye will gae up wi’ me, as the burial com- the little meadow in which it stands, Dousterswivel could pany has dispersed, we’se mak ye down a bed at the perceive the torches which had caused him so much lodge, and we’se see if Edie’s at the barn. There was alarm issuing in irregular procession from the ruins, and twa wild-looking chaps left the auld kirk when we were glancing their light, like that of the ignis fatuus, on the coming up wi’ the corpse, that’s certain; and the priest, banks of the lake. After moving along the path for some wha likes ill that ony heretics should look on at our short space with a fluctuating and irregular motion, the church ceremonies, sent twa o’ the riding saulies after lights were at once extinguished. them; sae we’ll hear a’ about it frae them.” “We aye put out the torches at the Halie-cross Well on Thus speaking, the kindly apparition, with the assis- sic occasions,” said the forester to his guest. And ac- tance of the mute personage, who was his son, disen- cordingly no farther visible sign of the procession of-

288 Sir Walter Scott fered 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 CHAPTER FIFTH their course.

O weel may the boatie row And better may she speed, And weel may the boatie row That earns the bairnies’ bread! The boatie rows, the boatie rows, The boatie rows fu’ weel, And lightsome be their life that bear The merlin and the creel!

Old Ballad.

WE MUST NOW introduce our reader to the interior of the fisher’s cottage mentioned in CHAPTER eleventh of this edifying history. I wish I could say that its inside was well arranged, decently 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 in-

289 The Antiquary mates, Luckie Mucklebackit and her family, an appear- warmth of which she coveted, yet hardly seemed to be ance of ease, plenty, and comfort, that seemed to war- sensible of—now muttering to herself, now smiling va- rant their old sluttish proverb, “The clartier the cosier.” cantly to the children as they pulled the strings of her A huge fire, though the season was summer, occupied toy or close cap, or twitched her blue checked apron. With the hearth, and served at once for affording light, heat, her distaff in her bosom, and her spindle in her hand, and the means of preparing food. The fishing had been she plied lazily and mechanically the old-fashioned Scot- successful, and the family, with customary improvi- tish thrift, according to the old-fashioned Scottish man- dence, had, since unlading the cargo, continued an un- ner. The younger children, crawling among the feet of remitting operation of broiling and frying that part of the elder, watched the progress of grannies spindle as it the produce reserved for home consumption, and the twisted, and now and then ventured to interrupt its bones and fragments lay on the wooden trenchers, progress as it danced upon the floor in those vagaries mingled with morsels of broken bannocks and shattered which the more regulated spinning-wheel has now so mugs of half-drunk beer. The stout and athletic form universally superseded, that even the fated Princess in of Maggie herself, bustling here and there among a pack the fairy tale might roam through all Scotland without of half-grown girls and younger children, of whom she the risk of piercing her hand with a spindle, and dying chucked one now here and another now there, with an of the wound. Late as the hour was (and it was long exclamation of “Get out o’ the gate, ye little sorrow!” past midnight), the whole family were still on foot, and was strongly contrasted with the passive and half- far from proposing to go to bed; the dame was still busy stupified look and manner of her husband’s mother, a broiling car-cakes on the girdle, and the elder girl, the woman advanced to the last stage of human life, who half-naked mermaid elsewhere commemorated, was pre- was seated in her wonted chair close by the fire, the paring a pile of Findhorn haddocks (that is, haddocks

290 Sir Walter Scott smoked with green wood), to be eaten along with these hae gotten a’ your braws on; ye’re looking about for relishing provisions. Steenie now—but he’s no at hame the night; and ye’ll While they were thus employed, a slight tap at the no do for Steenie, lass—a feckless thing like you’s no fit door, accompanied with the question, “Are ye up yet, to mainteen a man.” sirs?” announced a visitor. The answer, “Ay, ay,—come “Steenie will no do for me,” retorted Jenny, with a your ways ben, hinny,” occasioned the lifting of the toss of her head that might have become a higher-born latch, and Jenny Rintherout, the female domestic of damsel; “I maun hae a man that can mainteen his wife.” our Antiquary, made her appearance. “Ou ay, hinny—thae’s your landward and burrows- “Ay, ay,” exclaimed the mistress of the family— town notions. My certie! —fisherwives ken better—they “Hegh, sirs! can this be you, Jenny?—a sight o’ you’s keep the man, and keep the house, and keep the siller gude for sair een, lass.” too, lass.” “O woman, we’ve been sae ta’en up wi’ Captain “A wheen poor drudges ye are,” answered the nymph Hector’s wound up by, that I havena had my fit out of the land to the nymph of the sea. “As sune as the keel ower the door this fortnight; but he’s better now, and o’ the coble touches the sand, deil a bit mair will the auld Caxon sleeps in his room in case he wanted lazy fisher loons work, but the wives maun kilt their onything. Sae, as soon as our auld folk gaed to bed, I coats, and wade into the surf to tak the fish ashore. e’en snodded my head up a bit, and left the house-door And then the man casts aff the wat and puts on the dry, on the latch, in case onybody should be wanting in or and sits down wi’ his pipe and his gill-stoup ahint the out while I was awa, and just cam down the gate to see ingle, like ony auld houdie, and neer a turn will he do an there was ony cracks amang ye.” till the coble’s afloat again! And the wife she maun get “Ay, ay,” answered Luckie Mucklebackit, “I see you the scull on her back, and awa wi’ the fish to the next

291 The Antiquary burrows-town, and scauld and ban wi’ilka wife that will “I hae putten the gudeman to his bed, for he was e’en scauld and ban wi’her till it’s sauld—and that’s the gait sair forfain; and Steenie’s awa out about some barns- fisher-wives live, puir slaving bodies.” breaking wi’ the auld gaberlunzie, Edie Ochiltree: they’ll “Slaves?—gae wa’, lass!—ca’ the head o’ the house be in sune, and ye can sit doun.” slaves? little ye ken about it, lass. Show me a word my “Troth, gudewife” (taking a seat), “I haena that Saunders daur speak, or a turn he daur do about the muckle time to stop—but I maun tell ye about the news. house, without it be just to tak his meat, and his drink, Yell hae heard o’ the muckle kist o’ gowd that Sir Arthur and his diversion, like ony o’ the weans. He has mair has fund down by at St. Ruth?—He’ll be grander than sense than to ca’ anything about the bigging his ain, ever now—he’ll no can haud down his head to sneeze, frae the rooftree down to a crackit trencher on the bink. for fear o’ seeing his shoon.” He kens weel eneugh wha feeds him, and cleeds him, “Ou ay—a’ the country’s heard o’ that; but auld Edie and keeps a’ tight, thack and rape, when his coble is says that they ca’ it ten times mair than ever was o’t, jowing awa in the Firth, puir fallow. Na, na, lass!—them and he saw them howk it up. Od, it would be lang or a that sell the goods guide the purse—them that guide puir body that needed it got sic a windfa’.” the purse rule the house. Show me ane o’ yer bits o’ “Na, that’s sure eneugh.—And yell hae heard o’ the farmer-bodies that wad let their wife drive the stock to Countess o’ Glenallan being dead and lying in state, and the market, and ca’ in the debts. Na, na.” how she’s to be buried at St. Ruth’s as this night fa’s, “Aweel, aweel, Maggie, ilka land has its ain lauch— wi’ torch-light; and a’ the popist servants, and Ringan But where’s Steenie the night, when a’s come and gane? Aikwood, that’s a papist too, are to be there, and it will And where’s the gudeman?”* be the grandest show ever was seen.” “Troth, hinny,” answered the Nereid, “if they let * Note G. Gyneocracy. 292 Sir Walter Scott naebody but papists come there, it’ll no be muckle o’ a withered, trembling, and clay-coloured band, raised up show in this country, for the auld harlot, as honest Mr. her ashen-hued and wrinkled face, which the quick mo- Blattergowl ca’s her, has few that drink o’ her cup o’ tion of two light-blue eyes chiefly distinguished from enchantments in this corner o’ our chosen lands.—But the visage of a corpse, and, as if catching at any touch what can ail them to bury the auld carlin (a rudas wife of association with the living world, answered, “What she was) in the night-time?—I dare say our gudemither gars the Glenallan family inter their dead by torchlight, will ken.” said the lassie?—Is there a Glenallan dead e’en now?” Here she exalted her voice, and exclaimed twice or “We might be a’ dead and buried too,” said Maggie, thrice, “Gudemither! gudemither!” but, lost in the apa- “for onything ye wad ken about it;”—and then, raising thy of age and deafness, the aged sibyl she addressed her voice to the stretch of her mother-in-law’s compre- continued plying her spindle without understanding the hension, she added, appeal made to her. “It’s the auld Countess, gudemither.” “Speak to your grandmither, Jenny—Od, I wad rather “And is she ca’d hame then at last?” said the old hail the coble half a mile aff, and the nor-wast wind woman, in a voice that seemed to be agitated with much whistling again in my teeth.” more feeling than belonged to her extreme old age, and “Grannie,” said the little mermaid, in a voice to which the general indifference and apathy of her manner— the old woman was better accustomed, “minnie wants “is she then called to her last account after her lang race to ken what for the Glenallan folk aye bury by candle- o’ pride and power?—O God, forgie her!” light in the ruing of St. Ruth!” “But minnie was asking ye,” resumed the lesser The old woman paused in the act of twirling the querist, “what for the Glenallan family aye bury their spindle, turned round to the rest of the party, lifted her dead by torch-light?”

293 The Antiquary “They hae aye dune sae,” said the grandmother, “since that was the case in my time; they wad hae been dis- the time the Great Earl fell in the sair battle o’ the turbed in the day-time baith by the law and the com- Harlaw, when they say the coronach was cried in ae day mons of Fairport—they may be owerlooked now, as I from the mouth of the Tay to the Buck of the Cabrach, have heard: the warlds changed—I whiles hardly ken that ye wad hae heard nae other sound but that of lam- whether I am standing or sitting, or dead or living.” entation for the great folks that had fa’en fighting And looking round the fire, as if in a state of uncon- against Donald of the Isles. But the Great Earl’s mither scious uncertainty of which she complained, old Elspeth was living—they were a doughty and a dour race, the relapsed into her habitual and mechanical occupation women o’ the house o’ Glenallan—and she wad hae nae of twirling the spindle. coronach cried for her son, but had him laid in the si- “Eh, sirs!” said Jenny Rintherout, under her breath to lence o’ midnight in his place o’ rest, without either her gossip, “it’s awsome to hear your gudemither break drinking the dirge, or crying the lament. She said he out in that gait—it’s like the dead speaking to the living.” had killed enow that day he died, for the widows and “Ye’re no that far wrang, lass; she minds naething o’ daughters o’ the Highlanders he had slain to cry the what passes the day—but set her on auld tales, and she coronach for them they had lost, and for her son too; can speak like a prent buke. She kens mair about the and sae she laid him in his gave wi’ dry eyes, and with- Glenallan family than maist folk—the gudeman’s father out a groan or a wail. And it was thought a proud word was their fisher mony a day. Ye maun ken the papists o’ the family, and they aye stickit by it—and the mair make a great point o’ eating fish—it’s nae bad part o’ in the latter times, because in the night-time they had their religion that, whatever the rest is—I could aye sell mair freedom to perform their popish ceremonies by the best o’ fish at the best o’ prices for the Countess’s darkness and in secrecy than in the daylight—at least ain table, grace be wi’ her! especially on a Friday.—But

294 Sir Walter Scott see as our gudemither’s hands and lips are ganging— “And e’en sae let it be,” said old Elspeth; “she’s made now it’s working in her head like barm—she’ll speak mony a sair heart in her day—ay, e’en her ain son’s—is eneugh the night. Whiles she’ll no speak a word in a he living yet?” week, unless it be to the bits o’ bairns.” “Ay, he’s living yet; but how lang he’ll live—however, “Hegh, Mrs. Mucklebackit, she’s an awsome wife!” said dinna ye mind his coming and asking after you in the Jenny in reply. “D’ye think she’s a’thegither right? Folk spring, and leaving siller?” say she downa gang to the kirk, or speak to the minis- “It may be sae, Magge—I dinna mind it—but a hand- ter, and that she was ance a papist but since her some gentleman he was, and his father before him. Eh! gudeman’s been dead, naebody kens what she is. D’ye if his father had lived, they might hae been happy folk! think yoursell that she’s no uncanny?” But he was gane, and the lady carried it in—ower and “Canny, ye silly tawpie! think ye ae auld wife’s less out-ower wi’ her son, and garr’d him trow the thing he canny than anither? unless it be Alison Breck—I really never suld hae trowed, and do the thing he has repented couldna in conscience swear for her; I have kent the boxes a’ his life, and will repent still, were his life as lang as she set fill’d wi’ partans, when”— this lang and wearisome ane o’ mine.” “Whisht, whisht, Maggie,” whispered Jenny—“your “O what was it, grannie?”—and “What was it, gudemither’s gaun to speak again.” gudemither?”—and “What was it, Luckie Elspeth?” “Wasna there some ane o’ ye said,” asked the old sibyl, asked the children, the mother, and the visitor, in one “or did I dream, or was it revealed to me, that Joscelind, breath. Lady Glenallan, is dead, an’ buried this night?” “Never ask what it was,” answered the old sibyl, “but “Yes, gudemither,” screamed the daughter-in-law, “it’s pray to God that ye arena left to the pride and wilfu’ness e’en sae.” o’ your ain hearts: they may be as powerful in a cabin as

295 The Antiquary in a castle—I can bear a sad witness to that. O that “God assoilzie her!” ejaculated old Elspeth, her head weary and fearfu’ night! will it never gang out o’ my apparently still occupied by the event of the Countess’s auld head!—Eh! to see her lying on the floor wi’ her death; “she was a hard-hearted woman, but she’s gaen lang hair dreeping wi’ the salt water!—Heaven will to account for it a’, and His mercy is infinite—God grant avenge on a’ that had to do wi’t. Sirs! is my son out wi’ she may find it sae!” And she relapsed into silence, which the coble this windy e’en?” she did not break again during the rest of the evening. “Na, na, mither—nae coble can keep the sea this wind; “I wonder what that auld daft beggar carle and our he’s sleeping in his bed out-ower yonder ahint the son Steenie can be doing out in sic a nicht as this,” said hallan.” Maggie Mucklebackit; and her expression of surprise “Is Steenie out at sea then?” was echoed by her visitor. “Gang awa, ane o’ ye, hin- “Na, grannie—Steenie’s awa out wi’ auld Edie nies, up to the heugh head, and gie them a cry in case Ochiltree, the gaberlunzie; maybe they’ll be gaun to see they’re within hearing; the car-cakes will be burnt to a the burial.” cinder.” “That canna be,” said the mother of the family; “we The little emissary departed, but in a few minutes came kent naething o’t till Jock Rand cam in, and tauld us running back with the loud exclamation, “Eh, Minnie! the Aikwoods had warning to attend—they keep thae eh, grannie! there’s a white bogle chasing twa black anes things unco private—and they were to bring the corpse down the heugh.” a’ the way frae the Castle, ten miles off, under cloud o’ A noise of footsteps followed this singular annuncia- night. She has lain in state this ten days at Glenallan tion, and young Steenie Mucklebackit, closely followed House, in a grand chamber a’ hung wi’ black, and lighted by Edie Ochiltree, bounced into the hut. They were pant- wi’ wax cannle.” ing and out of breath. The first thing Steenie did was to

296 Sir Walter Scott look for the bar of the door, which his mother reminded take care o’ him. Ye strike ower hard, Steenie I doubt ye him had been broken up for fire-wood in the hard win- foundered the chield.” ter three years ago; “for what use,” she said, “had the “Neer a bit,” said Steenie, laughing; “he has braw like o’ them for bars?” broad shouthers, and I just took measure o’ them wi’ “There’s naebody chasing us,” said the beggar, after the stang. Od, if I hadna been something short wi’ him, he had taken his breath: “we’re e’en like the wicked, he wad hae knockit your auld hams out, lad.” that flee when no one pursueth.” “Weel, an I win clear o’ this scrape,” said Edie, “I’se “Troth, but we were chased,” said Steenie, “by a spirit tempt Providence nae mair. But I canna think it an or something little better.” unlawfu’ thing to pit a bit trick on sic a landlouping “It was a man in white on horseback,” said Edie, “for scoundrel, that just lives by tricking honester folk.” the soft grund that wadna bear the beast, flung him “But what are we to do with this?” said Steenie, pro- about, I wot that weel; but I didna think my auld legs ducing a pocket-book. could have brought me aff as fast; I ran amaist as fast “Od guide us, man,” said Edie in great alarm, “what as if I had been at Prestonpans.”* garr’d ye touch the gear? a very leaf o’ that pocket- “Hout, ye daft gowks!” said Luckie Mucklebackit, “it book wad be eneugh to hang us baith.” will hae been some o’ the riders at the Countess’s burial.” “I dinna ken,” said Steenie; “the book had fa’en out “What!” said Edie, “is the auld Countess buried the o’ his pocket, I fancy, for I fand it amang my feet when night at St. Ruth’s? Ou, that wad be the lights and the I was graping about to set him on his logs again, and I noise that scarr’d us awa; I wish I had ken’d—I wad just pat it in my pouch to keep it safe; and then came hae stude them, and no left the man yonder—but they’ll the tramp of horse, and you cried, Rin, rin,’ and I had *This refers to the flight of the government forces at the battle nae mair thought o’ the book.” of Prestonpans, 1745. 297 The Antiquary “We maun get it back to the loon some gait or other; had the gallantry to accompany Miss Rintherout to her ye had better take it yoursell, I think, wi’ peep o’ light, own mansion, and at what hour he returned the story up to Ringan Aikwood’s. I wadna for a hundred pounds saith not,—and the matron of the family, having laid it was fund in our hands.” the gathering-coal upon the fire, and put things in some Steenie undertook to do as he was directed. sort of order, retired to rest the last of the family. “A bonny night ye hae made o’t, Mr. Steenie,” said Jenny Rintherout, 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 yoursell hunted wi’ worricows, when ye suld be 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 preceding fatigue,

298 Sir Walter Scott dily away towards Fairport. The children were idling round the door, for the day was fair and sun-shiney. The CHAPTER SIXTH ancient grandame, again seated on her wicker-chair by the fire, had resumed her eternal spindle, wholly unmoved by the yelling and screaming of the children, and —Many great ones the scolding of the mother, which had preceded the dis- Would part with half their states, to have the plan And credit to beg in the first style. persion of the family. Edie had arranged his various bags, and was bound for the renewal of his wandering Beggar’s Bush. 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 OLD EDIE was stirring with the lark, and his first in- will be back about the fore-end o’har’st, and I trust to quiry was after Steenie and the pocket-book. The young find ye baith haill and fere.” fisherman had been under the necessity of attending “Pray that ye may find me in my quiet grave,” said his father before daybreak, to avail themselves of the the old woman, in a hollow and sepulchral voice, but tide, but he had promised that, immediately on his re- without the agitation of a single feature. turn, the pocket-book, with all its contents, carefully “Ye’re auld, cummer, and sae am I mysell; but we wrapped up in a piece of sail-cloth, should be delivered maun abide His will—we’ll no be forgotten in His good by him to Ringan Aikwood, for Dousterswivel, the time.” owner. “Nor our deeds neither,” said the crone: “what’s dune The matron had prepared the morning meal for the in the body maun be answered in the spirit.” family, and, shouldering her basket of fish, tramped stur- 299 The Antiquary “I wot that’s true; and I may weel tak the tale hame “Then I’ll unlade my mind, come o’t what will.” to mysell, that hae led a misruled and roving life. But This she spoke with more alacrity than usually at- ye were aye a canny wife. We’re a’ frail—but ye canna tended her expressions, and accompanied her words with hae sae muckle to bow ye down.” an attitude of the hand, as if throwing something from “Less than I might have had—but mair, O far mair, her. She then raised up her form, once tall, and still re- than wad sink the stoutest brig e’er sailed out o’ Fairport taining the appearance of having been so, though bent harbour!—Didna somebody say yestreen—at least sae with age and rheumatism, and stood before the beggar it is borne in on my mind, but auld folk hae weak fan- like a mummy animated by some wandering spirit into cies—did not somebody say that Joscelind, Countess of a temporary resurrection. Her light-blue eyes wandered Glenallan, was departed frae life?” to and fro, as if she occasionally forgot and again re- “They said the truth whaever said it,” answered old membered the purpose for which her long and withered Edie; “she was buried yestreen by torch-light at St. hand was searching among the miscellaneous contents Ruth’s, and I, like a fule, gat a gliff wi’ seeing the lights of an ample old-fashioned pocket. At length she pulled and the riders.” out a small chip-box, and opening it, took out a hand- “It was their fashion since the days of the Great Earl some ring, in which was set a braid of hair, composed of that was killed at Harlaw;—they did it to show scorn two different colours, black and light brown, twined to- that they should die and be buried like other mortals; gether, encircled with brilliants of considerable value. the wives o’ the house of Glenallan wailed nae wail for “Gudeman,” she said to Ochiltree, “as ye wad e’er de- the husband, nor the sister for the brother.—But is she serve mercy, ye maun gang my errand to the house of e’en ca’d to the lang account?” Glenallan, and ask for the Earl.” “As sure,” answered Edie, “as we maun a’ abide it.” “The Earl of Glenallan, cummer! ou, he winna see ony

300 Sir Walter Scott o’ the gentles o’ the country, and what likelihood is there casioned, gradually left her features; she sank down upon that he wad see the like o’ an auld gaberlunzie?” her accustomed seat, and resumed her mechanical labour “Gang your ways and try;—and tell him that Elspeth of the distaff and spindle, with her wonted air of apa- o’ the Craigburnfoot—he’ll mind me best by that thy. name—maun see him or she be relieved frae her lang Edie Ochiltree meanwhile advanced on his journey. pilgrimage, and that she sends him that ring in token of The distance to Glenallan was ten miles, a march which the business she wad speak o’.” the old soldier accomplished in about four hours. With Ochiltree looked on the ring with some admiration of the curiosity belonging to his idle trade and animated its apparent value, and then carefully replacing it in the character, he tortured himself the whole way to con- box, and wrapping it in an old ragged handkerchief, he sider what could be the meaning of this mysterious er- deposited the token in his bosom. rand with which he was entrusted, or what connection “Weel, gudewife,” he said, “I’se do your bidding, or the proud, wealthy, and powerful Earl of Glenallan could it’s no be my fault. But surely there was never sic a braw have with the crimes or penitence of an old doting propine as this sent to a yerl by an auld fishwife, and woman, whose rank in life did not greatly exceed that through the hands of a gaberlunzie beggar.” of her messenger. He endeavoured to call to memory all With this reflection, Edie took up his pike-staff, put that he had ever known or heard of the Glenallan fam- on his broad-brimmed bonnet, and set forth upon his ily, yet, having done so, remained altogether unable to pilgrimage. The old woman remained for some time form a conjecture on the subject. He knew that the whole standing in a fixed posture, her eyes directed to the door extensive estate of this ancient and powerful family had through which her ambassador had departed. The ap- descended to the Countess, lately deceased, who inher- pearance of excitation, which the conversation had oc- ited, in a most remarkable degree, the stern, fierce, and

301 The Antiquary unbending character which had distinguished the house though its gloom and seclusion seemed to suit the re- of Glenallan since they first figured in Scottish annals. tired and melancholy habits of his elder brother. Lord Like the rest of her ancestors, she adhered zealously to Geraldin, in the outset of life, had been a young man of the Roman Catholic faith, and was married to an En- accomplishment and hopes. Those who knew him upon glish gentleman of the same communion, and of large his travels entertained the highest expectations of his fortune, who did not survive their union two years. The future career. But such fair dawns are often strangely Countess was, therefore, left all early widow, with the overcast. The young nobleman returned to Scotland, and uncontrolled management of the large estates of her after living about a year in his mother’s society at two sons. The elder, Lord Geraldin, who was to succeed Glenallan House, he seemed to have adopted all the stern to the title and fortune of Glenallan, was totally depen- gloom and melancholy of her character. Excluded from dent on his mother during her life. The second, when he politics by the incapacities attached to those of his reli- came of age, assumed the name and arms of his father, gion, and from all lighter avocationas by choice, Lord and took possession of his estate, according to the pro- Geraldin led a life of the strictest retirement. His ordi- visions of the Countess’s marriage-settlement. After this nary society was composed of the clergyman of his com- period, he chiefly resided in England, and paid very few munion, who occasionally visited his mansion; and very and brief visits to his mother and brother; and these at rarely, upon stated occasions of high festival, one or two length were altogether dispensed with, in consequence families who still professed the Catholic religion were of his becoming a convert to the reformed religion. formally entertained at Glenallan House. But this was But even before this mortal offence was given to its all; their heretic neighbours knew nothing of the family mistress, his residence at Glenallan offered few induce- whatever; and even the Catholics saw little more than ments to a gay young man like Edward Geraldin Neville, the sumptuous entertainment and solemn parade which

302 Sir Walter Scott was exhibited on those formal occasions, from which all House,* an ancient building of great extent, the most returned without knowing whether most to wonder at modern part of which had been designed by the cel- the stern and stately demeanour of the Countess, or the ebrated Inigo Jones, he began to consider in what way deep and gloomy dejection which never ceased for a he should be most likely to gain access for delivery of moment to cloud the features of her son. The late event his message; and, after much consideration, resolved to had put him in possession of his fortune and title, and send the token to the Earl by one of the domestics. the neighbourhood had already begun to conjecture With this purpose he stopped at a cottage, where he whether gaiety would revive with independence, when obtained the means of making up the ring in a sealed those who had some occasional acquaintance with the packet like a petition, addressed, Forr his hounor the Yerl interior of the family spread abroad a report, that the of Glenllan—These. But being aware that missives de- Earl’s constitution was undermined by religious austeri- livered at the doors of great houses by such persons as ties, and that in all probability he would soon follow his himself, do not always make their way according to ad- mother to the grave. This event was the more probable, dress, Edie determined, like an old soldier, to reconnoi- as his brother had died of a lingering complaint, which, tre the ground before he made his final attack. As he in the latter years of his life, had affected at once his approached the porter’s lodge, he discovered, by the frame and his spirits; so that heralds and genealogists number of poor ranked before it, some of them being were already looking back into their records to discover indigent persons in the vicinity, and others itinerants of the heir of this ill-fated family, and lawyers were talk- his own begging profession,—that there was about to ing with gleesome anticipation, of the probability of a be a general dole or distribution of charity. “great Glenallan cause.” “A good turn,” said Edie to himself, “never goes As Edie Ochiltree approached the front of Glenallan * Supposed to represent Glammis Castle, in Forfarshire, with which the Author was well acquainted. 303 The Antiquary unrewarded—I’ll maybe get a good awmous that I wad donor allotted a double portion of his charity. But never hae missed but for trotting on this auld wife’s errand.” was a poor occasional conformist more roughly rejected Accordingly, he ranked up with the rest of this ragged by a High-church congregation, even when that matter regiment, assuming a station as near the front as pos- was furiously agitated in the days of good Queen Anne. sible,—a distinction due, as he conceived, to his blue “See to him wi’ his badge!” they said;—“he hears ane gown and badge, no less than to his years and experi- o’ the king’s Presbyterian chaplains sough out a sermon ence; but he soon found there was another principle of on the morning of every birth-day, and now he would precedence in this assembly, to which he had not ad- pass himsell for ane o’ the Episcopal church! Na, na!— verted. we’ll take care o’ that.” “Are ye a triple man, friend, that ye press forward sae Edie, thus rejected by Rome and Prelacy, was fain to bauldly?—I’m thinking no, for there’s nae Catholics shelter himself from the laughter of his brethren among wear that badge.” the thin group of Presbyterians, who had either dis- “Na, na, I am no a Roman,” said Edie. dained to disguise their religious opinions for the sake “Then shank yoursell awa to the double folk, or single of an augmented dole, or perhaps knew they could not folk, that’s the Episcopals or Presbyterians yonder: it’s attempt the imposition without a certainty of detec- a shame to see a heretic hae sic a lang white beard, that tion. would do credit to a hermit.” The same degree of precedence was observed in the Ochiltree, thus rejected from the society of the Catho- mode of distributing the charity, which consisted in lic mendicants, or those who called themselves such, bread, beef, and a piece of money, to each individual of went to station himself with the paupers of the com- all the three classes. The almoner, an ecclesiastic of grave munion of the church of England, to whom the noble appearance and demeanour, superintended in person the

304 Sir Walter Scott accommodation of the Catholic mendicants, asking a “Ohon! ohon!” cried Francie, with a true north-coun- question or two of each as he delivered the charity, and try yell of recognition, “naebody could hae said that recommending to their prayers the soul of Joscelind, word but my auld front-rank man, Edie Ochiltree! But late Countess of Glenallan, mother of their benefactor. I’m sorry to see ye in sic a peer state, man.” The porter, distinguished by his long staff headed with “No sae ill aff as ye may think, Francis. But I’m laith silver, and by the black gown tufted with lace of the to leave this place without a crack wi’ you, and I kenna same colour, which he had assumed upon the general when I may see you again, for your folk dinna mak Prot- mourning in the family, overlooked the distribution of estants welcome, and that’s ae reason that I hae never the dole among the prelatists. The less-favoured kirk- been here before.” folk were committed to the charge of an aged domestic. “Fusht, fusht,” said Francie, “let that flee stick i’ the As this last discussed some disputed point with the wa’—when the dirt’s dry it will rub out;—and come you porter, his name, as it chanced to be occasionally men- awa wi’ me, and I’ll gie ye something better thau that tioned, and then his features, struck Ochiltree, and awak- beef bane, man.” ened recollections of former times. The rest of the as- Having then spoke a confidential word with the por- sembly were now retiring, when the domestic, again ap- ter (probably to request his connivance), and having proaching the place where Edie still lingered, said, in a waited until the almoner had returned into the house strong Aberdeenshire accent, “Fat is the auld feel-body with slow and solemn steps, Francie Macraw introduced deeing, that he canna gang avay, now that he’s gotten his old comrade into the court of Glenallan House, the baith meat and siller?” gloomy gateway of which was surmounted by a huge “Francis Macraw,” answered Edie Ochiltree, “d’ye no scutcheon, in which the herald and undertaker had mind Fontenoy, and keep thegither front and rear?’” mingled, as usual, the emblems of human pride and of

305 The Antiquary human nothingness,—the Countess’s hereditary coat- for he judged it prudent to say nothing of the ring, not of-arms, with all its numerous quarterings, disposed in knowing, as he afterwards observed, how far the man- a lozenge, and surrounded by the separate shields of ners of a single soldier* might have been corrupted by her paternal and maternal ancestry, intermingled with service in a great house. scythes, hour glasses, skulls, and other symbols of that “Hout, tout, man,” said Francie, “the Earl will look mortality which levels all distinctions. Conducting his at nae petitions—but I can gie’t to the almoner.” friend as speedily as possible along the large paved court, “But it relates to some secret, that maybe my lord Macraw led the way through a side-door to a small apart- wad like best to see’t himsell.” ment near the servants’ hall, which, in virtue of his per- “I’m jeedging that’s the very reason that the almoner sonal attendance upon the Earl of Glenallan, he was will be for seeing it the first and foremost.” entitled to call his own. To produce cold meat of vari- “But I hae come a’ this way on purpose to deliver it, ous kinds, strong beer, and even a glass of spirits, was Francis, and ye really maun help me at a pinch.” no difficulty to a person of Francis’s importance, who “Neer speed then if I dinna,” answered the had not lost, in his sense of conscious dignity, the keen Aberdeenshire man: “let them be as cankered as they northern prudence which recommended a good under- like, they can but turn me awa, and I was just thinking standing with the butler. Our mendicant envoy drank to ask my discharge, and gang down to end my days at ale, and talked over old stories with his comrade, until, Inverurie.” no other topic of conversation occurring, he resolved to With this doughty resolution of serving his friend at take up the theme of his embassy, which had for some all ventures, since none was to be encountered which time escaped his memory. could much inconvenience himself, Francie Macraw left “He had a petition to present to the Earl,” he said;— * A single soldier means, in Scotch, a private soldier. 306 Sir Walter Scott the apartment. It was long before he returned, and when a long fite beard—he might be a capeechin freer for fat he did, his manner indicated wonder and agitation. I ken’d, for he was dressed like an auld palmer. Sae ye’ll “I am nae seer gin ye be Edie Ochiltree o’ Carrick’s be sent up for fanever he can find mettle to face ye.” company in the Forty-twa, or gin ye be the deil in his “I wish I was weel through this business,” thought likeness!” Edie to himself; “mony folk surmise that the Earl’s no “And what makes ye speak in that gait?” demanded very right in the judgment, and wha can say how far he the astonished mendicant. may be offended wi’ me for taking upon me sae muckle?” “Because my lord has been in sic a distress and But there was now no room for retreat—a bell sounded surpreese as I neer saw a man in my life. But he’ll see from a distant part of the mansion, and Macraw said, you—I got that job cookit. He was like a man awa frae with a smothered accent, as if already in his master’s himsell for mony minutes, and I thought he wad hae presence, “That’s my lord’s bell!—follow me, and step swarv’t a’thegither,—and fan he cam to himsell, he asked lightly and cannily, Edie.” fae brought the packet—and fat trow ye I said?” Edie followed his guide, who seemed to tread as if “An auld soger,” says Edie—“that does likeliest at a afraid of being overheard, through a long passage, and gentle’s door; at a farmer’s it’s best to say ye’re an auld up a back stair, which admitted them into the family tinkler, if ye need ony quarters, for maybe the gudewife apartments. They were ample and extensive, furnished will hae something to souther.” at such cost as showed the ancient importance and “But I said neer ane o’ the twa,” answered Francis; splendour of the family. But all the ornaments were in “my lord cares as little about the tane as the tother— the taste of a former and distant period, and one would for he’s best to them that can souther up our sins. Sae I have almost supposed himself traversing the halls of a e’en said the bit paper was brought by an auld man wi’ Scottish nobleman before the union of the crowns. The

307 The Antiquary late Countess, partly from a haughty contempt of the door at the end of the long picture-gallery, ushered him times in which she lived, partly from her sense of fam- into a small antechamber hung with black. Here they ily pride, had not permitted the furniture to be altered found the almoner, with his ear turned to a door oppo- or modernized during her residence at Glenallan House. site that by which they entered, in the attitude of one The most magnificent part of the decorations was a who listens with attention, but is at the same time afraid valuable collection of pictures by the best masters, whose of being detected in the act. massive frames were somewhat tarnished by time. In The old domestic and churchman started when they this particular also the gloomy taste of the family perceived each other. But the almoner first recovered seemed to predominate. There were some fine family his recollection, and advancing towards Macraw, said, portraits by Vandyke and other masters of eminence; under his breath, but with an authoritative tone, “How but the collection was richest in the Saints and Martyr- dare you approach the Earl’s apartment without knock- doms of Domenichino, Velasquez, and Murillo, and other ing? and who is this stranger, or what has he to do subjects of the same kind, which had been selected in here?—Retire to the gallery, and wait for me there.” preference to landscapes or historical pieces. The man- “It’s impossible just now to attend your reverence,” ner in which these awful, and sometimes disgusting, sub- answered Macraw, raising his voice so as to be heard in jects were represented, harmonized with the gloomy the next room, being conscious that the priest would state of the apartments,—a circumstance which was not not maintain the altercation within hearing of his pa- altogether lost on the old man, as he traversed them tron,—“the Earl’s bell has rung.” under the guidance of his quondam fellow-soldier. He He had scarce uttered the words, when it was rung was about to express some sentiment of this kind, but again with greater violence than before; and the ecclesi- Francie imposed silence on him by signs, and opening a astic, perceiving further expostulation impossible, lifted

308 Sir Walter Scott his finger at Macraw, with a menacing attitude, as he left the apartment. “I tell’d ye sae,” said the Aberdeen man in a whisper CHAPTER SEVENTH to Edie, and then proceeded to open the door near which they had observed the chaplain stationed. —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 Glenallan House, 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 she received the fatal letter announcing the death of her second, and, as was once believed, her favourite son, the hand of the Countess did not shake, nor her eyelid twinkle, any more than upon perusal of a letter of ordinary business.

309 The Antiquary Heaven only knows whether the suppression of mater- which arises from the mingling of artificial lustre with nal sorrow, which her pride commanded, might not have that of general daylight. The same table displayed a sil- some effect in hastening her own death. It was at least ver crucifix, and one or two clasped parchment books. generally supposed that the apoplectic stroke, which so A large picture, exquisitely painted by Spagnoletto, rep- soon afterwards terminated her existence, was, as it resented the martyrdom of St. Stephen, and was the were, the vengeance of outraged Nature for the restraint only ornament of the apartment. to which her feelings had been subjected. But although The inhabitant and lord of this disconsolate chamber Lady Glenallan forebore the usual external signs of grief, was a man not past the prime of life, yet so broken down she had caused many of the apartments, amongst oth- with disease and mental misery, so gaunt and ghastly, ers her own and that of the Earl, to be hung with the that he appeared but a wreck of manhood; and when he exterior trappings of woe. hastily arose and advanced towards his visitor, the ex- The Earl of Glenallan was therefore seated in an apart- ertion seemed almost to overpower his emaciated frame. ment hung with black cloth, which waved in dusky folds As they met in the midst of the apartment, the con- along its lofty walls. A screen, also covered with black trast they exhibited was very striking. The hale cheek, baize, placed towards the high and narrow window, infirm step, erect stature, and undaunted presence and tercepted much of the broken light which found its way bearing of the old mendicant, indicated patience and through the stained glass, that represented, with such content in the extremity of age, and in the lowest con- skill as the fourteenth century possessed, the life and dition to which humanity can sink; while the sunken sorrows of the prophet Jeremiah. The table at which eye, pallid cheek, and tottering form of the nobleman the Earl was seated was lighted with two lamps wrought with whom he was confronted, showed how little wealth, in silver, shedding that unpleasant and doubtful light power, and even the advantages of youth, have to do

310 Sir Walter Scott with that which gives repose to the mind, and firmness do you come to say that all that has been done to expi- to the frame. ate guilt so horrible, has been too little and too trivial The Earl met the old man in the middle of the room, for the offence, and to point out new and more effica- and having commanded his attendant to withdraw into cious modes of severe penance?—I will not blench from the gallery, and suffer no one to enter the antechamber it, father—let me suffer the pains of my crime here in till he rung the bell, awaited, with hurried yet fearful the body, rather than hereafter in the spirit!” impatience, until he heard first the door of his apart- Edie had now recollection enough to perceive, that if ment, and then that of the antechamber, shut and fas- he did not interrapt the frankness of Lord Glenallan’s tened by the spring-bolt. When he was satisfied with admissions, he was likely to become the confidant of this security against being overheard, Lord Glenallan more than might be safe for him to know. He therefore came close up to the mendicant, whom he probably mis- uttered with a hasty and trembling voice—“Your took for some person of a religious order in disguise, lordship’s honour is mistaken—I am not of your per- and said, in a hasty yet faltering tone, “In the name of suasion, nor a clergyman, but, with all reverence, only all our religion holds most holy, tell me, reverend father, puir Edie Ochiltree, the king’s bedesman and your what am I to expect from a communication opened by honour’s.” a token connected with such horrible recollections?” This explanation be accompanied by a profound bow The old man, appalled by a manner so different from after his manner, and then, drawing himself up erect, what he had expected from the proud and powerful rested his arm on his staff, threw back his long white nobleman, was at a loss how to answer, and in what hair, and fixed his eyes upon the Earl, as he waited for manner to undeceive him. “Tell me,” continued the Earl, an answer. in a tone of increasing trepidation and agony—“tell me, “And you are not then,” said Lord Glenallan, after a

311 The Antiquary pause of surprise—“You are not then a Catholic priest?” “It was auld Elspeth Mucklebackit that sent me here,” “God forbid!” said Edie, forgetting in his confusion to said the beggar, “in order to say”— whom he was speaking; “I am only the king’s bedesman “You dote, old man!” said the Earl; “I never heard and your honour’s, as I said before.” the name—but this dreadful token reminds me”— The Earl turned hastily away, and paced the room “I mind now, my lord,” said Ochiltree, “she tauld me twice or thrice, as if to recover the effects of his mis- your lordship would be mair familiar wi’ her, if I ca’d take, and then, coming close up to the mendicant, he her Elspeth o’ the Craigburnfoot—she had that name demanded, in a stern and commanding tone, what he when she lived on your honour’s land, that is, your meant by intruding himself on his privacy, and from honour’s worshipful mother’s that was then—Grace be whence he had got the ring which he had thought proper wi’ her!” to send him. Edie, a man of much spirit, was less daunted “Ay,” said the appalled nobleman, as his countenance at this mode of interrogation than he had been con- sunk, and his cheek assumed a hue yet more cadaver- fused by the tone of confidence in which the Earl had ous; “that name is indeed written in the most tragic page opened their conversation. To the reiterated question of a deplorable history. But what can she desire of me? from whom he had obtained the ring, he answered com- Is she dead or living?” posedly, “From one who was better known to the Earl “Living, my lord; and entreats to see your lordship than to him.” before she dies, for she has something to communicate “Better known to me, fellow?” said Lord Glenallan: that hangs upon her very soul, and she says she canna “what is your meaning?—explain yourself instantly, or flit in peace until she sees you.” you shall experience the consequence of breaking in “Not until she sees me!—what can that mean? But upon the hours of family distress.” she is doting with age and infirmity. I tell thee, friend, I

312 Sir Walter Scott called at her cottage myself, not a twelvemonth since, “It will be a pleasure to neither of us,” said the Earl, from a report that she was in distress, and she did not sternly, “yet she shall be gratified. She lives, I think, on even know my face or voice.” the sea-shore to the southward of Fairport?” “If your honour wad permit me,” said Edie, to whom “Just between Monkbarns and Knockwinnock Castle, the length of the conference restored a part of his profes- but nearer to Monkbarns. Your lordship’s honour will sional audacity and native talkativeness—”if your honour ken the laird and Sir Arthur, doubtless?” wad but permit me, I wad say, under correction of your A stare, as if he did not comprehend the question, was lordship’s better judgment, that auld Elspeth’s like some Lord Glenallan’s answer. Edie saw his mind was else- of the ancient ruined strengths and castles that ane sees where, and did not venture to repeat a query which was amang the hills. There are mony parts of her mind that so little germain to the matter. appear, as I may say, laid waste and decayed, but then “Are you a Catholic, old man?” demanded the Earl. there’s parts that look the steever, and the stronger, and “No, my lord,” said Ochiltree stoutly; for the remem- the grander, because they are rising just like to fragments brance of the unequal division of the dole rose in his amaong the ruins o’ the rest. She’s an awful woman.” mind at the moment; “I thank Heaven I am a good Prot- “She always was so,” said the Earl, almost uncon- estant.” sciously echoing the observation of the mendicant; “she “He who can conscientiously call himself good, has always was different from other women —likest perhaps indeed reason to thank Heaven, be his form of Chris- to her who is now no more, in her temper and turn of tianity what it will—But who is he that shall dare to do mind.—She wishes to see me, then?” so!” “Before she dies,” said Edie, “she earnestly entreats “Not I,” said Edie; “I trust to beware of the sin of that pleasure.” presumption.”

313 The Antiquary “What was your trade in your youth?” continued the look forward to on this side of eternity, you are contented Earl. to drag out the rest of your existence? Go, begone! and in “A soldier, my lord; and mony a sair day’s kemping your age and poverty and weariness, never envy the lord I’ve seen. I was to have been made a sergeant, but”— of such a mansion as this, either in his sleeping or waking “A soldier! then you have slain and burnt, and sacked moments. —Here is something for thee.” and spoiled?” The Earl put into the old man’s hand five or six guin- “I winna say,” replied Edie, “that I have been better eas. Edie would perhaps have stated his scruples, as upon than my neighbours;—it’s a rough trade—war’s sweet other occasions, to the amount of the benefaction, but to them that never tried it.” the tone of Lord Glenallan was too absolute to admit “And you are now old and miserable, asking from pre- of either answer or dispute. The Earl then called his carious charity the food which in your youth you tore servant—“See this old man safe from the castle—let no from the hand of the poor peasant?” one ask him any questions—and you, friend, begone, “I am a beggar, it is true, my lord; but I am nae just and forget the road that leads to my house.” sae miserable neither. For my sins, I hae had grace to “That would be difficult for me,” said Edie, looking repent of them, if I might say sae, and to lay them where at the gold which he still held in his hand, “that would they may be better borne than by me; and for my food, be e’en difficult, since your honour has gien me such naebody grudges an auld man a bit and a drink—Sae I gade cause to remember it.” live as I can, and am contented to die when I am ca’d Lord Glenallan stared, as hardly comprehending the upon.” old man’s boldness in daring to bandy words with him, “And thus, then, with little to look back upon that is and, with his hand, made him another signal of depar- pleasant or praiseworthy in your past life—with less to ture, which the mendicant instantly obeyed.

314 Sir Walter Scott nation, and easily evaded those of his quondam comrade. “The secrets of grit folk,” said Ochiltree within CHAPTER EIGHTH himself, “are just like the wild beasts that are shut up in cages. Keep them hard and fast sneaked up, and it’s a’ very weel or better—but ance let them out, they will For he was one in all their idle sport, turn and rend you. I mind how ill Dugald Gunn cam aff And like a monarch, ruled their little court The pliant bow he formed, the flying ball, for letting loose his tongue about the Major’s leddy and The bat, the wicket, were his labours all. Captain Bandilier.” Francis was therefore foiled in his assaults upon the Crabbe’s Village fidelity of the mendicant, and, like an indifferent chess- player, became, at every unsuccessful movement, more liable to the counter-checks of his opponent. FRANCIS MACRAW, agreeably to the commands of his mas- “Sae ye uphauld ye had nae particulars to say to my ter, attended the mendicant, in order to see him fairly lord but about yer ain matters?” out of the estate, without permitting him to have con- “Ay, and about the wee bits o’ things I had brought versation, or intercourse, with any of the Earl’s depen- frae abroad,” said Edie. “I ken’d you popist folk are unco dents or domestics. But, judiciously considering that the set on the relics that are fetched frae far-kirks and sae restriction did not extend to himself, who was the per- forth.” son entrusted with the convoy, he used every measure in “Troth, my Lord maun be turned feel outright,” said his power to extort from Edie the nature of his confi- the domestic, “an he puts himsell into sic a carfuffle, for dential and secret interview with Lord Glenallan. But onything ye could bring him, Edie.” Edie had been in his time accustomed to cross-exami-

315 The Antiquary “I doubtna ye may say true in the main, neighbour,” but his mother fand it out, and then the deil gaed o’er replied the beggar; “but maybe he’s had some hard play Jock Webster. At last, the peer lass clodded hersell o’er in his younger days, Francis, and that whiles unsettles the scaur at the Craigburnfoot into the sea, and there folk sair.” was an end o’t.” “Troth, Edie, and ye may say that—and since it’s like “An end ot wi’ the puir leddy,” said the mendicant, yell neer come back to the estate, or, if ye dee, that ye’ll “but, as I reckon, nae end o’t wi’ the yerl.” no find me there, I’se e’en tell you he had a heart in his “Nae end o’t till his life makes an end,” answered the young time sae wrecked and rent, that it’s a wonder it Aberdonian. hasna broken outright lang afore this day.” “But what for did the auld Countess forbid the mar- “Ay, say ye sae?” said Ochiltree; “that maun hae been riage?” continued the persevering querist. about a woman, I reckon?” “Fat for!—she maybe didna weel ken for fat hersell, “Troth, and ye hae guessed it,” said Francie—“jeest a for she gar’d a’ bow to her bidding, right or wrang— cusin o’ his nain. —Miss Eveline Neville, as they suld But it was ken’d the young leddy was inclined to some hae ca’d her;—there was a sough in the country about o’ the heresies of the country—mair by token, she was it, but it was hushed up, as the grandees were con- sib to him nearer than our Church’s rule admits of. Sae cerned;—it’s mair than twenty years syne—ay, it will the leddy was driven to the desperate act, and the yerl be three-and-twenty.” has never since held his head up like a man.” “Ay, I was in America then,” said the mendicant, “and “Weel away!” replied Ochiltree:—“it’s e’en queer I neer no in the way to hear the country clashes.” heard this tale afore.” “There was little clash about it, man,” replied Macraw; “It’s e’en queer that ye heard it now, for deil ane o’ the “he liked this young leddy, ana suld hae married her, servants durst hae spoken o’t had the auld Countess been

316 Sir Walter Scott living. Eh, man, Edie! but she was a trimmer—it wad but there would be a parcel of young fellows there on hae taen a skeely man to hae squared wi’ her!—But she’s the Saturday night, and that was a bar to civil conver- in her grave, and we may loose our tongues a bit fan we sation. Other “gudemen and gudewives,” as the farm- meet a friend.—But fare ye weel, Edie—I maun be back ers and their dames are termed in Scotland, successively to the evening-service. An’ ye come to Inverurie maybe presented themselves to his imagination. But one was sax months awa, dinna forget to ask after Francie deaf, and could not hear him; another toothless, and Macraw.” could not make him hear; a third had a cross temper; What one kindly pressed, the other as firmly prom- and a fourth an ill-natured house-dog. At Monkbarns ised; and the friends having thus parted, with every tes- or Knockwinnock he was sure of a favourable and hos- timony of mutual regard, the domestic of Lord pitable reception; but they lay too distant to be conve- Glenallan took his road back to the seat of his master, niently reached that night. leaving Ochiltree to trace onward his habitual pilgrim- “I dinna ken how it is,” said the old man, “but I am age. nicer about my quarters this night than ever I mind hav- It was a fine summer evening, and the world—that is, ing been in my life. I think, having seen a’ the braws yon- the little circle which was all in all to the individual by der, and finding out ane may be happier without them, whom it was trodden, lay before Edie Ochiltree, for the has made me proud o’ my ain lot—But I wuss it bode me choosing of his night’s quarters. When he had passed gude, for pride goeth before destruction. At ony rate, the the less hospitable domains of Glenallan, he had in his warst barn e’er man lay in wad be a pleasanter abode option so many places of refuge for the evening, that he than Glenallan House, wi’ a’ the pictures and black vel- was nice, and even fastidious in the choice. Ailie Sim’s vet, and silver bonny-wawlies belonging to it—Sae I’ll public was on the road-side about a mile before him, e’en settle at ance, and put in for Ailie Sims.”

317 The Antiquary As the old man descended the hill above the little ham- between the bands of players, and as the gauger favoured let to which he was bending his course, the setting sun the one party, and the schoolmaster the other, the mat- had relieved its inmates from their labour, and the young ter might be said to be taken up by the higher powers. men, availing themselves of the fine evening, were en- The miller and smith, also, had espoused different sides, gaged in the sport of long-bowls on a patch of com- and, considering the vivacity of two such disputants, mon, while the women and elders looked on. The shout, there was reason to doubt whether the strife might be the laugh, the exclamations of winners and losers, came amicably terminated. But the first person who caught in blended chorus up the path which Ochiltree was de- a sight of the mendicant exclaimed, “Ah! here comes scending, and awakened in his recollection the days when auld Edie, that kens the rules of a’ country games bet- he himself had been a keen competitor, and frequently ter than ony man that ever drave a bowl, or threw an victor, in games of strength and agility. These remem- axle-tree, or putted a stane either;—let’s hae nae quar- brances seldom fail to excite a sigh, even when the relling, callants—we’ll stand by auld Edie’s judgment.” evening of life is cheered by brighter prospects than those Edie was accordingly welcomed, and installed as um- of our poor mendicant. “At that time of day,” was his pire, with a general shout of gratulation. With all the natural reflection, “I would have thought as little about modesty of a Bishop to whom the mitre is proffered, or ony auld palmering body that was coming down the edge of a new Speaker called to the chair, the old man declined of Kinblythemont, as ony o’ thae stalwart young chiels the high trust and responsibility with which it was pro- does e’enow about auld Edie Ochiltree.” posed to invest him, and, in requital for his self-denial He was, however, presently cheered, by finding that and humility, had the pleasure of receiving the reiterated more importance was attached to his arrival than his assurances of young, old, and middle-aged, that he was modesty had anticipated. A disputed cast had occurred simply the best qualified person for the office of arbiter

318 Sir Walter Scott “in the haill country-side.” Thus encouraged, he pro- On the outside of the group of players began to arise ceeded gravely to the execution of his duty, and, strictly sounds of a description very different from those of forbidding all aggravating expressions on either side, he sport—that sort of suppressed sigh and exclamation, heard the smith and gauger on one side, the miller and with which the first news of calamity is received by the schoolmaster on the other, as junior and senior counsel. hearers, began to be heard indistinctly. A buzz went Edie’s mind, however, was fully made up on the subject about among the women of “Eh, sirs! sae young and before the pleading began; like that of many a judge, who sae suddenly summoned!”—It then extended itself must nevertheless go through all the forms, and endure among the men, and silenced the sounds of sportive in its full extent the eloquence and argumentation of the mirth. Bar. For when all had been said on both sides, and much All understood at once that some disaster had hap- of it said over oftener than once, our senior, being well pened in the country, and each inquired the cause at his and ripely advised, pronounced the moderate and heal- neighbour, who knew as little as the querist. At length ing judgment, that the disputed cast was a drawn one, the rumour reached, in a distinct shape, the ears of Edie and should therefore count to neither party. This judi- Ochiltree, who was in the very centre of the assembly. cious decision restored concord to the field of players; The boat of Mucklebackit, the fisherman whom we have they began anew to arrange their match and their bets, so often mentioned, had been swamped at sea, and four with the clamorous mirth usual on such occasions of vil- men had perished, it was affirmed, including lage sport, and the more eager were already stripping their Mucklebackit and his son. Rumour had in this, how- jackets, and committing them, with their coloured hand- ever, as in other cases, gone beyond the truth. The boat kerchiefs, to the care of wives, sisters, and mistresses. But had indeed been overset; but Stephen, or, as he was their mirth was singularly interrupted. called, Steenie Mucklebackit, was the only man who had

319 The Antiquary been drowned. Although the place of his residence and right to arrest the king’s bedesman as a vagrant; and his mode of life removed the young man from the soci- the mute eloquence of the miller and smith, which was ety of the country folks, yet they failed not to pause in vested in their clenched fists, was prepared to give High- their rustic mirth to pay that tribute to sudden calam- land bail for their arbiter; his blue gown, they said, was ity which it seldom fails to receive in cases of infrequent his warrant for travelling the country. occurrence. To Ochiltree, in particular, the news came “But his blue gown,” answered the officer, “is nae pro- like a knell, the rather that he had so lately engaged this tection for assault, robbery, and murder; and my war- young man’s assistance in an affair of sportive mischief; rant is against him for these crimes.” and though neither loss nor injury was designed to the “Murder!” said Edie, “murder! wha did I e’er murder?” German adept, yet the work was not precisely one in “Mr. German Doustercivil, the agent at Glen- which the latter hours of life ought to be occupied. Withershins mining-works.” Misfortunes never come alone. While Ochiltree, pen- “Murder Doustersnivel?—hout, he’s living, and life- sively leaning upon his staff, added his regrets to those like, man.” of the hamlet which bewailed the young man’s sudden “Nae thanks to you if he be; he had a sair struggle for death, and internally blamed himself for the transac- his life, if a’ be true he tells, and ye maun answer for’t tion in which he had so lately engaged him, the old man’s at the bidding of the law.” collar was seized by a peace-officer, who displayed his The defenders of the mendicant shrunk back at hear- baton in his right hand, and exclaimed, “In the king’s ing the atrocity of the charges against him, but more name.” than one kind hand thrust meat and bread and pence The gauger and schoolmaster united their rhetoric, to upon Edie, to maintain him in the prison, to which the prove to the constable and his assistant that he had no officers were about to conduct him.

320 Sir Walter Scott “Thanks to ye! God bless ye a’, bairns!—I’ve gotten which was in his case equivalent to being pretty gener- out o’ mony a snare when I was waur deserving o’ deliv- ally detested, there were many speculations upon the erance—I shall escape like a bird from the fowler. Play probability of the accusation being malicious. But all out your play, and never mind me—I am mair grieved agreed, that if Edie Ochiltree behaved in all events to for the puir lad that’s gane, than for aught they can do suffer upon this occasion, it was a great pity he had not to me.” better merited his fate by killing Dousterswivel outright. Accordingly, the unresisting prisoner was led off, while he mechanically 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 government 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, in order to his examination and committal. The disaster of Steenie, and the arrest of Edie, put a stop to the sports of the village, the pensive inhabitants of which began to speculate 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,

321 The Antiquary habit. “The body, God help us! was sae broken against the rocks that they’re fain to hurry the burial. The sea’s CHAPTER NINTH 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”— Who is he?—One that for the lack of land “As the calling of an old periwig-maker, that’s robbed Shall fight upon the water—he hath challenged Formerly the grand whale; and by his titles of his business by crops and the powder-tax. Caxon, thy Of Leviathan, Behemoth, and so forth. topics of consolation are as ill chosen as they are for- He tilted with a sword-fish—Marry, sir, eign to the present purpose.Quid mihi cum faemina? Th’ aquatic had the best—the argument Still galls our champion’s breech. What have I to do with thy womankind, who have enough and to spare of mine own?—I pray of you again, Old Play. am I expected by these poor people to attend the funeral of their son?” “Ou, doubtless, your honour is expected,” answered Caxon; “AND THE POOR young fellow, Steenie Mucklebackit, is to “weel I wot ye are expected. Ye ken, in this country ilka be buried this morning,” said our old friend the Anti- gentleman is wussed to be sae civil as to see the corpse aff quary, as he exchanged his quilted night-gown for an his grounds; ye needna gang higher than the loan-head— old-fashioned black coat in lieu of the snuff-coloured it’s no expected your honour suld leave the land; it’s just a vestment which he ordinarily wore, “and, I presume, it Kelso convoy, a step and a half ower the doorstane.” is expected that I should attend the funeral?” “A Kelso convoy!” echoed the inquisitive Antiquary; “Ou, ay,” answered the faithful Caxon, officiously “and why a Kelso convoy more than any other?” brushing the white threads and specks from his patron’s 322 Sir Walter Scott “Dear sir,” answered Caxon, “how should I ken? it’s also in its courtesy towards womankind, in which it ex- just a by-word.” ceeded)—herein, I say, the feudal usages mitigated and “Caxon,” answered Oldbuck, “thou art a mere periwig- softened the sternness of classical times. No man, Caxon, maker. —Had I asked Ochiltree the question, he would ever heard of a Spartan attending the funeral of a have had a legend ready made to my hand.” Helot—yet I dare be sworn that John of the Girnel— “My business,” replied Caxon, with more animation ye have heard of him, Caxon?” than he commonly displayed, “is with the outside of “Ay, ay, sir,” answered Caxon; “naebody can hae been your honour’s head, as ye are accustomed to say.” lang in your honour’s company without hearing of that “True, Caxon, true; and it is no reproach to a thatcher gentleman.” that he is not an upholsterer.” “Well,” continued the Antiquary, “I would bet a trifle He then took out his memorandum-book and wrote there was not a kolb kerl, or bondsman, or peasant, down “Kelso convoy—said to be a step and a half over ascriptus glebae, died upon the monks’ territories down the threshold. Authority—Caxon.—Quaere—Whence here, but John of the Girnel saw them fairly and de- derived? Mem. To write to Dr. Graysteel upon the sub- cently interred.” ject.” “Ay, but if it like your honour, they say he had mair to Having made this entry, he resumed—“And truly, as do wi’ the births than the burials. Ha! ha! ha!” with a to this custom of the landlord attending the body of gleeful chuckle. the peasant, I approve it, Caxon. It comes from ancient “Good, Caxon, very good!—why, you shine this morn- times, and was founded deep in the notions of mutual ing.” aid and dependence between the lord and cultivator of “And besides,” added Caxon, slyly, encouraged by his the soil. And herein I must say, the feudal system—(as patron’s approbation, “they say, too, that the Catholic

323 The Antiquary priests in thae times gat something for ganging about parlour, “ye maunna be angry.” to burials.” “My dear uncle!” began Miss M’Intyre. “Right, Caxon! right as my glove! By the by, I fancy “What’s the meaning of all this?” said Oldbuck, in that phrase comes from the custom of pledging a glove alarm of some impending bad news, and arguing upon as the signal of irrefragable faith—right, I say, as my the supplicating tone of the ladies, as a fortress appre- glove, Caxon—but we of the Protestant ascendency have hends an attack from the very first flourish of the trum- the more merit in doing that duty for nothing, which pet which announces the summons—“what’s all this?— cost money in the reign of that empress of superstition, what do you bespeak my patience for?” whom Spenser, Caxon, terms in his allegorical phrase, “No particular matter, I should hope, sir,” said Hec- tor, who, with his arm in a sling, was seated at the break- —The daughter of that woman blind, fast table;—“however, whatever it may amount to I am Abessa, daughter of Corecca slow— answerable for it, as I am for much more trouble that I have occasioned, and for which I have little more than But why talk I of these things to thee?—my poor Lovel thanks to offer.” has spoiled me, and taught me to speak aloud when it is “No, no! heartily welcome, heartily welcome—only much the same as speaking to myself. Where’s my let it be a warning to you,” said the Antiquary, “against nephew, Hector M’Intyre?” your fits of anger, which is a short madness—Ira furor “He’s in the parlour, sir, wi’ the leddies.” brevis—but what is this new disaster?” “Very well,” said the Antiquary, “I will betake me “My dog, sir, has unfortunately thrown down”— thither.” “If it please Heaven, not the lachrymatory from “Now, Monkbarns,” said his sister, on his entering the Clochnaben!” interjected Oldbuck.

324 Sir Walter Scott “Indeed, uncle,” said the young lady, “I am afraid—it with breaking into the kitchen after all the doors were was that which stood upon the sideboard—the poor locked, and eating up a shoulder of mutton. “—(Our thing only meant to eat the pat of fresh butter.” readers, if they chance to remember Jenny Rintherout’s “In which she has fully succeeded, I presume, for I see precaution of leaving the door open when she went down that on the table is salted. But that is nothing—my lach- to the fisher’s cottage, will probably acquit poor Juno rymatory, the main pillar of my theory on which I rested of that aggravation of guilt which the lawyers call a to show, in despite of the ignorant obstinacy of Mac- claustrum fregit, and which makes the distinction be- Cribb, that the Romans had passed the defiles of these tween burglary and privately stealing. ) mountains, and left behind them traces of their arts and “I am truly sorry, sir,” said Hector, “that Juno has arms, is gone—annihilated—reduced to such fragments committed so much disorder; but Jack Muirhead, the as might be the shreds of a broken-flowerpot! breaker, was never able to bring her under command. She has more travel than any bitch I ever knew, but”— —Hector, I love thee, “Then, Hector, I wish the bitch would travel herself But never more be officer of mine.” out of my grounds.” “We will both of us retreat to-morrow, or to-day, but I “Why, really, sir, I am afraid I should make a bad fig- would not willingly part from my mother’s brother in ure in a regiment of your raising.” unkindness about a paltry pipkin.” “At least, Hector, I would have you despatch your “O brother! brother!” ejaculated Miss M’Intyre, in ut- camp train, and travel expeditus, or relictis impedimentis. ter despair at this vituperative epithet. You cannot conceive how I am annoyed by this beast— “Why, what would you have me call it?” continued she commits burglary, I believe, for I heard her charged Hector; “it was just such a thing as they use in Egypt to

325 The Antiquary cool wine, or sherbet, or water;—I brought home a pair “But Juno—she is only thoughtless too, I assure you— of them—I might have brought home twenty.” the breaker tells me she has no vice or stubbornness.” “What!” said Oldbuck, “shaped such as that your dog “Well, I grant Juno also a free pardon—conditioned, threw down?” that you will imitate her in avoiding vice and stubborn- “Yes, sir, much such a sort of earthen jar as that which ness, and that henceforward she banish herself forth of was on the sideboard. They are in my lodgings at Monkbarns parlour.” Fairport; we brought a parcel of them to cool our wine “Then, uncle,” said the soldier, “I should have been on the passage—they answer wonderfully well. If I could very sorry and ashamed to propose to you anything in think they would in any degree repay your loss, or rather the way of expiation of my own sins, or those of my that they could afford you pleasure, I am sure I should follower, that I thought worth your acceptance; but now, be much honoured by your accepting them.” as all is forgiven, will you permit the orphan-nephew, to “Indeed, my dear boy, I should be highly gratified by whom you have been a father, to offer you a trifle, which possessing them. To trace the connection of nations by I have been assured is really curious, and which only their usages, and the similarity of the implements which the cross accident of my wound has prevented my de- they employ, has been long my favourite study. Every- livering to you before? I got it from a French savant, to thing that can illustrate such connections is most valu- whom I rendered some service after the Alexandria af- able to me.” fair.” “Well, sir, I shall be much gratified by your accep- The captain put a small ring-case into the Antiquary’s tance of them, and a few trifles of the same kind. And hands, which, when opened, was found to contain an now, am I to hope you have forgiven me?” antique ring of massive gold, with a cameo, most beau- “O, my dear boy, you are only thoughtless and foolish.” tifully executed, bearing a head of Cleopatra. The An-

326 Sir Walter Scott tiquary broke forth into unrepressed ecstasy, shook his should be overwhelmed with queries about its precise nephew cordially by the hand, thanked him an hundred texture and price. Oh, one might parody their brutal times, and showed the ring to his sister and niece, the ignorance in the words of Gray: latter of whom had the tact to give it sufficient admiration; but Miss Griselda (though she had the same affec- Weave the warp and weave the woof, tion for her nephew) had not address enough to follow The winding-sheet of wit and sense, the lead. Dull garment of defensive proof, “It’s a bonny thing,” she said, “Monkbarns, and, I ‘Gainst all that doth not gather pence.” dare say, a valuable; but it’s out o’my way—ye ken I am nae judge o’ sic matters.” The most remarkable proof of this peace-offering be- “There spoke all Fairport in one voice!” exclaimed ing quite acceptable was, that while the Antiquary was Oldbuck “it is the very spirit of the borough has in- in full declamation, Juno, who held him in awe, accord- fected us all; I think I have smelled the smoke these two ing to the remarkable instinct by which dogs instantly days, that the wind has stuck, like a remora, in the north- discover those who like or dislike them, had peeped sev- east—and its prejudices fly farther than its vapours. eral times into the room, and encountering nothing very Believe me, my dear Hector, were I to walk up the High forbidding in his aspect, had at length presumed to in- Street of Fairport, displaying this inestimable gem in troduce her full person; and finally, becoming bold by the eyes of each one I met, no human creature, from impunity, she actually ate up Mr. Oldbuck’s toast, as, the provost to the town-crier, would stop to ask me its looking first at one then at another of his audience, he history. But if I carried a bale of linen cloth under my repeated, with self-complacency, arm, I could not penetrate to the Horsemarket ere I

327 The Antiquary “Weave the warp and weave the woof,— interest you, from the resemblances which I will point out betwixt popular customs on such occasions and those “You remember the passage in the Fatal Sisters, which, of the ancients.” by the way, is not so fine as in the original—But, hey- “Heaven forgive me!” thought M’Intyre;—”I shall cer- day! my toast has vanished!—I see which way—Ah, tainly misbehave, and lose all the credit I have so lately thou type of womankind! no wonder they take offence and accidentally gained.” at thy generic appellation!”—(So saying, he shook his When they set out, schooled as he was by the warning fist at Juno, who scoured out of the parlour.)—“How- and entreating looks of his sister, the soldier made his ever, as Jupiter, according to Homer, could not rule Juno resolution strong to give no offence by evincing inatten- in heaven, and as Jack Muirhead, according to Hector tion or impatience. But our best resolutions are frail, M’Intyre, has been equally unsuccessful on earth, I sup- when opposed to our predominant inclinations. Our pose she must have her own way.” And this mild cen- Antiquary,—to leave nothing unexplained, had com- sure the brother and sister justly accounted a full par- menced with the funeral rites of the ancient Scandina- don for Juno’s offences, and sate down well pleased to vians, when his nephew interrupted him, in a discus- the morning meal. sion upon the “age of hills,” to remark that a large sea- When breakfast was over, the Antiquary proposed to gull, which flitted around them, had come twice within his nephew to go down with him to attend the funeral. shot. This error being acknowledged and pardoned, The soldier pleaded the want of a mourning habit. Oldbuck resumed his disquisition. “O, that does not signify—your presence is all that is “These are circumstances you ought to attend to and requisite. I assure you, you will see something that will be familiar with, my dear Hector; for, in the strange con- entertain—no, that’s an improper phrase—but that will tingencies of the present war which agitates every cor-

328 Sir Walter Scott ner of Europe, there is no knowing where you may be “By no means, sir—by no manner of means. I dare called upon to serve. If in Norway, for example, or Den- say that Edward and Henry, and the rest of these he- mark, or any part of the ancient Scania, or Scandinavia, roes, thought of their dinner, however, before they as we term it, what could be more convenient than to thought of examining an old tombstone. But I assure have at your fingers’ ends the history and antiquities of you, we are by no means insensible to the memoir of that ancient country, the officina gentium, the mother our fathers’ fame; I used often of an evening to get old of modern Europe, the nursery of those heroes, Rory MAlpin to sing us songs out of Ossian about the battles of Fingal and Lamon Mor, and Magnus and the Stern to inflict, and stubborn to endure, Spirit of Muirartach.” Who smiled in death?— “And did you believe,” asked the aroused Antiquary, “did you absolutely believe that stuff of Macpherson’s How animating, for example, at the conclusion of a to be really ancient, you simple boy?” weary march, to find yourself in the vicinity of a Runic “Believe it, sir?—how could I but believe it, when I monument, and discover that you have pitched your tent have heard the songs sung from my infancy?” beside the tomb of a hero!” “But not the same as Macpherson’s English Ossian— “I am afraid, sir, our mess would be better supplied if you’re not absurd enough to say that, I hope?” said the it chanced to be in the neighbourhood of a good poul- Antiquary, his brow darkening with wrath. try-yard.” But Hector stoutly abode the storm; like many a “Alas, that you should say so! No wonder the days of Cressy sturdy Celt, he imagined the honour of his country and and Agincourt are no more, when respect for ancient valour native language connected with the authenticity of these has died away in the breasts of the British soldiery.” popular poems, and would have fought knee-deep, or

329 The Antiquary forfeited life and land, rather than have given up a line “Why, these, sir—these mighty and unconquered of them. He therefore undauntedly maintained, that Goths—were your ancestors! The bare-breeched Celts Rory MAlpin could repeat the whole book from one end whom theysubdued, and suffered only to exist, like a to another;—and it was only upon cross-examination fearful people, in the crevices of the rocks, were but their that he explained an assertion so general, by adding “At Mancipia and Serfs!” least, if he was allowed whisky enough, he could repeat Hector’s brow now grew red in his turn. “Sir,” he said, as long as anybody would hearken to him.” “I don’t understand the meaning of Mancipia and Serfs, “Ay, ay,” said the Antiquary; “and that, I suppose, but I conceive that such names are very improperly ap- was not very long.” plied to Scotch Highlanders: no man but my mother’s “Why, we had our duty, sir, to attend to, and could brother dared to have used such language in my pres- not sit listening all night to a piper.” ence; and I pray you will observe, that I consider it as “But do you recollect, now,” said Oldbuck, setting his neither hospitable, handsome, kind, nor generous usage teeth firmly together, and speaking without opening towards your guest and your kinsman. My ancestors, them, which was his custom when contradicted—“Do Mr. Oldbuck”— you recollect, now, any of these verses you thought so “Were great and gallant chiefs, I dare say, Hector; and beautiful and interesting—being a capital judge, no really I did not mean to give you such immense offence doubt, of such things?” in treating a point of remote antiquity, a subject on “I don’t pretend to much skill, uncle; but it’s not very which I always am myself cool, deliberate, and unim- reasonable to be angry with me for admiring the antiq- passioned. But you are as hot and hasty, as if you were uities of my own country more than those of the Hector and Achilles, and Agamemnon to boot.” Harolds, Harfagers, and Hacos you are so fond of.” “I am sorry I expressed myself so hastily, uncle, espe-

330 Sir Walter Scott cially to you, who have been so generous and good. But length, having premised that the poem was a dialogue my ancestors”— between the poet Oisin, or Ossian, and Patrick, the tute- “No more about it, lad; I meant them no affront— lar Saint of Ireland, and that it was difficult, if not im- none.” possible, to render the exquisite felicity of the first two “I’m glad of it, sir; for the house of M’Intyre”— or three lines, he said the sense was to this purpose: “Peace be with them all, every man of them,” said the Antiquary. “But to return to our subject—Do you “Patrick the psalm-singer, recollect, I say, any of those poems which afforded you Since you will not listen to one of my stories, such amusement?” Though you never heard it before, “Very hard this,” thought M’Intyre, “that he will I am sorry to tell you speak with such glee of everything which is ancient, ex- You are little better than an ass”— cepting my family. “—Then, after some efforts at recollection, he added aloud, “Yes, sir,—I think I do remem- “Good! good!” exclaimed the Antiquary; “but go on. ber some lines; but you do not understand the Gaelic Why, this is, after all, the most admirable fooling—I language.” dare say the poet was very right. What says the Saint?” “And will readily excuse hearing it. But you can give “He replies in character,” said M’Intyre; “but you me some idea of the sense in our own vernacular idiom?” should hear MAlpin sing the original. The speeches of “I shall prove a wretched interpreter,” said M’Intyre, Ossian come in upon a strong deep bass—those of running over the original, well garnished with aghes, aughs, Patrick are upon a tenor key.” and oughs, and similar gutterals, and then coughing and “Like MAlpin’s drone and small pipes, I suppose,” said hawking as if the translation stuck in his throat. At Oldbuck. “Well? Pray go on.”

331 The Antiquary “Well then, Patrick replies to Ossian: “Son of a what?” exclaimed Oldbuck. Upon my word, son of Fingal, “It means, I think,” said the young soldier, with some While I am warbling the psalms, reluctance, “son of a female dog: The clamour of your old women’s tales Disturbs my devotional exercises.” Do you compare your psalms, To the tales of the bare-arm’d Fenians” “Excellent!—why, this is better and better. I hope Saint Patrick sung better than Blattergowl’s precentor, “Are you sure you are translating that last epithet cor- or it would be hang—choice between the poet and psalm- rectly, Hector?” ist. But what I admire is the courtesy of these two emi- “Quite sure, sir,” answered Hector, doggedly. nent persons towards each other. It is a pity there should “Because I should have thought the nudity might have not be a word of this in Macpherson’s translation.” been quoted as existing in a different part of the body.” “If you are sure of that,” said M’Intyre, gravely, “he must Disdaining to reply to this insinuation, Hector pro- have taken very unwarrantable liberties with his original.” ceeded in his recitation: “It will go near to be thought so shortly—but pray proceed.” “I shall think it no great harm “Then,” said M’Intyre, “this is the answer of Ossian: To wring your bald head from your shoulders—

Dare you compare your psalms, But what is that yonder?” exclaimed Hector, interrupt- You son of a—” ing himself.

332 Sir Walter Scott “One of the herd of Proteus,” said the Antiquary— best of it! I am glad to see it,” said he, in the bitterness “a phoca, or seal, lying asleep on the beach.” of his heart, though really alarmed for his nephew’s Upon which M’Intyre, with the eagerness of a young safety—“I am glad to see it, with all my heart and sportsman, totally forgot both Ossian, Patrick, his uncle, spirit.” and his wound, and exclaiming—“I shall have her! I In truth, the seal, finding her retreat intercepted by shall have her!” snatched the walking-stick out of the the light-footed soldier, confronted him manfully, and hand of the astonished Antiquary, at some risk of throw- having sustained a heavy blow without injury, she knit- ing him down, and set off at full speed to get between ted her brows, as is the fashion of the animal when in- the animal and the sea, to which element, having caught censed, and making use at once of her fore-paws and the alarm, she was rapidly retreating. her unwieldy strength, wrenched the weapon out of the Not Sancho, when his master interrupted his account assailant’s hand, overturned him on the sands, and of the combatants of Pentapolin with the naked arm, scuttled away into the sea, without doing him any far- to advance in person to the charge of the flock of sheep, ther injury. Captain M’Intyre, a good deal out of coun- stood more confounded than Oldbuck at this sudden tenance at the issue of his exploit, just rose in time to escapade of his nephew. receive the ironical congratulations of his uncle, upon a “Is the devil in him,” was his first exclamation, “to go single combat worthy to be commemorated by Ossian to disturb the brute that was never thinking of him!”— himself, “since,” said the Antiquary, “your magnani- Then elevating his voice, “Hector—nephew—fool—let mous opponent has fled, though not upon eagle’s wings, alone the Phoca—let alone the Phoca!—they bite, I tell from the foe that was low—Egad, she walloped away you, like furies. He minds me no more than a post. with all the grace of triumph, and has carried my stick There—there they are at it—Gad, the Phoca has the off also, by way of spolia opima.”

333 The Antiquary M’Intyre had little to answer for himself, except that a Highlander could never pass a deer, a seal, or a salmon, where there was a possibility of having a trial of skill CHAPTER TENTH 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 escape the farther rail- Tell me not of it, friend—when the young weep, Their tears are luke-warm brine;—from your old eyes lery of his uncle, as well as his lamentations for his walk- Sorrow falls down like hail-drops of the North, ing-stick. Chilling the furrows of our withered cheeks, “I cut it,” he said, “in the classic woods of Cold as our hopes, and hardened as our feeling— Theirs, as they fall, sink sightless—ours recoil, Hawthornden, when I did not expect always to have Heap the fair plain, and bleaken all before us. been a bachelor—I would not have given it for an ocean of seals—O Hector! Hector!—thy namesake was born Old Play. to be the prop of Troy, and thou to be the plague of Monkbarns!” 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 had now, 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 334 Sir Walter Scott favourable, the chant, which is used by the fishers when had faced many a stormy night and night-like day. He at sea, was silent, as well as the prattle of the children, was apparently revolving his loss in his mind, with that and the shrill song of the mother, as she sits mending strong feeling of painful grief peculiar to harsh and her nets by the door. A few of the neighbours, some in rough characters, which almost breaks forth into ha- their antique and well-saved suits of black, others in tred against the world, and all that remain in it, after their ordinary clothes, but all bearing an expression of the beloved object is withdrawn. The old man had made mournful sympathy with distress so sudden and unex- the most desperate efforts to save his son, and had only pected, stood gathered around the door of been withheld by main force from renewing them at a Mucklebackit’s cottage, waiting till “the body was moment when, without the possibility of assisting the lifted.” As the Laird of Monkbarns approached, they sufferer, he must himself have perished. All this appar- made way for him to enter, doffing their hats and bon- ently was boiling in his recollection. His glance was di- nets as he passed, with an air of melancholy courtesy, rected sidelong towards the coffin, as to an object on and he returned their salutes in the same manner. which he could not stedfastly look, and yet from which In the inside of the cottage was a scene which our he could not withdraw his eyes. His answers to the nec- Wilkie alone could have painted, with that exquisite feel- essary questions which were occasionally put to him, ing of nature that characterises his enchanting produc- were brief, harsh, and almost fierce. His family had not tions, yet dared to address to him a word, either of sympathy The body was laid in its coffin within the wooden bed- or consolation. His masculine wife, virago as she was, stead which the young fisher had occupied while alive. and absolute mistress of the family, as she justly boasted At a little distance stood the father, whose ragged herself, on all ordinary occasions, was, by this great loss, weather-beaten countenance, shaded by his grizzled hair, terrified into silence and submission, and compelled to

335 The Antiquary hide from her husband’s observation the bursts of her bosom, which the covering could not conceal. Two of female sorrow. As he had rejected food ever since the her gossips, officiously whispering into her ear the com- disaster had happened, not daring herself to approach monplace topic of resignation under irremediable mis- him, she had that morning, with affectionate artifice, fortune, seemed as if they were endeavouring to stun employed the youngest and favourite child to present the grief which they could not console. her husband with some nourishment. His first action The sorrow of the children was mingled with wonder was to put it from him with an angry violence that at the preparations they beheld around them, and at frightened the child; his next, to snatch up the boy and the unusual display of wheaten bread and wine, which devour him with kisses. “Yell be a bra’ fallow, an ye be the poorest peasant, or fisher, offers to the guests on spared, Patie,—but ye’ll never—never can be—what he these mournful occasions; and thus their grief for their was to me!—He has sailed the coble wi’ me since he was brother’s death was almost already lost in admiration ten years auld, and there wasna the like o’ him drew a of the splendour of his funeral. net betwixt this and Buchan-ness.—They say folks But the figure of the old grandmother was the most maun submit—I will try.” remarkable of the sorrowing group. Seated on her ac- And he had been silent from that moment until com- customed chair, with her usual air of apathy, and want pelled to answer the necessary questions we have already of interest in what surrounded her, she seemed every noticed. Such was the disconsolate state of the father. now and then mechanically to resume the motion of In another corner of the cottage, her face covered by twirling her spindle; then to look towards her bosom for her apron, which was flung over it, sat the mother—the the distaff, although both had been laid aside. She would nature of her grief sufficiently indicated by the wring- then cast her eyes about, as if surprised at missing the ing of her hands, and the convulsive agitation of the usual implements of her industry, and appear struck by

336 Sir Walter Scott the black colour of the gown in which they had dressed sions, wine and spirits and bread were offered round to her, and embarrassed by the number of persons by whom the guests. Elspeth, as these refreshments were pre- she was surrounded. Then, finally, she would raise her sented, surprised and startled the whole company by head with a ghastly look, and fix her eyes upon the bed motioning to the person who bore them to stop; then, which contained the coffin of her grandson, as if she taking a glass in her hand, she rose up, and, as the smile had at once, and for the first time, acquired sense to of dotage played upon her shrivelled features, she pro- comprehend her inexpressible calamity. These alternate nounced, with a hollow and tremulous voice, “Wishing feelings of embarrassment, wonder, and grief, seemed a’ your healths, sirs, and often may we hae such merry to succeed each other more than once upon her torpid meetings!” features. But she spoke not a word—neither had she All shrunk from the ominous pledge, and set down the shed a tear—nor did one of the family understand, ei- untasted liquor with a degree of shuddering horror, ther from look or expression, to what extent she com- which will not surprise those who know how many su- prehended the uncommon bustle around her. Thus she perstitions are still common on such occasions among sat among the funeral assembly like a connecting link the Scottish vulgar. But as the old woman tasted the between the surviving mourners and the dead corpse liquor, she suddenly exclaimed with a sort of shriek, which they bewailed—a being in whom the light of ex- “What’s this?—this is wine—how should there be wine istence was already obscured by the encroaching shad- in my son’s house?—Ay,” she continued with a sup- ows of death. pressed groan, “I mind the sorrowful cause now,” and, When Oldbuck entered this house of mourning, he was dropping the glass from her hand, she stood a moment received by a general and silent inclination of the head, gazing fixedly on the bed in which the coffin of her and, according to the fashion of Scotland on such occa- grandson was deposited, and then sinking gradually into

337 The Antiquary her seat, she covered her eyes and forehead with her with- the said Blattergowl, though I own he could seldom, even ered and pallid hand. by his sense of decency and the remonstrances of his At this moment the clergyman entered the cottage. womankind, be hounded out, as he called it, to hear him Mr. Blattergowl, though a dreadful proser, particularly preach. But he regularly took shame to himself for his on the subject of augmentations, localities, teinds, and absence when Blattergowl came to Monkbarns to din- overtures in that session of the General Assembly, to ner, to which he was always invited of a Sunday, a mode which, unfortunately for his auditors, he chanced one of testifying his respect which the proprietor probably year to act as moderator, was nevertheless a good man, thought fully as agreeable to the clergyman, and rather in the old Scottish presbyterian phrase, God-ward and more congenial to his own habits. man-ward. No divine was more attentive in visiting the To return from a digression which can only serve to sick and afflicted, in catechising the youth, in instruct- introduce the honest clergyman more particularly to our ing the ignorant, and in reproving the erring. And hence, readers, Mr. Blattergowl had no sooner entered the hut, notwithstanding impatience of his prolixity and preju- and received the mute and melancholy salutations of dices, personal or professional, and notwithstanding, the company whom it contained, than he edged himself moreover, a certain habitual contempt for his under- towards the unfortunate father, and seemed to endeav- standing, especially on affairs of genius and taste, on our to slide in a few words of condolence or of consola- which Blattergowl was apt to be diffuse, from his hope tion. But the old man was incapable as yet of receiving of one day fighting his way to a chair of rhetoric or either; he nodded, however, gruffly, and shook the belles lettres,—notwithstanding, I say, all the prejudices clergyman’s hand in acknowledgment of his good in- excited against him by these circumstances, our friend tentions, but was either unable or unwilling to make any the Antiquary looked with great regard and respect on verbal reply.

338 Sir Walter Scott The minister next passed to the mother, moving along shrewd and caustic temper, were apt to start on such the floor as slowly, silently, and gradually, as if he had occasions. The female assistants whimpered, the men been afraid that the ground would, like unsafe ice, break held their bonnets to their faces, and spoke apart with beneath his feet, or that the first echo of a footstep was each other. The clergyman, meantime, addressed his to dissolve some magic spell, and plunge the hut, with ghostly consolation to the aged grandmother. At first all its inmates, into a subterranean abyss. The tenor of she listened, or seemed to listen, to what he said, with what he had said to the poor woman could only be judged the apathy of her usual unconsciousness. But as, in by her answers, as, half-stifled by sobs ill-repressed, and pressing this theme, he approached so near to her ear by the covering which she still kept over her countenance, that the sense of his words became distinctly intelligible she faintly answered at each pause in his speech—“Yes, to her, though unheard by those who stood more dis- sir, yes!—Ye’re very gude—ye’re very gude!—Nae tant, her countenance at once assumed that stern and doubt, nae doubt!—It’s our duty to submit!—But, oh expressive cast which characterized her intervals of in- dear! my poor Steenie! the pride o’ my very heart, that telligence. She drew up her head and body, shook her was sae handsome and comely, and a help to his family, head in a manner that showed at least impatience, if and a comfort to us a’, and a pleasure to a’ that lookit not scorn of his counsel, and waved her hand slightly, on him!—Oh, my bairn! my bairn! my bairn! what for but with a gesture so expressive, as to indicate to all is thou lying there!—and eh! what for am I left to greet who witnessed it a marked and disdainful rejection of for ye!” the ghostly consolation proffered to her. The minister There was no contending with this burst of sorrow stepped back as if repulsed, and, by lifting gently and and natural affection. Oldbuck had repeated recourse dropping his hand, seemed to show at once wonder, sor- to his snuff-box to conceal the tears which, despite his row, and compassion for her dreadful state of mind. The

339 The Antiquary rest of the company sympathized, and a stifled whisper nearest relation of the family made a sign to the car- went through them, indicating how much her desperate penter, who in such cases goes through the duty of the and determined manner impressed them with awe, and undertaker, to proceed in his office. The creak of the even horror. screw-nails presently announced that the lid of the last In the meantime, the funeral company was completed, mansion of mortality was in the act of being secured by the arrival of one or two persons who had been ex- above its tenant. The last act which separates us for ever, pected from Fairport. The wine and spirits again circu- even from the mortal relies of the person we assemble lated, and the dumb show of greeting was anew inter- to mourn, has usually its effect upon the most indiffer- changed. The grandame a second time took a glass in ent, selfish, and hard-hearted. With a spirit of contra- her hand, drank its contents, and exclaimed, with a sort diction, which we may be pardoned for esteeming nar- of laugh,—“Ha! ha! I hae tasted wine twice in ae day— row-minded, the fathers of the Scottish kirk rejected, Whan did I that before, think ye, cummers?—Never even on this most solemn occasion, the form of an ad- since”—and the transient glow vanishing from her coun- dress to the Divinity, lest they should be thought to give tenance, she set the glass down, and sunk upon the settle countenance to the rituals of Rome or of England. With from whence she had risen to snatch at it. much better and more liberal judgment, it is the present As the general amazement subsided, Mr. Oldbuck, practice of most of the Scottish clergymen to seize this whose heart bled to witness what he considered as the opportunity of offering a prayer, and exhortation, suit- errings of the enfeebled intellect struggling with the able to make an impression upon the living, while they torpid chill of age and of sorrow, observed to the cler- are yet in the very presence of the relics of him whom gyman that it was time to proceed with the ceremony. they have but lately seen such as they themselves, and The father was incapable of giving directions, but the who now is such as they must in their time become. But

340 Sir Walter Scott this decent and praiseworthy practice was not adopted should never want sax warp of oysters in the season” at the time of which I am treating, or at least, Mr. (of which fish he was understood to be fond), “if she Blattergowl did not act upon it, and the ceremony pro- should gang to sea and dredge for them hersell, in the ceeded without any devotional exercise. foulest wind that ever blew.” And such is the temper of The coffin, covered with a pall, and supported upon the Scottish common people, that, by this instance of hand-spikes by the nearest relatives, now only waited compliance with their customs, and respect for their the father to support the head, as is customary. Two or persons, Mr. Oldbuck gained more popularity than by three of these privileged persons spoke to him, but he all the sums which he had yearly distributed in the par- only answered by shaking his hand and his head in to- ish for purposes of private or general charity. ken of refusal. With better intention than judgment, The sad procession now moved slowly forward, preceded the friends, who considered this as an act of duty on the by the beadles, or saulies, with their batons,—miserable- part of the living, and of decency towards the deceased, looking old men, tottering as if on the edge of that grave would have proceeded to enforce their request, had not to which they were marshalling another, and clad, ac- Oldbuck interfered between the distressed father and cording to Scottish guise, with threadbare black coats, his well-meaning tormentors, and informed them, that and hunting-caps decorated with rusty crape. Monkbarns he himself, as landlord and master to the deceased, would probably have remonstrated against this superflu- “would carry his head to the grave.” In spite of the sor- ous expense, had he been consulted; but, in doing so, he rowful occasion, the hearts of the relatives swelled within would have given more offence than he gained popular- them at so marked a distinction on the part of the laird; ity by condescending to perform the office of chief- and old Alison Breck, who was present among other fish- mourner. Of this he was quite aware, and wisely with- women, swore almost aloud, “His honour Monkbarns held rebuke, where rebuke and advice would have been

341 The Antiquary equally unavailing. In truth, the Scottish peasantry are The clergyman offered our Antiquary his company to still infected with that rage for funeral ceremonial, which walk homeward; but Mr. Oldbuck had been so much once distinguished the grandees of the kingdom so much, struck with the deportment of the fisherman and his that a sumptuary law was made by the Parliament of mother, that, moved by compassion, and perhaps also, Scotland for the purpose of restraining it; and I have in some degree, by that curiosity which induces us to known many in the lowest stations, who have denied seek out even what gives us pain to witness, he preferred themselves not merely the comforts, but almost the nec- a solitary walk by the coast, for the purpose of again essaries of life, in order to save such a sum of money as visiting the cottage as he passed. might enable their surviving friends to bury them like Christians, as they termed it; nor could their faithful ex- ecutors be prevailed upon, though equally necessitous, to turn to the use and maintenance of the living the money vainly wasted upon the interment of the dead. The procession to the churchyard, at about half-a- mile’s distance, was made with the mournful solemnity usual on these occasions,—the body was consigned to its parent earth,—and when the labour of the gravediggers 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 melancholy silence, and with that adieu dispersed the mourners.

342 Sir Walter Scott to give the unhappy pair time and opportunity to open their hearts to each other and soften their grief by com- CHAPTER ELEVENTH municating 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 be- What is this secret sin, this untold tale, hind her, when the father, first ascertaining by a hasty That art cannot extract, nor penance cleanse? —Her muscles hold their place; glance that no stranger remained, started up, clasped Nor discomposed, nor formed to steadiness, his hands wildly above his head, uttered a cry of the No sudden flushing, and no faltering lip.— despair which he had hitherto repressed, and, in all the Mysterious Mother. 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

THE COFFIN had been borne from the place where it were, his head among the bed-clothes, gave vent to the rested. The mourners, in regular gradation, according full passion of his sorrow. It was in vain that the to their rank or their relationship to the deceased, had wretched mother, terrified by the vehemence of her filed from the cottage, while the younger male children husband’s affliction—affliction still more fearful as agi- were led along to totter after the bier of their brother, tating a man of hardened manners and a robust frame— and to view with wonder a ceremonial which they could suppressed her own sobs and tears, and, pulling him by hardly comprehend. The female gossips next rose to the skirts of his coat, implored him to rise and remem- depart, and, with consideration for the situation of the ber, that, though one was removed, he had still a wife parents, carried along with them the girls of the family, and children to comfort and support. The appeal came

343 The Antiquary at too early a period of his anguish, and was totally those that remain in this vale of sorrow and darkness— unattended to; he continued to remain prostrate, indi- I, wha dinna sorrow, and wha canna sorrow for ony ane, cating, by sobs so bitter and violent, that they shook hae maist need that ye should a’ sorrow for me.” the bed and partition against which it rested, by clenched The voice of his mother, not heard for years as taking hands which grasped the bed-clothes, and by the vehe- part in the active duties of life, or offering advice or ment and convulsive motion of his legs, how deep and consolation, produced its effect upon her son. He as- how terrible was the agony of a father’s sorrow. sumed a sitting posture on the side of the bed, and his “O, what a day is this! what a day is this!” said the appearance, attitude, and gestures, changed from those poor mother, her womanish affliction already exhausted of angry despair to deep grief and dejection. The grand- by sobs and tears, and now almost lost in terror for the mother retired to her nook, the mother mechanically state in which she beheld her husband—“O, what an took in her hand her tattered Bible, and seemed to read, hour is this! and naebody to help a poor lone woman— though her eyes were drowned with tears. O, gudemither, could ye but speak a word to him!—wad They were thus occupied, when a loud knock was heard ye but bid him be comforted!” at the door. To her astonishment, and even to the increase of her “Hegh, sirs!” said the poor mother, “wha is that can fear, her husband’s mother heard and answered the ap- be coming in that gate e’enow?—They canna hae heard peal. She rose and walked across the floor without sup- o’ our misfortune, I’m sure.” port, and without much apparent feebleness, and stand- The knock being repeated, she rose and opened the ing by the bed on which her son had extended himself, door, saying querulously, “Whatna gait’s that to disturb she said, “Rise up, my son, and sorrow not for him that a sorrowfu’ house?” is beyond sin and sorrow and temptation. Sorrow is for A tall man in black stood before her, whom she in-

344 Sir Walter Scott stantly recognised to be Lord Glenallan. “Is there not,” visitor’s entrance impossible. But the voice of her hus- he said, “an old woman lodging in this or one of the band was heard from within—“Wha’s that, Maggie? neighbouring cottages, called Elspeth, who was long what for are ye steaking them out?—let them come in; resident at Craigburnfoot of Glenallan?” it doesna signify an auld rope’s end wha comes in or “It’s my gudemither, my lord,” said Margaret; “but wha gaes out o’ this house frae this time forward.” she canna see onybody e’enow—Ohon! we’re dreeing a The woman stood aside at her husband’s command, sair weird—we hae had a heavy dispensation!” and permitted Lord Glenallan to enter the hut. The de- “God forbid,” said Lord Glenallan, “that I should on jection exhibited in his broken frame and emaciated light occasion disturb your sorrow;—but my days are countenance, formed a strong contrast with the effects numbered—your mother-in-law is in the extremity of of grief, as they were displayed in the rude and age, and, if I see her not to-day, we may never meet on weatherbeaten visage of the fisherman, and the mascu- this side of time.” line features of his wife. He approached the old woman “And what,” answered the desolate mother, “wad ye as she was seated on her usual settle, and asked her, in a see at an auld woman, broken down wi’ age and sorrow tone as audible as his voice could make it, “Are you and heartbreak? Gentle or semple shall not darken my Elspeth of the Craigburnfoot of Glenallan?” door the day my bairn’s been carried out a corpse.” “Wha is it that asks about the unhallowed residence While she spoke thus, indulging the natural irritabil- of that evil woman?” was the answer returned to his ity of disposition and profession, which began to mingle query. itself with her grief when its first uncontrolled bursts “The unhappy Earl of Glenallan.” were gone by, she held the door about one-third part “Earl!—Earl of Glenallan!” open, and placed herself in the gap, as if to render the “He who was called William Lord Geraldin,” said the

345 The Antiquary Earl; “and whom his mother’s death has made Earl of she now beheld. As she finished her scrutiny, she said, Glenallan.” with a deep sigh, “It’s a sair—sair change; and wha’s “Open the bole,” said the old woman firmly and hast- fault is it?—but that’s written down where it will be ily to her daughter-in-law, “open the bole wi’ speed, that remembered—it’s written on tablets of brass with a pen I may see if this be the right Lord Geraldin—the son of of steel, where all is recorded that is done in the flesh.— my mistress—him that I received in my arms within And what,” she said after a pause, “what is Lord the hour after he was born—him that has reason to curse Geraldin seeking from a poor auld creature like me, that’s me that I didna smother him before the hour was past!” dead already, and only belongs sae far to the living that The window, which had been shut in order that a she isna yet laid in the moulds?” gloomy twilight might add to the solemnity of the fu- “Nay,” answered Lord Glenallan, “in the name of neral meeting, was opened as she commanded, and threw Heaven, why was it that you requested so urgently to a sudden and strong light through the smoky and misty see me?—and why did you back your request by send- atmosphere of the stifling cabin. Falling in a stream upon ing a token which you knew well I dared not refuse?” the chimney, the rays illuminated, in the way that As he spoke thus, he took from his purse the ring which Rembrandt would have chosen, the features of the un- Edie Ochiltree had delivered to him at Glenallan House. fortunate nobleman, and those of the old sibyl, who now, The sight of this token produced a strange and instan- standing upon her feet, and holding him by one hand, taneous effect upon the old woman. The palsy of fear peered anxiously in his features with her light-blue eyes, was immediately added to that of age, and she began and holding her long and withered fore-finger within a instantly to search her pockets with the tremulous and small distance of his face, moved it slowly as if to trace hasty agitation of one who becomes first apprehensive the outlines and reconcile what she recollected with that of having lost something of great importance;—then,

346 Sir Walter Scott as if convinced of the reality of her fears, she turned to manded them imperatively to quit the house, and leave the Earl, and demanded, “And how came ye by it then?— Lord Geraldin (for so she still called him) alone with how came ye by it? I thought I had kept it sae securely— her. But Maggie Mucklebackit, her first burst of grief what will the Countess say?” being over, was by no means disposed in her own house “You know,” said the Earl, “at least you must have to pay passive obedience to the commands of her heard, that my mother is dead.” mother-in-law, an authority which is peculiarly obnox- “Dead! are ye no imposing upon me? has she left a’ at ious to persons in her rank of life, and which she was last, lands and lordship and lineages?” the more astonished at hearing revived, when it seemed “All, all,” said the Earl, “as mortals must leave all hu- to have been so long relinquished and forgotten. man vanities.” “It was an unco thing,” she said, in a grumbling tone “I mind now,” answered Elspeth—“I heard of it be- of voice,—for the rank of Lord Glenallan was somewhat fore but there has been sic distress in our house since, imposing—“it was an unco thing to bid a mother leave and my memory is sae muckle impaired—But ye are her ain house wi’ the tear in her ee, the moment her el- sure your mother, the Lady Countess, is gane hame?” dest son had been carried a corpse out at the door o’t.” The Earl again assured her that her former mistress The fisherman, in a stubborn and sullen tone, added was no more. to the same purpose. “This is nae day for your auld- “Then,” said Elspeth, “it shall burden my mind nae warld stories, mother. My lord, if he be a lord, may ca’ langer!—When she lived, wha dared to speak what it some other day—or he may speak out what he has got- would hae displeased her to hae had noised abroad? But ten to say if he likes it; there’s nane here will think it she’s gane—and I will confess all.” worth their while to listen to him or you either. But nei- Then turning to her son and daughter-in-law, she com- ther for laird or loon, gentle or semple, will I leave my

347 The Antiquary ain house to pleasure onybody on the very day my The terms of this solemn charge revived in the poor”— fisherman’s heart the habit of instinctive obedience in Here his voice choked, and he could proceed no far- which his mother had trained him up, and to which he ther; but as he had risen when Lord Glenallan came in, had submitted implicitly while her powers of exacting and had since remained standing, he now threw himself it remained entire. The recollection mingled also with doggedly upon a seat, and remained in the sullen pos- the prevailing passion of the moment; for, glancing his ture of one who was determined to keep his word. eye at the bed on which the dead body had been laid, he But the old woman, whom this crisis seemed to repos- muttered to himself, “He never disobeyed me, in reason sess in all those powers of mental superiority with which or out o’ reason, and what for should I vex her?” Then, she had once been eminently gifted, arose, and advanc- taking his reluctant spouse by the arm, he led her gen- ing towards him, said, with a solemn voice, “My son, as tly out of the cottage, and latched the door behind them ye wad shun hearing of your mother’s shame—as ye as he left it. wad not willingly be a witness of her guilt—as ye wad As the unhappy parents withdrew, Lord Glenallan, to deserve her blessing and avoid her curse, I charge ye, by prevent the old woman from relapsing into her lethargy, the body that bore and that nursed ye, to leave me at again pressed her on the subject of the communication freedom to speak with Lord Geraldin, what nae mortal which she proposed to make to him. ears but his ain maun listen to. Obey my words, that “Ye will have it sune eneugh,” she replied;—“my when ye lay the moulds on my head—and, oh that the mind’s clear eneugh now, and there is not—I think there day were come!—ye may remember this hour without is not—a chance of my forgetting what I have to say. the reproach of having disobeyed the last earthly com- My dwelling at Craigburnfoot is before my een, as it were mand that ever your mother wared on you.” present in reality:—the green bank, with its selvidge,

348 Sir Walter Scott just where the burn met wi’ the sea—the twa little barks, have thrown out! I well know you are confidant to one wi’ their sails furled, lying in the natural cove which it dreadful secret, which should split this roof even to hear formed—the high cliff that joined it with the pleasure- it named—but speak on farther.” grounds of the house of Glenallan, and hung right ower “I will,” she said—“I will!—just bear wi’ me for a the stream—Ah! yes—I may forget that I had a hus- little;”—and again she seemed lost in recollection, but band and have lost him—that I hae but ane alive of our it was no longer tinged with imbecility or apathy. She four fair sons—that misfortune upon misfortune has de- was now entering upon the topic which had long loaded voured our ill-gotten wealth—that they carried the her mind, and which doubtless often occupied her whole corpse of my son’s eldest-born frae the house this morn- soul at times when she seemed dead to all around her. ing. —But I never can forget the days I spent at bonny And I may add, as a remarkable fact, that such was the Craigburnfoot!” intense operation of mental energy upon her physical “You were a favourite of my mother,” said Lord powers and nervous system, that, notwithstanding her Glenallan, desirous to bring her back to the point, from infirmity of deafness, each word that Lord Glenallan which she was wandering. spoke during this remarkable conference, although in “I was, I was,—ye needna mind me o’ that. She the lowest tone of horror or agony, fell as full and dis- brought me up abune my station, and wi’ knowledge tinct upon Elspeth’s ear as it could have done at any mair than my fellows—but, like the tempter of auld, period of her life. She spoke also herself clearly, dis- wi’ the knowledge of gude she taught me the knowledge tinctly, and slowly, as if anxious that the intelligence of evil.” she communicated should be fully understood; concisely “For God’s sake, Elspeth,” said the astonished Earl, at the same time, and with none of the verbiage or “proceed, if you can, to explain the dreadful hints you circumlocutory additions natural to those of her sex and

349 The Antiquary condition. In short, her language bespoke a better education, as well as an uncommonly firm and resolved mind, and a character of that sort from which great CHAPTER TWELFTH virtues or great crimes may be naturally expected. The tenor of her communication is disclosed in the following chapter. Remorse—she neer 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 chilled our joints, And maimed our hope of combat, or of flight, We hear her deep-mouthed bay, announcing all Of wrath, and wo, 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 tri-

350 Sir Walter Scott fling act of disobedience, reported to your mother by “God! for what reason, since a creature so mild, so ane that thought, and she wasna wrang, that I was a gentle, so formed to inspire affection, never walked on spy upon her actions and yours.” this wretched world?” “I charge thee, woman,” said the Earl, in a voice trem- “It may hae been sae,” rejoined Elspeth, “but your bling with passion, “name not her name in my hear- mother hated a’ that cam of your father’s family—a’ ing!” but himsell. Her reasons related to strife which fell be- “I must,” returned the penitent firmly and calmly, “or tween them soon after her marriage; the particulars are how can you understand me?” naething to this purpose. But oh! doubly did she hate The Earl leaned upon one of the wooden chairs of the Eveline Neville when she perceived that there was a hut, drew his hat over his face, clenched his hands to- growing kindness atween you and that unfortunate gether, set his teeth like one who summons up courage young leddy! Ye may mind that the Countess’s dislike to undergo a painful operation, and made a signal to didna gang farther at first than just showing o’ the cauld her to proceed. shouther—at least it wasna seen farther; but at the lang “I say, then,” she resumed, “that my disgrace with run it brak out into such downright violence that Miss my mistress was chiefly owing to Miss Eveline Neville, Neville was even fain to seek refuge at Knockwinnock then bred up in Glenallan House as the daughter of a Castle with Sir Arthur’s leddy, wha (God sain her!) was cousin-german and intimate friend of your father that then wi’ the living.” was gane. There was muckle mystery in her history,— “You rend my heart by recalling these particulars— but wha dared to inquire farther than the Countess liked But go on,—and may my present agony be accepted as to tell?—All in Glenallan House loved Miss Neville—all additional penance for the involuntary crime!” but twa, your mother and mysell—we baith hated her.” “She had been absent some months,” continued

351 The Antiquary Elspeth, “when I was ae night watching in my hut the her as proudly as hersell nearly—As sure as you are the return of my husband from fishing, and shedding in daughter of that Earl of Glenallan whom my father private those bitter tears that my proud spirit wrung saved that day by his own death.’” frae me whenever I thought on my disgrace. The sneck Here she made a deep pause. was drawn, and the Countess your mother entered my “And what followed?—what followed?—For Heaven’s dwelling. I thought I had seen a spectre, for even in the sake, good woman—But why should I use that word?— height of my favour, this was an honour she had never Yet, good or bad, I command you to tell me.” done me, and she looked as pale and ghastly as if she “And little I should value earthly command,” answered had risen from the grave. She sat down, and wrung the Elspeth, “were there not a voice that has spoken to me draps from her hair and cloak,—for the night was driz- sleeping and waking, that drives me forward to tell this zling, and her walk had been through the plantations, sad tale. Aweel, my Lord—the Countess said to me, My that were a’ loaded with dew. I only mention these things son loves Eveline Neville—they are agreed—they are that you may understand how weel that night lives in plighted: should they have a son, my right over Glenallan my memory,—and weel it may. I was surprised to see merges—I sink from that moment from a Countess into her, but I durstna speak first, mair than if I had seen a a miserable stipendiary dowager, I who brought lands phantom—Na, I durst not, my lord, I that hae seen and vassals, and high blood and ancient fame, to my mony sights of terror, and never shook at them. Sae, husband, I must cease to be mistress when my son has after a silence, she said, Elspeth Cheyne (for she always an heir-male. But I care not for that—had he married gave me my maiden name), are not ye the daughter of any but one of the hated Nevilles, I had been patient. that Reginald Cheyne who died to save his master, Lord But for them—that they and their descendants should Glenallan, on the field of Sheriffmuir?’ And I answered enjoy the right and honours of my ancestors, goes

352 Sir Walter Scott through my heart like a two-edged dirk. And this girl— front offered by a heedless school-girl without intention, I detest her!’—And I answered, for my heart kindled at with a degree of inveteracy which, at such a distance of her words, that her hate was equalled by mine.” time, a mortal offence would neither have authorized or “Wretch!” exclaimed the Earl, in spite of his determi- excited in any well-constituted mind)—“Yes, she scorned nation to preserve silence—”wretched woman! what and jested at me—but let them that scorn the tartan cause of hate could have arisen from a being so inno- fear the dirk!” cent and gentle?” She paused, and then went on—“But I deny not that “I hated what my mistress hated, as was the use with I hated her mair than she deserved. My mistress, the the liege vassals of the house of Glenallan; for though, Countess, persevered and said, Elspeth Cheyne, this my Lord, I married under my degree, yet an ancestor unruly boy will marry with the false English blood. Were of yours never went to the field of battle, but an ances- days as they have been, I could throw her into the tor of the frail, demented, auld, useless wretch wha now Massymore* of Glenallan, and fetter him in the Keep speaks with you, carried his shield before him. But that of Strathbonnel. was not a’,” continued the beldam, her earthly and evil But these times are past, and the authority which the passions rekindling as she became heated in her narra- nobles of the land should exercise is delegated to quib- tion—“that was not a’; I hated Miss Eveline Neville for bling lawyers and their baser dependants. Hear me, her ain sake, I brought her frae England, and, during Elspeth Cheyne! if you are your father’s daughter as I our whole journey, she gecked and scorned at my north- am mine, I will find means that they shall not marry. ern speech and habit, as her southland leddies and She walks often to that cliff that overhangs your dwell- kimmers had done at the boarding-school, as they cald *Massa-mora, an ancient name for a dungeon, derived from it”—(and, strange as it may seem, she spoke of an af- the Moorish language, perhaps as far back as the time of the Crusades. 353 The Antiquary ing to look for her lover’s boat—(ye may remember the ued Elspeth. “No—be it a torment or be it a comfort to pleasure ye then took on the sea, my Lord)—let him you—ken the truth, she was nae mair a daughter of find her forty fathom lower than he expects!’—Yes! ye your father’s house than I am.” may stare and frown and clench your hand; but, as sure “Woman, deceive me not!—make me not curse the as I am to face the only Being I ever feared—and, oh memory of the parent I have so lately laid in the grave, that I had feared him mair!—these were your mother’s for sharing in a plot the most cruel, the most infernal”— words. What avails it to me to lie to you?—But I wadna “Bethink ye, my Lord Geraldin, ere ye curse the consent to stain my hand with blood.—Then she said, memory of a parent that’s gane, is there none of the By the religion of our holy Church they are ower sibb blood of Glenallan living, whose faults have led to this thegither. But I expect nothing but that both will be- dreadfu’ catastrophe?” come heretics as well as disobedient reprobates;’—that “Mean you my brother?—he, too, is gone,” said the was her addition to that argument. And then, as the Earl. fiend is ever ower busy wi’ brains like mine, that are “No,” replied the sibyl, “I mean yoursell, Lord subtle beyond their use and station, I was unhappily Geraldin. Had you not transgressed the obedience of a permitted to add—But they might be brought to think son by wedding Eveline Neville in secret while a guest themselves sae sibb as no Christian law will permit their at Knockwinnock, our plot might have separated you wedlock.’” for a time, but would have left at least your sorrows with- Here the Earl of Glenallan echoed her words, with a out remorse to canker them. But your ain conduct had shriek so piercing as almost to rend the roof of the cot- put poison in the weapon that we threw, and it pierced tage.—“Ah! then Eveline Neville was not the—the”— you with the mair force because ye cam rushing to meet “The daughter, ye would say, of your father?” contin- it. Had your marriage been a proclaimed and acknowl-

354 Sir Walter Scott edged action, our stratagem to throw an obstacle into the rude expressions of savage fidelity, in which, even in your way that couldna be got ower, neither wad nor could the latest ebb of life, the unhappy author of his misfor- hae been practised against ye.” tunes seemed to find a stern and stubborn source of con- “Great Heaven!” said the unfortunate nobleman—“it solation. is as if a film fell from my obscured eyes! Yes, I now well “Great Heaven!” he exclaimed, “I am then free from understand the doubtful hints of consolation thrown a guilt the most horrible with which man can be stained, out by my wretched mother, tending indirectly to im- and the sense of which, however involuntary, has peach the evidence of the horrors of which her arts had wrecked my peace, destroyed my health, and bowed me led me to believe myself guilty.” down to an untimely grave. Accept,” he fervently ut- “She could not speak mair plainly,” answered Elspeth, tered, lifting his eyes upwards, “accept my humble “without confessing her ain fraud,—and she would have thanks! If I live miserable, at least I shall not die stained submitted to be torn by wild horses, rather than unfold with that unnatural guilt!—And thou—proceed if thou what she had done; and if she had still lived, so would I hast more to tell—proceed, while thou hast voice to for her sake. They were stout hearts the race of speak it, and I have powers to listen.” Glenallan, male and female, and sae were a’ that in auld “Yes,” answered the beldam, “the hour when you shall times cried their gathering-word of Clochnaben—they hear, and I shall speak, is indeed passing rapidly away. stood shouther to shouther—nae man parted frae his Death has crossed your brow with his finger, and I find chief for love of gold or of gain, or of right or of wrang. his grasp turning every day coulder at my heart. Inter- The times are changed, I hear, now.” rupt me nae mair with exclamations and groans and The unfortunate nobleman was too much wrapped up accusations, but hear my tale to an end! And then—if in his own confused and distracted reflections, to notice ye be indeed sic a Lord of Glenallan as I hae heard of in

355 The Antiquary my day—make your merrymen gather the thorn, and “The evidence,” she replied, “of Eveline Neville’s real the brier, and the green hollin, till they heap them as birth was in the Countess’s possession, with reasons for high as the house-riggin’, and burn! burn! burn! the auld its being for some time kept private;—they may yet be witch Elspeth, and a’ that can put ye in mind that sic a found, if she has not destroyed them, in the left hand creature ever crawled upon the land!” drawer of the ebony cabinet that stood in the dressing- “Go on,” said the Earl, “go on—I will not again inter- room. These she meant to suppress for the time, until rupt you.” you went abroad again, when she trusted, before your He spoke in a half-suffocated yet determined voice, re- return, to send Miss Neville back to her ain country, or solved that no irritability on his part should deprive him to get her settled in marriage.” of this opportunity of acquiring proofs of the wonderful “But did you not show me letters of my father’s, which tale he then heard. But Elspeth had become exhausted seemed to me, unless my senses altogether failed me in by a continuous narration of such unusual length; the that horrible moment, to avow his relationship to—to subsequent part of her story was more broken, and the unhappy”— though still distinctly intelligible in most parts, had no “We did; and, with my testimony, how could you doubt longer the lucid conciseness which the first part of her the fact, or her either? But we suppressed the true ex- narrative had displayed to such an astonishing degree. planation of these letters, and that was, that your fa- Lord Glenallan found it necessary, when she had made ther thought it right the young leddy should pass for his some attempts to continue her narrative without success, daughter for a while, on account o’some family reasons to prompt her memory by demanding—“What proofs that were amang them.” she could propose to bring of the truth of a narrative so “But wherefore, when you learned our union, was this different from that which she had originally told?” dreadful artifice persisted in?”

356 Sir Walter Scott “It wasna,” she replied, “till Lady Glenallan had com- to tell—you have to tell me of the death of the angel municated this fause tale, that she suspected ye had ac- whom your perjury drove to despair, stained, as she tually made a marriage—nor even then did you avow it thought herself, with a crime so horrible. Speak truth— sae as to satisfy her whether the ceremony had in verity was that dreadful—was that horrible incident”—he passed atween ye or no—But ye remember, O ye canna could scarcely articulate the words—“was it as reported? but remember weel, what passed in that awfu’ meeting!” or was it an act of yet further, though not more atro- “Woman! you swore upon the gospels to the fact which cious cruelty, inflicted by others?” you now disavow.” “I understand you,” said Elspeth. “But report spoke “I did,—and I wad hae taen a yet mair holy pledge on truth;—our false witness was indeed the cause, but the it, if there had been ane—I wad not hae spared the blood deed was her ain distracted act. On that fearfu’ disclo- of my body, or the guilt of my soul, to serve the house sure, when ye rushed frae the Countess’s presence and of Glenallan.” saddled your horse, and left the castle like a fire-flaught, “Wretch! do you call that horrid perjury, attended with the Countess hadna yet discovered your private mar- consequences yet more dreadful—do you esteem that a riage; she hadna fund out that the union, which she had service to the house of your benefactors?” framed this awfu’ tale to prevent, had e’en taen place. “I served her, wha was then the head of Glenallan, as Ye fled from the house as if the fire o’ Heaven was about she required me to serve her. The cause was between to fa’ upon it, and Miss Neville, atween reason and the God and her conscience—the manner between God and want o’t, was put under sure ward. But the ward sleep’t, mine—She is gane to her account, and I maun follow. and the prisoner waked—the window was open—the Have I taulds you a’?” way was before her—there was the cliff, and there was “No,” answered Lord Glenallan—“you have yet more the sea!—O, when will I forget that!”

357 The Antiquary “And thus died,” said the Earl, “even so as was re- been—she tauld it not to me—but Heaven took the con- ported?” clusion in its ain hand. The poor leddy! she took the pangs “No, my lord. I had gane out to the cove—the tide was of travail before her time, bore a male child, and died in in, and it flowed, as ye’ll remember, to the foot o’ that the arms of me—of her mortal enemy! Ay, ye may weep— cliff—it was a great convenience that for my husband’s she was a sightly creature to see to—but think ye, if I trade—Where am I wandering?—I saw a white object didna mourn her then, that I can mourn her now? Na, dart frae the tap o’ the cliff like a sea-maw through the na, I left Teresa wi’ the dead corpse and new-born babe, mist, and then a heavy flash and sparkle of the waters till I gaed up to take the Countess’s commands what was showed me it was a human creature that had fa’en into to be done. Late as it was, I ca’d her up, and she gar’d me the waves. I was bold and strong, and familiar with the ca’ up your brother”— tide. I rushed in and grasped her gown, and drew her out “My brother?” and carried her on my shouthers—I could hae carried “Yes, Lord Geraldin, e’en your brother, that some said twa sic then—carried her to my hut, and laid her on my she aye wished to be her heir. At ony rate, he was the bed. Neighbours cam and brought help; but the words person maist concerned in the succession and heritance she uttered in her ravings, when she got back the use of of the house of Glenallan.” speech, were such, that I was fain to send them awa, and “And is it possible to believe, then, that my brother, get up word to Glenallan House. The Countess sent down out of avarice to grasp at my inheritance, would lend her Spanish servant Teresa—if ever there was a fiend on himself to such a base and dreadful stratagem?” earth in human form, that woman was ane. She and I “Your mother believed it,” said the old beldam with a were to watch the unhappy leddy, and let no other person fiendish laugh—“it was nae plot of my making; but what approach.—God knows what Teresa’s part was to hae they did or said I will not say, because I did not hear.

358 Sir Walter Scott Lang and sair they consulted in the black wainscot dress- Her long and bony hand held out to Lord Glenallan a ing-room; and when your brother passed through the gold bodkin, down which in fancy he saw the blood of room where I was waiting, it seemed to me (and I have his infant trickling. often thought sae since syne) that the fire of hell was in “Wretch! had you the heart?” his cheek and een. But he had left some of it with his “I kenna if I could hae had it or no. I returned to my mother, at ony rate. She entered the room like a woman cottage without feeling the ground that I trode on; but demented, and the first words she spoke were, Elspeth Teresa and the child were gane—a’ that was alive was Cheyne, did you ever pull a new-budded flower?’ I an- gane—naething left but the lifeless corpse.” swered, as ye may believe, that I often had. Then,’ said “And did you never learn my infant’s fate?” she, ye will ken the better how to blight the spurious “I could but guess. I have tauld ye your mother’s pur- and heretical blossom that has sprung forth this night pose, and I ken Teresa was a fiend. She was never mair to disgrace my father’s noble house—See here;’—(and seen in Scotland, and I have heard that she returned to she gave me a golden bodkin)—nothing but gold must her ain land. A dark curtain has fa’en ower the past, shed the blood of Glenallan. This child is already as one and the few that witnessed ony part of it could only of the dead, and since thou and Teresa alone ken that it surmise something of seduction and suicide. You your- lives, let it be dealt upon as ye will answer to me!’ and self”— she turned away in her fury, and left me with the bod- “I know—I know it all,” answered the Earl. kin in my hand.—Here it is; that and the ring of Miss “You indeed know all that I can say—And now, heir Neville, are a’ I hae preserved of my ill-gotten gear— of Glenallan, can you forgive me?” for muckle was the gear I got. And weel hae I keepit the “Ask forgiveness of God, and not of man,” said the secret, but no for the gowd or gear either.” Earl, turning away.

359 The Antiquary “And how shall I ask of the pure and unstained what “Na, na—nae priest! nae priest!” she ejaculated; and is denied to me by a sinner like mysell? If I hae sinned, the door of the cottage opening as she spoke, prevented hae I not suffered?—Hae I had a day’s peace or an hour’s her from proceeding. 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?—Have not my boats been wrecked, when a’ others weather’d the gale?—Have 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—“O 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 generosity of his nature did not permit him to leave the unhappy woman in this 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.”

360 Sir Walter Scott came in front of the fisherman’s hut, he observed a man working intently, as if to repair a shattered boat which CHAPTER THIRTEENTH lay upon the beach, and going up to him was surprised to find it was Mucklebackit himself. “I am glad,” he said in a tone of sympathy—“I am glad, Saunders, that Still in his dead hand clenched remain the strings you feel yourself able to make this exertion.” That thrill his father’s heart—e’en as the limb, Lopped off and laid in grave, retains, they tell us, “And what would ye have me to do,” answered the Strange commerce with the mutilated stump, fisher gruffly, “unless I wanted to see four children Whose nerves are twinging still in maimed existence. starve, because ane is drowned? It’s weel wi’ you gentles, Old Play. 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

THE ANTIQUARY, as we informed the reader in the end of hammer.” the thirty-first CHAPTER, [tenth] had shaken off the Without taking more notice of Oldbuck, he proceeded company of worthy Mr. Blattergowl, although he of- in his labour; and the Antiquary, to whom the display fered to entertain him with an abstract of the ablest of human nature under the influence of agitating pas- speech he had ever known in the teind court, delivered sions was never indifferent, stood beside him, in silent by the procurator for the church in the remarkable case attention, as if watching the progress of the work. He of the parish of Gatherem. Resisting this temptation, observed more than once the man’s hard features, as if our senior preferred a solitary path, which again con- by the force of association, prepare to accompany the ducted him to the cottage of Mucklebackit. When he sound of the saw and hammer with his usual symphony

361 The Antiquary of a rude tune, hummed or whistled,—and as often a and warped wi’ the wind and the sea—and I am a dour slight twitch of convulsive expression showed, that ere carle, battered by foul weather at sea and land till I am the sound was uttered, a cause for suppressing it rushed maist as senseless as hersell. She maun be mended though upon his mind. At length, when he had patched a con- again the morning tide—that’s a thing o’ necessity.” siderable rent, and was beginning to mend another, his Thus speaking, he went to gather together his instru- feelings appeared altogether to derange the power of ments, and attempt to resume his labour,—but Oldbuck attention necessary for his work. The piece of wood took him kindly by the arm. “Come, come,” he said, which he was about to nail on was at first too long; then “Saunders, there is no work for you this day—I’ll send he sawed it off too short, then chose another equally ill down Shavings the carpenter to mend the boat, and he adapted for the purpose. At length, throwing it down in may put the day’s work into my account—and you had anger, after wiping his dim eye with his quivering hand, better not come out to-morrow, but stay to comfort your he exclaimed, “There is a curse either on me or on this family under this dispensation, and the gardener will auld black bitch of a boat, that I have hauled up high bring you some vegetables and meal from Monkbarns.” and dry, and patched and clouted sae mony years, that “I thank ye, Monkbarns,” answered the poor fisher; she might drown my poor Steenie at the end of them, “I am a plain-spoken man, and hae little to say for an’ be d—d to her!” and he flung his hammer against mysell; I might hae learned fairer fashions frae my the boat, as if she had been the intentional cause of his mither lang syne, but I never saw muckle gude they did misfortune. Then recollecting himself, he added, “Yet her; however, I thank ye. Ye were aye kind and what needs ane be angry at her, that has neither soul neighbourly, whatever folk says o’ your being near and nor sense?—though I am no that muckle better mysell. close; and I hae often said, in thae times when they were She’s but a rickle o’ auld rotten deals nailed thegither, ganging to raise up the puir folk against the gentles—I

362 Sir Walter Scott hae often said, neer a man should steer a hair touching “Yes—much changed from what he was when he knew to Monkbarns while Steenie and I could wag a finger— Mr. Oldbuck.” and so said Steenie too. And, Monkbarns, when ye laid “I do not mean,” said the Antiquary, “to intrude upon his head in the grave (and mony thanks for the respect), your lordship—I only came to see this distressed fam- ye, saw the mouls laid on an honest lad that likit you ily.” weel, though he made little phrase about it.” “And you have found one, sir, who has still greater Oldbuck, beaten from the pride of his affected cyni- claims on your compassion.” cism, would not willingly have had any one by on that “My compassion? Lord Glenallan cannot need my occasion to quote to him his favourite maxims of the compassion. If Lord Glenallan could need it, I think he Stoic philosophy. The large drops fell fast from his own would hardly ask it.” eyes, as he begged the father, who was now melted at “Our former acquaintance,” said the Earl— recollecting the bravery and generous sentiments of his “Is of such ancient date, my lord—was of such short son, to forbear useless sorrow, and led him by the arm duration, and was connected with circumstances so ex- towards his own home, where another scene awaited our quisitely painful, that I think we may dispense with re- Antiquary. newing it.” As he entered, the first person whom he beheld was So saying, the Antiquary turned away, and left the Lord Glenallan. Mutual surprise was in their counte- hut; but Lord Glenallan followed him into the open air, nances as they saluted each other—with haughty re- and, in spite of a hasty “Good morning, my lord,” reserve on the part of Mr. Oldbuck, and embarrassment quested a few minutes’ conversation, and the favour of on that of the Earl. his advice in an important matter. “My Lord Glenallan, I think?” said Mr. Oldbuck. “Your lordship will find many more capable to advise

363 The Antiquary you, my lord, and by whom your intercourse will be deemed and I need not remind you of a lady who was then a an honour. For me, I am a man retired from business and member of that family.” the world, and not very fond of raking up the past events “The unfortunate Miss Eveline Neville, my lord; I re- of my useless life;—and forgive me if I say, I have particu- member it well.” lar pain in reverting to that period of it when I acted like a “Towards whom you entertained sentiments”— fool, and your lordship like”—He stopped short. “Very different from those with which I before and “Like a villain, you would say,” said Lord Glenallan— since have regarded her sex. Her gentleness, her docil- ”for such I must have appeared to you.” ity, her pleasure in the studies which I pointed out to “My lord—my lord, I have no desire to hear your her, attached my affections more than became my age shrift,” said the Antiquary. though that was not then much advanced—or the so- “But, sir, if I can show you that I am more sinned lidity of my character. But I need not remind your lord- against than sinning—that I have been a man miser- ship of the various modes in which you indulged your able beyond the power of description, and who looks gaiety at the expense of an awkward and retired stu- forward at this moment to an untimely grave as to a dent, embarrassed by the expression of feelings so new haven of rest, you will not refuse the confidence which, to him, and I have no doubt that the young lady joined accepting your appearance at this critical moment as a you in the well-deserved ridicule—it is the way of wom- hint from Heaven, I venture thus to press on you.” ankind. I have spoken at once to the painful circum- “Assuredly, my lord, I shall shun no longer the con- stances of my addresses and their rejection, that your tinuation of this extraordinary interview.” lordship may be satisfied everything is full in my “I must then recall to you our occasional meetings up- memory, and may, so far as I am concerned, tell your wards of twenty years since at Knockwinnock Castle,— story without scruple or needless delicacy.”

364 Sir Walter Scott “I will,” said Lord Glenallan. “But first let me say, magistrates of this county—having neither, like some you do injustice to the memory of the gentlest and kind- of them, the honour to be connected with your power- est, as well as to the most unhappy of women, to sup- ful family—nor, like others, the meanness to fear it,— pose she could make a jest of the honest affection of a when I made some inquiry into the manner of Miss man like you. Frequently did she blame me, Mr. Oldbuck, Neville’s death—I shake you, my lord, but I must be for indulging my levity at your expense—may I now plain—I do own I had every reason to believe that she presume you will excuse the gay freedoms which then had met most unfair dealing, and had either been im- offended you?—my state of mind has never since laid posed upon by a counterfeit marriage, or that very strong me under the necessity of apologizing for the inadvert- measures had been adopted to stifle and destroy the evi- encies of a light and happy temper.” dence of a real union. And I cannot doubt in my own “My lord, you are fully pardoned,” said Mr. Oldbuck. mind, that this cruelty on your lordship’s part, whether “You should be aware, that, like all others, I was igno- coming of your own free will, or proceeding from the rant at the time that I placed myself in competition influence of the late Countess, hurried the unfortunate with your lordship, and understood that Miss Neville young lady to the desperate act by which her life was was in a state of dependence which might make her pre- terminated.” fer a competent independence and the hand of an hon- “You are deceived, Mr. Oldbuck, into conclusions which est man—But I am wasting time—I would I could be- are not just, however naturally they flow from the cir- lieve that the views entertained towards her by others cumstances. Believe me, I respected you even when I were as fair and honest as mine!” was most embarrassed by your active attempts to in- “Mr. Oldbuck, you judge harshly.” vestigate our family misfortunes. You showed yourself “Not without cause, my lord. When I only, of all the more worthy of Miss Neville than I, by the spirit with

365 The Antiquary which you persisted in vindicating her reputation even upon him by his mother, and vouched by the oaths of after her death. But the firm belief that your well-meant her attendants, Teresa and Elspeth. “I left my paternal efforts could only serve to bring to light a story too hor- mansion,” he concluded, “as if the furies of hell had rible to be detailed, induced me to join my unhappy driven me forth, and travelled with frantic velocity I mother in schemes to remove or destroy all evidence of knew not whither. Nor have I the slightest recollection the legal union which had taken place between Eveline of what I did or whither I went, until I was discovered and myself. And now let us sit down on this bank,—for by my brother. I will not trouble you with an account I feel unable to remain longer standing,—and have the of my sick-bed and recovery, or how, long afterwards, I goodness to listen to the extraordinary discovery which ventured to inquire after the sharer of my misfortunes, I have this day made.” and heard that her despair had found a dreadful rem- They sate down accordingly; and Lord Glenallan edy for all the ills of life. The first thing that roused me briefly narrated his unhappy family history—his con- to thought was hearing of your inquiries into this cruel cealed marriage—the horrible invention by which his business; and you will hardly wonder, that, believing mother had designed to render impossible that union what I did believe, I should join in those expedients to which had already taken place. He detailed the arts by stop your investigation, which my brother and mother which the Countess, having all the documents relative had actively commenced. The information which I gave to Miss Neville’s birth in her hands, had produced those them concerning the circumstances and witnesses of our only relating to a period during which, for family rea- private marriage enabled them to baffle your zeal. The sons, his father had consented to own that young lady clergyman, therefore, and witnesses, as persons who had as his natural daughter, and showed how impossible it acted in the matter only to please the powerful heir of was that he could either suspect or detect the fraud put Glenallan, were accessible to his promises and threats,

366 Sir Walter Scott and were so provided for, that they had no objections to of unnatural and inexpressible guilt among the gay and leave this country for another. For myself, Mr. Oldbuck,” the innocent. There have been moments when I had pursued this unhappy man, “from that moment I con- thoughts of another description—to plunge into the sidered myself as blotted out of the book of the living, adventures of war, or to brave the dangers of the trav- and as having nothing left to do with this world. My eller in foreign and barbarous climates—to mingle in mother tried to reconcile me to life by every art—even political intrigue, or to retire to the stern seclusion of by intimations which I can now interpret as calculated the anchorites of our religion;—all these are thoughts to produce a doubt of the horrible tale she herself had which have alternately passed through my mind, but fabricated. But I construed all she said as the fictions each required an energy, which was mine no longer, af- of maternal affection. I will forbear all reproach. She is ter the withering stroke I had received. I vegetated on no more—and, as her wretched associate said, she knew as I could in the same spot—fancy, feeling, judgment, not how the dart was poisoned, or how deep it must and health, gradually decaying, like a tree whose bark sink, when she threw it from her hand. But, Mr. Oldbuck, has been destroyed,—when first the blossoms fade, then if ever, during these twenty years, there crawled upon the boughs, until its state resembles the decayed and earth a living being deserving of your pity, I have been dying trunk that is now before you. Do you now pity that man. My food has not nourished me—my sleep has and forgive me?” not refreshed me—my devotions have not comforted “My lord,” answered the Antiquary, much affected, me—all that is cheering and necessary to man has been “my pity—my forgiveness, you have not to ask, for your to me converted into poison. The rare and limited inter- dismal story is of itself not only an ample excuse for course which I have held with others has been most odi- whatever appeared mysterious in your conduct, but a ous to me. I felt as if I were bringing the contamination narrative that might move your worst enemies (and I,

367 The Antiquary my lord, was never of the number) to tears and to sym- of character in poor Eveline. You offered yourself to pathy. But permit me to ask what you now mean to do, me in my need, and you were already acquainted with and why you have honoured me, whose opinion can be the beginning of my misfortunes. To you, therefore, I of little consequence, with your confidence on this oc- have recourse for advice, for sympathy, for support.” casion?” “You shall seek none of them in vain, my lord,” said “Mr. Oldbuck,” answered the Earl, “as I could never Oldbuck, “so far as my slender ability extends;—and I have foreseen the nature of that confession which I have am honoured by the preference, whether it arises from heard this day, I need not say that I had no formed plan choice, or is prompted by chance. But this is a matter to of consulting you, or any one, upon affairs the tendency be ripely considered. May I ask what are your principal of which I could not even have suspected. But I am with- views at present?” out friends, unused to business, and, by long retirement, “To ascertain the fate of my child,” said the Earl, “be unacquainted alike with the laws of the land and the the consequences what they may, and to do justice to habits of the living generation; and when, most unex- the honour of Eveline, which I have only permitted to pectedly, I find myself immersed in the matters of which be suspected to avoid discovery of the yet more horrible I know least, I catch, like a drowning man, at the first taint to which I was made to believe it liable.” support that offers. You are that support, Mr. Oldbuck. “And the memory of your mother?” I have always heard you mentioned as a man of wisdom “Must bear its own burden,” answered the Earl with a and intelligence—I have known you myself as a man of sigh: “better that she were justly convicted of deceit, a resolute and independent spirit;—and there is one cir- should that be found necessary, than that others should cumstance,” said he, “which ought to combine us in some be unjustly accused of crimes so much more dreadful.” degree—our having paid tribute to the same excellence “Then, my lord,” said Oldbuck, “our first business

368 Sir Walter Scott must be to put the information of the old woman, After a formal apology for the encroachment, Lord Elspeth, into a regular and authenticated form.” Glenallan agreed to go with him, and underwent with “That,” said Lord Glenallan, “will be at present, I fear, patience in their return home the whole history of John impossible. She is exhausted herself, and surrounded by of the Girnel, a legend which Mr. Oldbuck was never her distressed family. To-morrow, perhaps, when she is known to spare any one who crossed his threshold. alone—and yet I doubt, from her imperfect sense of right The arrival of a stranger of such note, with two saddle- and wrong, whether she would speak out in any one’s horses and a servant in black, which servant had hol- presence but my own. I am too sorely fatigued.” sters on his saddle-bow, and a coronet upon the holsters, “Then, my lord,” said the Antiquary, whom the inter- created a general commotion in the house of Monkbarns. est of the moment elevated above points of expense and Jenny Rintherout, scarce recovered from the hysterics convenience, which had generally more than enough of which she had taken on hearing of poor Steenie’s mis- weight with him, “I would propose to your lordship, fortune, chased about the turkeys and poultry, cackled instead of returning, fatigued as you are, so far as to and screamed louder than they did, and ended by kill- Glenallan House, or taking the more uncomfortable al- ing one-half too many. Miss Griselda made many wise ternative of going to a bad inn at Fairport, to alarm all reflections on the hot-headed wilfulness of her brother, the busybodies of the town—I would propose, I say, who had occasioned such devastation, by suddenly bring- that you should be my guest at Monkbarns for this night. ing in upon them a papist nobleman. And she ventured By to-morrow these poor people will have renewed their to transmit to Mr. Blattergowl some hint of the unusual out-of-doors vocation—for sorrow with them affords no slaughter which had taken place in the basse-cour, which respite from labour,—and we will visit the old woman brought the honest clergyman to inquire how his friend Elspeth alone, and take down her examination.” Monkbarns had got home, and whether he was not the

369 The Antiquary worse of being at the funeral, at a period so near the a commoner, and who was only interested in the unex- ringing of the bell for dinner, that the Antiquary had pected visit, as it might afford some protection against no choice left but to invite him to stay and bless the his uncle’s displeasure, if he harboured any, for his not meat. Miss M’Intyre had on her part some curiosity to attending the funeral, and still more against his satire see this mighty peer, of whom all had heard, as an east- upon the subject of his gallant but unsuccessful single ern caliph or sultan is heard of by his subjects, and felt combat with the phoca, or seal. some degree of timidity at the idea of encountering a To these, the inmates of his household, Oldbuck pre- person, of whose unsocial habits and stern manners so sented the Earl of Glenallan, who underwent, with meek many stories were told, that her fear kept at least pace and subdued civility, the prosing speeches of the honest with her curiosity. The aged housekeeper was no less flus- divine, and the lengthened apologies of Miss Griselda tered and hurried in obeying the numerous and contra- Oldbuck, which her brother in vain endeavoured to dictory commands of her mistress, concerning preserves, abridge. Before the dinner hour, Lord Glenallan re- pastry and fruit, the mode of marshalling and dishing quested permission to retire a while to his chamber. Mr. the dinner, the necessity of not permitting the melted Oldbuck accompanied his guest to the Green Room, butter to run to oil, and the danger of allowing Juno— which had been hastily prepared for his reception. He who, though formally banished from the parlour, failed looked around with an air of painful recollection. not to maraud about the out-settlements of the fam- “I think,” at length he observed, “I think, Mr. Oldbuck, ily—to enter the kitchen. that I have been in this apartment before.” The only inmate of Monkbarns who remained entirely “Yes, my lord,” answered Oldbuck, “upon occasion of indifferent on this momentous occasion was Hector an excursion hither from Knockwinnock—and since we M’Intyre, who cared no more for an Earl than he did for are upon a subject so melancholy, you may perhaps re-

370 Sir Walter Scott member whose taste supplied these lines from Chaucer, which now form the motto of the tapestry.” “I guess”, said the Earl, “though I cannot recollect. CHAPTER FOURTEENTH She excelled me, indeed, in literary taste and information, as in everything else; and it is one of the mysterious dispensations of Providence, Mr. Oldbuck, that a —Life, with you, Glows in the brain and dances in the arteries; creature so excellent in mind and body should have been ’Tis like the wine some joyous guest hath quaffed, cut off in so miserable a manner, merely from her hav- That glads the heart and elevates the fancy: ing formed a fatal attachment to such a wretch as I am.” Mine is the poor residuum of the cup, Vapid, and dull, and tasteless, only soiling, Mr. Oldbuck did not attempt an answer to this burst With its base dregs, the vessel that contains it. of the grief which lay ever nearest to the heart of his guest, but, pressing Lord Glenallan’s hand with one of Old Play. his own, and drawing the other across his shaggy eye- lashes, as if to brush away a mist that intercepted his “NOW, ONLY THINK what a man my brother is, Mr. sight, he left the Earl at liberty to arrange himself pre- Blattergowl, for a wise man and a learned man, to bring vious to dinner. this Yerl into our house without speaking a word to a body! And there’s the distress of thae Mucklebackits— 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 taen the exies, and done naething but laugh and greet, 371 The Antiquary the skirl at the tail o’ the guffaw, for twa days success- And taking down from the window-seat that amusing fully—and now we maun ask that strange man, that’s folio, (the Scottish Coke upon Littleton), he opened it, as grand and as grave as the Yerl himsell, to stand at as if instinctively, at the tenth title of Book Second, the sideboard! and I canna gang into the kitchen to di- “of Teinds or Tythes,” and was presently deeply rect onything, for he’s hovering there, making some wrapped up in an abstruse discussion concerning the pousowdie* for my Lord, for he doesna eat like ither temporality of benefices. folk neither—And how to sort the strange servant man The entertainment, about which Miss Oldbuck ex- at dinner time—I am sure, Mr. Blattergowl, a’thegither, pressed so much anxiety, was at length placed upon the it passes my judgment.” table; and the Earl of Glenallan, for the first time since “Truly, Miss Griselda,” replied the divine, “Monkbarns the date of his calamity, sat at a stranger’s board, sur- was inconsiderate. He should have taen a day to see the rounded by strangers. He seemed to himself like a man invitation, as they do wi’ the titular’s condescendence in a dream, or one whose brain was not fully recovered in the process of valuation and sale. But the great man from the effects of an intoxicating potion. Relieved, as could not have come on a sudden to ony house in this he had that morning been, from the image of guilt which parish where he could have been better served with had so long haunted his imagination, he felt his sorrows vivers—that I must say—and also that the steam from as a lighter and more tolerable load, but was still unable the kitchen is very gratifying to my nostrils;—and if ye to take any share in the conversation that passed around have ony household affairs to attend to, Mrs. Griselda, him. It was, indeed, of a cast very different from that never make a stranger of me—I can amuse mysell very which he had been accustomed to. The bluntness of weel with the larger copy of Erskine’s Institutes.” Oldbuck, the tiresome apologetic harangues of his sister, the pedantry of the divine, and the vivacity of the *Pousowdie,—Miscellaneous mess. 372 Sir Walter Scott young soldier, which savoured much more of the camp completed his repast. Such, his servant said, had been than of the court, were all new to a nobleman who had his lordship’s diet for very many years, unless upon the lived in a retired and melancholy state for so many years, high festivals of the Church, or when company of the that the manners of the world seemed to him equally first rank were entertained at Glenallan House, when strange and unpleasing. Miss M’Intyre alone, from the he relaxed a little in the austerity of his diet, and per- natural politeness and unpretending simplicity of her mitted himself a glass or two of wine. But at Monkbarns, manners, appeared to belong to that class of society to no anchoret could have made a more simple and scanty which he had been accustomed in his earlier and better meal. days. The Antiquary was a gentleman, as we have seen, in Nor did Lord Glenallan’s deportment less surprise the feeling, but blunt and careless in expression, from the company. Though a plain but excellent family-dinner habit of living with those before whom he had nothing was provided (for, as Mr. Blattergowl had justly said, it to suppress. He attacked his noble guest without scruple was impossible to surprise Miss Griselda when her lar- on the severity of his regimen. der was empty), and though the Antiquary boasted his “A few half-cold greens and potatoes—a glass of ice- best port, and assimilated it to the Falernian of Horace, cold water to wash them down—antiquity gives no war- Lord Glenallan was proof to the allurements of both. rant for it, my lord. This house used to be accounted a His servant placed before him a small mess of vegetables, hospitium, a place of retreat for Christians; but your that very dish, the cooking of which had alarmed Miss lordship’s diet is that of a heathen Pythagorean, or In- Griselda, arranged with the most minute and scrupu- dian Bramin—nay, more severe than either, if you refuse lous neatness. He ate sparingly of these provisions; and these fine apples.” a glass of pure water, sparkling from the fountain-head, “I am a Catholic, you are aware,” said Lord Glenallan,

373 The Antiquary wishing to escape from the discussion, “and you know who had just pronounced the formidable word, “teind- that our church”— free,” when the subject of the French Revolution was “Lays down many rules of mortification,” proceeded started—a political event on which Lord Glenallan the dauntless Antiquary; “but I never heard that they looked with all the prejudiced horror of a bigoted Catho- were quite so rigorously practised—Bear witness my pre- lic and zealous aristocrat. Oldbuck was far from carry- decessor, John of the Girnel, or the jolly Abbot, who ing his detestation of its principles to such a length. gave his name to this apple, my lord.” “There were many men in the first Constituent As- And as he pared the fruit, in spite of his sister’s “O fie, sembly,” he said, “who held sound Whiggish doctrines, Monkbarns!” and the prolonged cough of the minister, and were for settling the Constitution with a proper pro- accompanied by a shake of his huge wig, the Antiquary vision for the liberties of the people. And if a set of proceeded to detail the intrigue which had given rise to furious madmen were now in possession of the govern- the fame of the abbot’s apple with more slyness and ment, it was,” he continued, “what often happened in circumstantiality than was at all necessary. His jest (as great revolutions, where extreme measures are adopted may readily be conceived) missed fire, for this anecdote in the fury of the moment, and the State resembles an of conventual gallantry failed to produce the slightest agitated pendulum which swings from side to side for smile on the visage of the Earl. Oldbuck then took up some time ere it can acquire its due and perpendicular the subject of Ossian, Macpherson, and Mac-Cribb; but station. Or it might be likened to a storm or hurricane, Lord Glenallan had never so much as heard of any of which, passing over a region, does great damage in its the three, so little conversant had he been with modern passage, yet sweeps away stagnant and unwholesome literature. The conversation was now in some danger of vapours, and repays, in future health and fertility, its flagging, or of falling into the hands of Mr. Blattergowl, immediate desolation and ravage.”

374 Sir Walter Scott The Earl shook his head; but having neither spirit nor uncle, gratified, yet not so much so as to suppress his inclination for debate, he suffered the argument to pass consciousness of his own mental superiority over the uncontested. young soldier; “I believe in my heart nobody ever spoke This discussion served to introduce the young soldier’s half so much good of him before, except perhaps the experiences; and he spoke of the actions in which he, sergeant of his company, when was wheedling a High- had been engaged, with modesty, and at the same time land recruit to enlist with him. He is a good lad notwith an air of spirit and zeal which delighted the Earl, withstanding, although he be not quite the hero your who had been bred up, like others of his house, in the lordship supposes him, and although my commendations opinion that the trade of arms was the first duty of rather attest the kindness than the vivacity of his char- man, and believed that to employ them against the acter. In fact, his high spirit is a sort of constitutional French was a sort of holy warfare. vehemence, which attends him in everything he sets “What would I give,” said he apart to Oldbuck, as about, and is often very inconvenient to his friends. I they rose to join the ladies in the drawing-room, “what saw him to-day engage in an animated contest with a would I give to have a son of such spirit as that young phoca, or seal (sealgh, our people more properly call them, gentleman!—He wants something of address and man- retaining the Gothic guttural gh), with as much vehe- ner, something of polish, which mixing in good society mence as if he had fought against Dumourier—Marry, would soon give him; but with what zeal and animation my lord, the phoca had the better, as the said Dumourier he expresses himself—how fond of his profession—how had of some other folks. And he’ll talk with equal if not loud in the praise of others—how modest when speak- superior rapture of the good behaviour of a pointer ing of himself!” bitch, as of the plan of a campaign.” “Hector is much obliged to you, my lord,” replied his “He shall have full permission to sport over my

375 The Antiquary grounds,” said the Earl, “if he is so fond of that exer- “Let me first ask your lordship,” said the Antiquary, cise.” “what are your own wishes and designs in this matter?” “You will bind him to you, my lord,” said Monkbarns, “I wish most especially,” answered Lord Glenallan, “to “body and soul: give him leave to crack off his birding- declare my luckless marriage, and to vindicate the repu- piece at a poor covey of partridges or moor-fowl, and tation of the unhappy Eveline—that is, if you see a he’s yours for ever—I will enchant him by the intelli- possibility of doing so without making public the con- gence. But O, my lord, that you could have seen my duct of my mother.” phoenix Lovel! —the very prince and chieftain of the “Suum cuique tribuito,” said the Antiquary; “do right youth of this age; and not destitute of spirit neither—I to everyone. The memory of that unhappy young lady promise you he gave my termagant kinsman a quid pro has too long suffered, and I think it might be cleared quo—a Rowland for his Oliver, as the vulgar say, allud- without further impeaching that of your mother, than ing to the two celebrated Paladins of Charlemagne.” by letting it be understood in general that she greatly After coffee, Lord Glenallan requested a private inter- disapproved and bitterly opposed the match. All—for- view with the Antiquary, and was ushered to his library. give me, my lord—all who ever heard of the late Count- “I must withdraw you from your own amiable fam- ess of Glenallan, will learn that without much surprise.” ily,” he said, “to involve you in the perplexities of an “But you forget one horrible circumstance, Mr. unhappy man. You are acquainted with the world, from Oldbuck,” said the Earl, in an agitated voice. which I have long been banished; for Glenallan House “I am not aware of it,” replied the Antiquary. has been to me rather a prison than a dwelling, although “The fate of the infant—its disappearance with the confi- a prison which I had neither fortitude nor spirit to break dential attendant of my mother, and the dreadful surmises from.” which may be drawn from my conversation with Elspeth.”

376 Sir Walter Scott “If you would have my free opinion, my lord,” an- Antiquary ran hither and thither looking for remedies; swered Mr. Oldbuck, “and will not catch too rapidly at but his museum, though sufficiently well filled with a it as matter of hope, I would say that it is very possible vast variety of useless matters, contained nothing that the child yet lives. For thus much I ascertained, by my could be serviceable on the present or any other occa- former inquiries concerning the event of that deplor- sion. As he posted out of the room to borrow his sister’s able evening, that a child and woman were carried that salts, he could not help giving a constitutional growl of night from the cottage at the Craigburnfoot in a car- chagrin and wonder at the various incidents which had riage and four by your brother Edward Geraldin Neville, converted his mansion, first into an hospital for a whose journey towards England with these companions wounded duellist, and now into the sick chamber of a I traced for several stages. I believed then it was a part dying nobleman. “And yet,” said he, “I have always kept of the family compact to carry a child whom you meant aloof from the soldiery and the peerage. My coenobitium to stigmatize with illegitimacy, out of that country has only next to be made a lying-in hospital, and then, where chance might have raised protectors and proofs I trow, the transformation will be complete.” of its rights. But I now think that your brother, having When he returned with the remedy, Lord Glenallan reason, like yourself, to believe the child stained with was much better. The new and unexpected light which shame yet more indelible, had nevertheless withdrawn Mr. Oldbuck had thrown upon the melancholy history it, partly from regard to the honour of his house, partly of his family had almost overpowered him. “You think, from the risk to which it might have been exposed in then, Mr. Oldbuck—for you are capable of thinking, the neighbourhood of the Lady Glenallan.” which I am not—you think, then, that it is possible— As he spoke, the Earl of Glenallan grew extremely that is, not impossible—my child may yet live?” pale, and had nearly fallen from his chair.—The alarmed “I think,” said the Antiquary, “it is impossible that it

377 The Antiquary could come to any violent harm through your brother’s “I dare hardly hope it,” said the Earl, with a deep means. He was known to be a gay and dissipated man, sigh. “Why should my brother have been silent to me?” but not cruel nor dishonourable; nor is it possible, that, “Nay, my lord, why should he have communicated to if he had intended any foul play, he would have placed your lordship the existence of a being whom you must himself so forward in the charge of the infant, as I will have supposed the offspring of”— prove to your lordship he did.” “Most true—there is an obvious and a kind reason for So saying, Mr. Oldbuck opened a drawer of the cabi- his being silent. If anything, indeed, could have added net of his ancestor Aldobrand, and produced a bundle to the horror of the ghastly dream that has poisoned of papers tied with a black ribband, and labelled,—Ex- my whole existence, it must have been the knowledge aminations, etc., taken by Jonathan Oldbuck, J. P., upon that such a child of misery existed.” the 18th of February, 17—; a little under was written, “Then,” continued the Antiquary, “although it would in a small hand, Eheu Evelina! The tears dropped fast be rash to conclude, at the distance of more than twenty from the Earl’s eyes, as he endeavoured, in vain, to un- years, that your son must needs be still alive because he fasten the knot which secured these documents. was not destroyed in infancy, I own I think you should “Your lordship,” said Mr. Oldbuck, “had better not instantly set on foot inquiries.” read these at present. Agitated as you are, and having “It shall be done,” replied Lord Glenallan, catching much business before you, you must not exhaust your eagerly at the hope held out to him, the first he had strength. Your brother’s succession is now, I presume, nourished for many years;—“I will write to a faithful your own, and it will be easy for you to make inquiry steward of my father, who acted in the same capacity among his servants and retainers, so as to hear where under my brother Neville—But, Mr. Oldbuck, I am not the child is, if, fortunately, it shall be still alive.” my brother’s heir.”

378 Sir Walter Scott “Indeed!—I am sorry for that, my lord—it is a noble possessions stood entailed upon my son. It is not there- estate, and the ruins of the old castle of Neville’s-Burgh fore likely that this heir, be he who he may, will afford alone, which are the most superb relics of Anglo-Norman us assistance in making a discovery which may turn out architecture in that part of the country, are a posses- so much to his own prejudice.” sion much to be coveted. I thought your father had no “And in all probability the steward your lordship men- other son or near relative.” tions is also in his service,” said the Antiquary. “He had not, Mr. Oldbuck,” replied Lord Glenallan; “It is most likely; and the man being a Protestant— “but my brother adopted views in politics, and a form how far it is safe to entrust him”— of religion, alien from those which had been always held “I should hope, my lord,” said Oldbuck gravely, “that by our house. Our tempers had long differed, nor did a Protestant may be as trustworthy as a Catholic. I am my unhappy mother always think him sufficiently ob- doubly interested in the Protestant faith, my lord. My servant to her. In short, there was a family quarrel, and ancestor, Aldobrand Oldenbuck, printed the celebrated my brother, whose property was at his own free disposal, Confession of Augsburg, as I can show by the original availed himself of the power vested in him to choose a edition now in this house.” stranger for his heir. It is a matter which never struck “I have not the least doubt of what you say, Mr. me as being of the least consequence—for if worldly Oldbuck,” replied the Earl, “nor do I speak out of big- possessions could alleviate misery, I have enough and to otry or intolerance; but probably the Protestant stew- spare. But now I shall regret it, if it throws any diffi- ard will favour the Protestant heir rather than the Catho- culty in the way of our inquiries—and I bethink me lic—if, indeed, my son has been bred in his father’s that it may; for in case of my having a lawful son of my faith—or, alas! if indeed he yet lives.” body, and my brother dying without issue, my father’s “We must look close into this,” said Oldbuck, “before

379 The Antiquary committing ourselves. I have a literary friend at York, affairs as if I were of your own faith in politics and reli- with whom I have long corresponded on the subject of gion. And take my advice—If you want an affair of the Saxon horn that is preserved in the Minster there; consequence properly managed, put it into the hands we interchanged letters for six years, and have only as of an antiquary; for as they are eternally exercising their yet been able to settle the first line of the inscription. I genius and research upon trifles, it is impossible they will write forthwith to this gentleman, Dr. Dryasdust, can be baffled in affairs of importance;—use makes per- and be particular in my inquiries concerning the char- fect—and the corps that is most frequently drilled upon acter, etc., of your brother’s heir, of the gentleman em- the parade, will be most prompt in its exercise upon the ployed in his affairs, and what else may be likely to fur- day of battle. And, talking upon that subject, I would ther your lordship’s inquiries. In the meantime your lord- willingly read to your lordship, in order to pass away ship will collect the evidence of the marriage, which I the time betwixt and supper”— hope can still be recovered?” “I beg I may not interfere with family arrangements,” “Unquestionably,” replied the Earl: “the witnesses, said Lord Glenallan, “but I never taste anything after who were formerly withdrawn from your research, are sunset.” still living. My tutor, who solemnized the marriage, was “Nor I either, my lord,” answered his host, “notwith- provided for by a living in France, and has lately re- standing it is said to have been the custom of the an- turned to this country as an emigrant, a victim of his cients. But then I dine differently from your lordship, zeal for loyalty, legitimacy, and religion.” and therefore am better enabled to dispense with those “That’s one lucky consequence of the French, revolu- elaborate entertainments which my womankind (that tion, my lord—you must allow that, at least,” said is, my sister and niece, my lord) are apt to place on the Oldbuck: “but no offence; I will act as warmly in your table, for the display rather of their own house-wifery

380 Sir Walter Scott than the accommodation of our wants. However, a commenced as follows: “The subject, my lord, is the hill- broiled bone, or a smoked haddock, or an oyster, or a fort of Quickens-bog, with the site of which your lord- slice of bacon of our own curing, with a toast and a ship is doubtless familiar—it is upon your store-farm tankard—or something or other of that sort, to close of Mantanner, in the barony of Clochnaben.” the orifice of the stomach before going to bed, does not “I think I have heard the names of these places,” said fall under my restriction, nor, I hope, under your the Earl, in answer to the Antiquary’s appeal. lordship’s.” “Heard the name? and the farm brings him six hun- “My no-supper is literal, Mr. Oldbuck; but I will at- dred a-year—O Lord!” tend you at your meal with pleasure.” Such was the scarce-subdued ejaculation of the Anti- “Well, my lord,” replied the Antiquary, “I will endeav- quary. But his hospitality got the better of his surprise, our to entertain your ears at least, since I cannot ban- and he proceeded to read his essay with an audible voice, quet your palate. What I am about to read to your lord- in great glee at having secured a patient, and, as he ship relates to the upland glens.” fondly hoped, an interested hearer. Lord Glenallan, though he would rather have recurred “Quickens-bog may at first seem to derive its name to the subject of his own uncertainties, was compelled from the plant Quicken, by which, Scottice, we under- to make a sign of rueful civility and acquiescence. stand couch-grass, dog-grass, or the Triticum repens of The Antiquary, therefore, took out his portfolio of Linnaeus, and the common English monosyllable Bog, loose sheets, and after premising that the topographi- by which we mean, in popular language, a marsh or cal details here laid down were designed to illustrate a morass—in Latin, Palus. But it may confound the rash slight essay upon castrametation, which had been read adopters of the more obvious etymological derivations, with indulgence at several societies of Antiquaries, he to learn that the couch-grass or dog-grass, or, to speak

381 The Antiquary scientifically, the Triticum repens of Linnaeus, does not old Scottish poetry, we gain either Whilkens, or grow within a quarter of a mile of this castrum or hill- Whichensborgh—put we may suppose, by way of ques- fort, whose ramparts are uniformly clothed with short tion, as if those who imposed the name, struck with the verdant turf; and that we must seek a bog or palus at a extreme antiquity of the place, had expressed in it an still greater distance, the nearest being that of Gird- interrogation, To whom did this fortress belong?’—Or, the-mear, a full half-mile distant. The last syllable, bog, it might be Whackens-burgh, from the Saxon Whacken, is obviously, therefore, a mere corruption of the Saxon to strike with the hand, as doubtless the skirmishes near Burgh, which we find in the various transmutations of a place of such apparent consequence must have legiti- Burgh, Burrow, Brough, Bruff, Buff, and Boff, which last mated such a derivation,” etc. etc. etc. approaches very near the sound in question—since, sup- I will be more merciful to my readers than Oldbuck posing the word to have been originally borgh, which is was to his guest; for, considering his opportunities of the genuine Saxon spelling, a slight change, such as gaining patient attention from a person of such conse- modern organs too often make upon ancient sounds, will quence as Lord Glenallan were not many, he used, or produce first Bogh, and then, elisa H, or compromising rather abused, the present to the uttermost. and sinking the guttural, agreeable to the common vernacular practice, you have either Boff or Bog as it happens. 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

382 Sir Walter Scott “Na, sir,—but my lord’s man sought me out, for he fancies me your honour’s valley-de-sham,—and sae I am, CHAPTER FIFTEENTH 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 Crabbed age and youth o’ my profession.” Cannot live together:— Youth is full of pleasance, “Well, well—never mind that,” said the Antiquary— Age is full of care; ”happy is he that is his own valley-de-sham, as you call Youth like summer morn, it—But why disturb my morning’s rest?” Age like winter weather; Youth like summer brave, “Ou, sir, the great man’s been up since peep o’ day, Age like winter bare. and he’s steered the town to get awa an express to fetch his carriage, and it will be here briefly, and he wad like Shakspeare to see your honour afore he gaes awa.” “Gadso!” ejaculated Oldbuck, “these great men use one’s house and time as if they were their own property. IN THE MORNING of the following day, the Antiquary, who was something of a sluggard, was summoned from his bed Well, it’s once and away. Has Jenny come to her senses a full hour earlier than his custom by Caxon. “What’s the yet, Caxon?” matter now?” he exclaimed, yawning and stretching forth “Troth, sir, but just middling,” replied the barber; his hand to the huge gold repeater, which, bedded upon his “she’s been in a swither about the jocolate this morn- India silk handkerchief, was laid safe by his pillow—“what’s ing, and was like to hae toomed it a’ out into the slap- the matter now, Caxon?—it can’t be eight o’clock yet.” bason, and drank it hersell in her ecstacies—but she’s

383 The Antiquary won ower wi’t, wi’ the help o’ Miss M’Intyre.” said, if ye didna, your nevoy did, and that he was weel “Then all my womankind are on foot and scrambling, ken’d to be a kingsman that wad fight knee-deep, and and I must enjoy my quiet bed no longer, if I would that ye were the head and he was the hand, and that the have a well-regulated house—Lend me my gown. And Yerl was to bring out the men and the siller.” what are the news at Fairport?” “Come,” said the Antiquary, laughing—“I am glad “Ou, sir, what can they be about but this grand news the war is to cost me nothing but counsel.” o’ my lord,” answered the old man, “that hasna been “Na, na,” said Caxon—“naebody thinks your honour ower the door-stane, they threep to me, for this twenty wad either fight yoursell, or gie ony feck o’ siller to ony years—this grand news of his coming to visit your side o’ the question.” honour?” “Umph! well, that’s the opinion of the democraws, as “Aha!” said Monkbarns; “and what do they say of that, you call them—What say the rest o’ Fairport?” Caxon?” “In troth,” said the candid reporter, “I canna say it’s “‘Deed, sir, they hae various opinions. Thae fallows, muckle better. Captain Coquet, of the volunteers—that’s that are the democraws, as they ca’ them, that are again’ him that’s to be the new collector,—and some of the the king and the law, and hairpowder and dressing o’ other gentlemen of the Blue and a’ Blue Club, are just gentlemen’s wigs—a wheen blackguards—they say he’s saying it’s no right to let popists, that hae sae mony come doun to speak wi’ your honour about bringing doun French friends as the Yerl of Glenallan, gang through his hill lads and Highland tenantry to break up the the country, and—but your honour will maybe be an- meetings of the Friends o’ the People;—and when I said gry?” your honour never meddled wi’ the like o’ sic things “Not I, Caxon,” said Oldbuck; “fire away as if you where there was like to be straiks and bloodshed, they were Captain Coquet’s whole platoon—I can stand it.”

384 Sir Walter Scott “Weel then, they say, sir, that as ye didna encourage veshel’s embayed afore I could sharp a razor; and then the petition about the peace, and wadna petition in there’s nae harbour or city of refuge on our coast—a’ favour of the new tax, and as you were again’ bringing craigs and breakers;—a veshel that rins ashore wi’ us in the yeomanry at the meal mob, but just for settling flees asunder like the powther when I shake the pluff— the folk wi’ the constables—they say ye’re no a gude and it’s as ill to gather ony o’t again. I aye tell my daugh- friend to government; and that thae sort o’ meetings ter thae things when she grows wearied for a letter frae between sic a powerfu’ man as the Yerl, and sic a wise Lieutenant Taffril—It’s aye an apology for him. Ye man as you,—Od they think they suld be lookit after; sudna blame him, says I, hinny, for ye little ken what and some say ye should baith be shankit aff till may hae happened.” Edinburgh Castle.” “Ay, ay, Caxon, thou art as good a comforter as a va- “On my word,” said the Antiquary, “I am infinitely obliged let-de-chambre.—Give me a white stock, man,—dye to my neighbours for their good opinion of me! And so I, think I can go down with a handkerchief about my neck that have never interfered with their bickerings, but to rec- when I have company?” ommend quiet and moderate measures, am given up on both “Dear sir, the Captain says a three-nookit hankercher sides as a man very likely to commit high treason, either is the maist fashionable overlay, and that stocks belang against King or People?—Give me my coat, Caxon—give to your honour and me that are auld warld folk. I beg me my coat;—it’s lucky I live not in their report. Have you pardon for mentioning us twa thegither, but it was what heard anything of Taffril and his vessel?” he said.” Caxon’s countenance fell.—“Na, sir, and the winds hae “The Captain’s a puppy, and you are a goose, Caxon.” been high, and this is a fearfu’ coast to cruise on in thae “It’s very like it may be sae,” replied the acquiescent eastern gales,—the headlands rin sae far out, that a barber: “I am sure your honour kens best.”

385 The Antiquary Before breakfast, Lord Glenallan, who appeared in bet- any reason to suspect the truth of what she has told ter spirits than he had evinced in the former evening, you last, from no apparent impulse but the urgency of went particularly through the various circumstances of conscience. Her confession was voluntary, disinterested, evidence which the exertions of Oldbuck had formerly distinct, consistent with itself, and with all the other collected; and pointing out the means which he possessed known circumstances of the case. I would lose no time, of completing the proof of his marriage, expressed his however, in examining and arranging the other docu- resolution instantly to go through the painful task of ments to which she has referred; and I also think her collecting and restoring the evidence concerning the own statement should be taken down, if possible in a birth of Eveline Neville, which Elspeth had stated to formal manner. We thought of setting about this to- be in his mother’s possession. gether. But it will be a relief to your lordship, and more- “And yet, Mr. Oldbuck,” he said, “I feel like a man over have a more impartial appearance, were I to at- who receives important tidings ere he is yet fully awake, tempt the investigation alone in the capacity of a mag- and doubt whether they refer to actual life, or are not istrate. I will do this—at least I will attempt it, so soon rather a continuation of his dream. This woman—this as I shall see her in a favourable state of mind to un- Elspeth,—she is in the extremity of age, and approach- dergo an examination.” ing in many respects to dotage. Have I not—it is a hid- Lord Glenallan wrung the Antiquary’s hand in token eous question—have I not been hasty in the admission of grateful acquiescence. “I cannot express to you,” he of her present evidence, against that which she formerly said, “Mr. Oldbuck, how much your countenance and gave me to a very—very different purpose?” cooperation in this dark and most melancholy business Mr. Oldbuck paused a moment, and then answered gives me relief and confidence. I cannot enough applaud with firmness—“No, my lord; I cannot think you have myself for yielding to the sudden impulse which impelled

386 Sir Walter Scott me, as it were, to drag you into my confidence, and which the frauds which have so long been practised upon you.— arose from the experience I had formerly of your firm- But, my lord, the matin meal is, I see, now prepared— ness in discharge of your duty as a magistrate, and as a Permit me to show your lordship the way through the friend to the memory of the unfortunate. Whatever the intricacies of my cenobitium, which is rather a combi- issue of these matters may prove,—and I would fain nation of cells, jostled oddly together, and piled one upon hope there is a dawn breaking on the fortunes of my the top of the other, than a regular house. I trust you house, though I shall not live to enjoy its light,—but will make yourself some amends for the spare diet of whatsoever be the issue, you have laid my family and yesterday.” me under the most lasting obligation.” But this was no part of Lord Glenallan’s system. Hav- “My lord,” answered the Antiquary, “I must neces- ing saluted the company with the grave and melancholy sarily have the greatest respect for your lordship’s fam- politeness which distinguished his manners, his servant ily, which I am well aware is one of the most ancient in placed before him a slice of toasted bread, with a glass Scotland, being certainly derived from Aymer de of fair water, being the fare on which he usually broke Geraldin, who sat in parliament at Perth, in the reign his fast. While the morning’s meal of the young soldier of Alexander II., and who by the less vouched, yet plau- and the old Antiquary was despatched in much more sible tradition of the country, is said to have been de- substantial manner, the noise of wheels was heard. scended from the Marmor of Clochnaben. Yet, with all “Your lordship’s carriage, I believe,” said Oldbuck, my veneration for your ancient descent, I must acknowl- stepping to the window. “On my word, a handsome edge that I find myself still more bound to give your quadriga,—for such, according to the best scholium, was lordship what assistance is in my limited power, from the vox signata of the Romans for a chariot which, like sincere sympathy with your sorrows, and detestation at that of your lordship, was drawn by four horses.”

387 The Antiquary “And I will venture to say,” cried Hector, eagerly gaz- other hand, seizing the Earl’s sleeve, endeavoured to in- ing from the window, “that four handsomer or better- tercept a present which boded no good to his corn-chest matched bays never were put in harness—What fine and hay-loft. forehands!—what capital chargers they would make!— “My lord—my lord—much obliged—much obliged— Might I ask if they are of your lordship’s own breed- But Hector is a pedestrian, and never mounts on horse- ing?” back in battle—he is a Highland soldier, moreover, and “I—I—rather believe so,” said Lord Glenallan; “but his dress ill adapted for cavalry service. Even I have been so negligent of my domestic matters, that I Macpherson never mounted his ancestors on horseback, am ashamed to say I must apply to Calvert” (looking at though he has the impudence to talk of their being car- the domestic). borne—and that, my lord, is what is running in Hector’s “They are of your lordship’s own breeding,” said head—it is the vehicular, not the equestrian exercise, Calvert, “got by Mad Tom out of Jemina and Yarico, which he envies— your lordship’s brood mares.” “Are there more of the set?” said Lord Glenallan. Sunt quos curriculo pulverem Olympicum “Two, my lord,—one rising four, the other five off this Collegisse juvat. grass, both very handsome.” “Then let Dawkins bring them down to Monkbarns His noddle is running on a curricle, which he has neither to-morrow,” said the Earl—“I hope Captain M’Intyre money to buy, nor skill to drive if he had it; and I assure will accept them, if they are at all fit for service.” your lordship, that the possession of two such quadru- Captain M’Intyre’s eyes sparkled, and he was profuse peds would prove a greater scrape than any of his duels, in grateful acknowledgments; while Oldbuck, on the whether with human foe or with my friend the phoca.”

388 Sir Walter Scott “You must command us all at present, Mr. Oldbuck,” sary to give you such a specific explanation, I am going said the Earl politely; “but I trust you will not ultimately to Fairport on a little business.” prevent my gratifying my young friend in some way that “Will you permit me to inquire into the nature of that may afford him pleasure.” business, Hector?” answered his uncle, who loved the “Anything useful, my lord,” said Oldbuck, “but no exercise of a little brief authority over his relative. “I curriculum—I protest he might as rationally propose to should suppose any regimental affairs might be trans- keep a quadriga at once—And now I think of it, what is acted by your worthy deputy the sergeant—an honest that old post-chaise from Fairport come jingling here gentleman, who is so good as to make Monkbarns his for?—I did not send for it.” home since his arrival among us—I should, I say, sup- “I did, sir,” said Hector, rather sulkily, for he was not pose that he may transact any business of yours, with- much gratified by his uncle’s interference to prevent the out your spending a day’s pay on two dog-horses, and Earl’s intended generosity, nor particularly inclined to such a combination of rotten wood, cracked glass, and relish either the disparagement which he cast upon his leather—such a skeleton of a post-chaise, as that be- skill as a charioteer, or the mortifying allusion to his fore the door.” bad success in the adventures of the duel and the seal. “It is not regimental business, sir, that calls me; and, “You did, sir?” echoed the Antiquary, in answer to his since you insist upon knowing, I must inform you Caxon concise information. “And pray, what may be your busi- has brought word this morning that old Ochiltree, the ness with a post-chaise? Is this splendid equipage—this beggar, is to be brought up for examination to-day, pre- biga, as I may call it—to serve for an introduction to a vious to his being committed for trial; and I’m going to quadriga or a curriculum?” see that the poor old fellow gets fair play—that’s all.” “Really, sir,” replied the young soldier, “if it be neces- “Ay?—I heard something of this, but could not think

389 The Antiquary it serious. And pray, Captain Hector, who are so ready Lord Glenallan’s politeness had induced him to turn to be every man’s second on all occasions of strife, civil away and talk with the ladies, when the dispute between or military, by land, by water, or on the sea-beach, what the uncle and nephew appeared to grow rather too ani- is your especial concern with old Edie Ochiltree?” mated to be fit for the ear of a stranger, but the Earl “He was a soldier in my father’s company, sir,” replied mingled again in the conversation when the placable tone Hector; “and besides, when I was about to do a very of the Antiquary expressed amity. Having received a foolish thing one day, he interfered to prevent me, and brief account of the mendicant, and of the accusation gave me almost as much good advice, sir, as you could brought against him, which Oldbuck did not hesitate to have done yourself.” ascribe to the malice of Dousterswivel, Lord Glenallan “And with the same good effect, I dare be sworn for asked, whether the individual in question had not been it—eh, Hector?—Come, confess it was thrown away.” a soldier formerly?—He was answered in the affirma- “Indeed it was, sir; but I see no reason that my folly tive. should make me less grateful for his intended kindness.” “Had he not,” continued his Lordship, “a coarse blue “Bravo, Hector! that’s the most sensible thing I ever coat, or gown, with a badge?—was he not a tall, strik- heard you say. But always tell me your plans without ing-looking old man, with grey beard and hair, who kept reserve,—why, I will go with you myself, man. I am sure his body remarkably erect, and talked with an air of the old fellow is not guilty, and I will assist him in such ease and independence, which formed a strong contrast a scrape much more effectually than you can do. Be- to his profession?” sides, it will save thee half-a-guinea, my lad—a consid- “All this is an exact picture of the man,” refumed eration which I heartily pray you to have more fre- Oldbuck. quently before your eyes.” “Why, then,” continued Lord Glenallan, “although I

390 Sir Walter Scott fear I can be of no use to him in his present condition, or their divine;—I promise you he has too many duties, yet I owe him a debt of gratitude for being the first and is too zealous in performing them, to be easily bribed person who brought me some tidings of the utmost im- to abandon his calling. But I should be truly sorry if portance. I would willingly offer him a place of com- they sent the poor light-hearted old man to lie for weeks fortable retirement, when he is extricated from his in a jail. I am convinced the confinement would break present situation.” his heart.” “I fear, my lord,” said Oldbuck, “he would have diffi- Thus finished the conference. Lord Glenallan, having culty in reconciling his vagrant habits to the acceptance taken leave of the ladies, renewed his offer to Captain of your bounty, at least I know the experiment has been M’Intyre of the freedom of his manors for sporting, tried without effect. To beg from the public at large he which was joyously accepted, considers as independence, in comparison to drawing his “I can only add,” he said, “that if your spirits are not whole support from the bounty of an individual. He is liable to be damped by dull company, Glenallan House so far a true philosopher, as to be a contemner of all is at all times open to you. On two days of the week, ordinary rules of hours and times. When he is hungry Friday and Saturday, I keep my apartment, which will he eats; when thirsty he drinks; when weary he sleeps; be rather a relief to you, as you will be left to enjoy the and with such indifference with respect to the means society of my almoner, Mr. Gladsmoor, who is a scholar and appliances about which we make a fuss, that I sup- and a man of the world.” pose he was never ill dined or ill lodged in his life. Then Hector, his heart exulting at the thoughts of ranging he is, to a certain extent, the oracle of the district through the preserves of Glenallan House, and over the through which he travels—their genealogist, their news- well-protected moors of Clochnaben—nay, joy of joys! man, their master of the revels, their doctor at a pinch, the deer-forest of Strath-Bonnel—made many

391 The Antiquary acknowledgements of the honour and gratitude he felt. Mr. Oldbuck was sensible of the Earl’s attention to his nephew; Miss M’Intyre was pleased because her brother CHAPTER SIXTEENTH was gratified; and Miss Griselda Oldbuck looked forward with glee to the potting of whole bags of moorfowl and black-game, of which Mr. Blattergowl was a professed Yes! I love justice well—as well as you do— But since the good dame’s blind, she shall excuse me admirer. Thus,—which is always the case when a man If, time and reason fitting, I prove dumb;— of rank leaves a private family where he has studied to The breath I utter now shall be no means appear obliging,—all were ready to open in praise of To take away from me my breath in future. the Earl as soon as he had taken his leave, and was Old Play. 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 BY DINT OF CHARITY from the town’s-people in aid of the one horse trotting, and the other urged to a canter, load of provisions he had brought with him into du- creaked, jingled, and hobbled towards that celebrated rance, Edie Ochiltree had passed a day or two’s confine- seaport, in a manner that formed a strong contrast to ment without much impatience, regretting his want of the rapidity and smoothness with which Lord freedom the less, as the weather proved broken and rainy. Glenallan’s equipage had seemed to vanish from their “The prison,” he said, “wasna sae dooms bad a place eyes. as it was ca’d. Ye had aye a good roof ower your head to fend aff the weather, and, if the windows werena glazed, it was the mair airy and pleasant for the summer sea-

392 Sir Walter Scott son. And there were folk enow to crack wi’, and he had conducted into the presence of inquisitorial justice. The bread eneugh to eat, and what need he fash himsell about people, as the aged prisoner was led along by his de- the rest o’t?” crepit guards, exclaimed to each other, “Eh! see sic a The courage of our philosophical mendicant began, grey-haired man as that is, to have committed a high- however, to abate, when the sunbeams shone fair on the way robbery, wi’ ae fit in the grave!”—And the children rusty bars of his grated dungeon, and a miserable lin- congratulated the officers, objects of their alternate net, whose cage some poor debtor had obtained permis- dread and sport, Puggie Orrock and Jock Ormston, on sion to attach to the window, began to greet them with having a prisoner as old as themselves. his whistle. Thus marshalled forward, Edie was presented (by no “Ye’re in better spirits than I am,” said Edie, address- means for the first time) before the worshipful Bailie ing the bird, “for I can neither whistle nor sing for think- Littlejohn, who, contrary to what his name expressed, ing o’ the bonny burnsides and green shaws that I should was a tall portly magistrate, on whom corporation crusts hae been dandering beside in weather like this. But hae— had not been conferred in vain. He was a zealous loyal- there’s some crumbs t’ye, an ye are sae merry; and troth ist of that zealous time, somewhat rigorous and peremp- ye hae some reason to sing an ye kent it, for your cage tory in the execution of his duty, and a good deal in- comes by nae faut o’ your ain, and I may thank mysell flated with the sense of his own power and importance;— that I am closed up in this weary place.” otherwise an honest, well-meaning, and useful citizen. Ochiltree’s soliloquy was disturbed by a peace-officer, “Bring him in! bring him in!” he exclaimed. “Upon who came to summon him to attend the magistrate. So my word these are awful and unnatural times! the very he set forth in awful procession between two poor crea- bedesmen and retainers of his Majesty are the first to tures, neither of them so stout as he was himself, to be break his laws. Here has been an old Blue-Gown com-

393 The Antiquary mitting robbery—I suppose the next will reward the should prove my guilt, and no to be bidding me prove royal charity which supplies him with his garb, pension, my innocence.” and begging license, by engaging in high-treason, or se- “I don’t sit here,” answered the magistrate, “to dis- dition at least—But bring him in.” pute points of law with you. I ask you, if you choose to Edie made his obeisance, and then stood, as usual, firm answer my question, whether you were at Ringan and erect, with the side of his face turned a little up- Aikwood, the forester’s, upon the day I have specified?” ward, as if to catch every word which the magistrate “Really, sir, I dinna feel myself called on to remem- might address to him. To the first general questions, ber,” replied the cautious bedesman. which respected only his name and calling, the mendi- “Or whether, in the course of that day or night,” con- cant answered with readiness and accuracy; but when tinued the magistrate, “you saw Steven, or Steenie, the magistrate, having caused his clerk to take down Mucklebackit?—you knew him, I suppose?” these particulars, began to inquire whereabout the men- “O, brawlie did I ken Steenie, puir fallow,” replied the dicant was on the night when Dousterswivel met with prisoner;—“but I canna condeshend on ony particular his misfortune, Edie demurred to the motion. “Can ye time I have seen him lately.” tell me now, Bailie, you that understands the law, what “Were you at the ruins of St. Ruth any time in the gude will it do me to answer ony o’ your questions?” course of that evening?” “Good?—no good certainly, my friend, except that giv- “Bailie Littlejohn,” said the mendicant, “if it be your ing a true account of yourself, if you are innocent, may honour’s pleasure, we’ll cut a lang tale short, and I’ll entitle me to set you at liberty.” just tell ye, I am no minded to answer ony o’ thae ques- “But it seems mair reasonable to me now, that you, tions—I’m ower auld a traveller to let my tongue bring Bailie, or anybody that has anything to say against me, me into trouble.”

394 Sir Walter Scott “Write down,” said the magistrate, “that he declines in the riots in Dublin—besides, I have ate the King’s to answer all interrogatories, in respect that by telling bread mony a day. Stay, let me see. Ay—write that Edie the truth he might be brought to trouble.” Ochiltree, the Blue-Gown, stands up for the preroga- “Na, na,” said Ochiltree, “I’ll no hae that set down as tive—(see that ye spell that word right—it’s a lang ony part o’ my answer—but I just meant to say, that in ane)—for the prerogative of the subjects of the land, a’ my memory and practice, I never saw ony gude come and winna answer a single word that sall be asked at o’ answering idle questions.” him this day, unless he sees a reason fort. Put down that, “Write down,” said the Bailie, “that, being acquainted young man.” with judicial interrogatories by long practice, and hav- “Then, Edie,” said the magistrate, “since you will give ing sustained injury by answering questions put to him no information on the subject, I must send you back to on such occasions, the declarant refuses” prison till you shall be delivered in due course of law.” “Na, na, Bailie,” reiterated Edie, “ye are no to come “Aweel, sir, if it’s Heaven’s will and man’s will, nae in on me that gait neither.” doubt I maun submit,” replied the mendicant. “I hae “Dictate the answer yourself then, friend,” said the nae great objection to the prison, only that a body canna magistrate, “and the clerk will take it down from your win out o’t; and if it wad please you as weel, Bailie, I own mouth.” wad gie you my word to appear afore the Lords at the “Ay, ay,” said Edie—“that’s what I ca’ fair play; I’se Circuit, or in ony other coart ye like, on ony day ye are do that without loss o’ time. Sae, neighbour, ye may pleased to appoint.” just write down, that Edie Ochiltree, the declarant, “I rather think, my good friend,” answered Bailie stands up for the liberty—na, I maunna say that nei- Littlejohn, “your word might be a slender security where ther—I am nae liberty-boy—I hae fought again’ them your neck may be in some danger. I am apt to think you

395 The Antiquary would suffer the pledge to be forfeited. If you could give brings us but awkwardly to the present.” And he hobbled me sufficient security, indeed”— towards his weapon to illustrate his doubts and display At this moment the Antiquary and Captain M’Intyre his proficiency. entered the apartment. —“Good morning to you, gentle- “I rejoice we have such zealous defenders, Bailie,” re- men,” said the magistrate; “you find me toiling in my plied Mr. Oldbuck; “and I dare say Hector will gratify usual vocation—looking after the iniquities of the people you by communicating his opinion on your progress in —labouring for the respublica, Mr. Oldbuck—serving the this new calling. Why, you rival the Hecate’ of the an- King our master, Captain M’Intyre,—for I suppose you cients, my good sir—a merchant on the Mart, a magis- know I have taken up the sword?” trate in the Townhouse, a soldier on the Links—quid “It is one of the emblems of justice, doubtless,” an- non pro patria? But my business is with the justice; so swered the Antiquary;—“but I should have thought the let commerce and war go slumber.” scales would have suited you better, Bailie, especially as “Well, my good sir,” said the Bailie, “and what com- you have them ready in the warehouse.” mands have you for me?” “Very good, Monkbarns—excellent! But I do not take “Why, here’s an old acquaintance of mine, called Edie the sword up as justice, but as a soldier—indeed I should Ochiltree, whom some of your myrmidons have mewed rather say the musket and bayonet—there they stand up in jail on account of an alleged assault on that fellow at the elbow of my gouty chair, for I am scarce fit for Dousterswivel, of whose accusation I do not believe one drill yet—a slight touch of our old acquaintance poda- word.” gra; I can keep my feet, however, while our sergeant puts The magistrate here assumed a very grave counte- me through the manual. I should like to know, Captain nance. “You ought to have been informed that he is ac- M’Intyre, if he follows the regulations correctly—he cused of robbery, as well as assault—a very serious mat-

396 Sir Walter Scott ter indeed; it is not often such criminals come under my bedesman, and entitled to beg by word of mouth, to be cognizance.” fishing for bawbees out at the jail window wi’ the fit o’ a “And,” replied Oldbuck, “you are tenacious of the op- stocking, and a string.” As he made this observation he portunity of making the very most of such as occur. was conducted out of the apartment. But is this poor old man’s case really so very bad?” Mr. Dousterswivel’s declaration contained an exagger- “It is rather out of rule,” said the Bailie—”but as you ated account of the violence he had sustained, and also are in the commission, Monkbarns, I have no hesitation of his loss. to show you Dousterswivel’s declaration, and the rest “But what I should have liked to have asked him,” of the precognition.” And he put the papers into the said Monkbarns, “would have been his purpose in fre- Antiquary’s hands, who assumed his spectacles, and sat quenting the ruins of St. Ruth, so lonely a place, at such down in a corner to peruse them. an hour, and with such a companion as Edie Ochiltree. The officers, in the meantime, had directions to re- There is no road lies that way, and I do not conceive a move their prisoner into another apartment; but before mere passion for the picturesque would carry the Ger- they could do so, M’Intyre took an opportunity to greet man thither in such a night of storm and wind. Depend old Edie, and to slip a guinea into his hand. upon it, he has been about some roguery, and in all prob- “Lord bless your honour!” said the old man; “it’s a ability hath been caught in a trap of his own setting— young soldier’s gift, and it should surely thrive wi’ an Nec lex justitior ulla.” auld ane. I’se no refuse it, though it’s beyond my rules; The magistrate allowed there was something mysteri- for if they steek me up here, my friends are like eneugh ous in that circumstance, and apologized for not press- to forget me—out o’sight out o’mind, is a true proverb; ing Dousterswivel, as his declaration was voluntarily and it wadna be creditable for me, that am the king’s emitted. But for the support of the main charge, he

397 The Antiquary showed the declaration of the Aikwoods concerning the no doubt that Ochiltree and Steenie Mucklebackit were state in which Dousterswivel was found, and establish- the persons whom he and his comrade had pursued, as ing the important fact that the mendicant had left the above mentioned.” And being interrogated why he did barn in which he was quartered, and did not return to it not enter the said cottage, declares, “he had no warrant again. Two people belonging to the Fairport undertaker, so to do; and that as Mucklebackit and his family were who had that night been employed in attending the fu- understood to be rough-handed folk, he, the declarant, neral of Lady Glenallan, had also given declarations, had no desire to meddle or make with their affairs, Causa that, being sent to pursue two suspicious persons who scientiae patet. All which he declares to be truth,” etc. left the ruins of St. Ruth as the funeral approached, “What do you say to that body of evidence against and who, it was supposed, might have been pillaging your friend?” said the magistrate, when he had observed some of the ornaments prepared for the ceremony, they the Antiquary had turned the last leaf. had lost and regained sight of them more than once, “Why, were it in the case of any other person, I own I owing to the nature of the ground, which was should say it looked, prima facie, a little ugly; but I can- unfavourable for riding, but had at length fairly lodged not allow anybody to be in the wrong for beating them both in Mucklebackit’s cottage. And one of the Dousterswivel—Had I been an hour younger, or had but men added, that “he, the declarant, having dismounted one single flash of your warlike genius, Bailie, I should from his horse, and gone close up to the window of the have done it myself long ago. He is nebulo nebulonum, an hut, he saw the old Blue-Gown and young Steenie impudent, fraudulent, mendacious quack, that has cost Mucklebackit, with others, eating and drinking in the me a hundred pounds by his roguery, and my neighbour inside, and also observed the said Steenie Mucklebackit Sir Arthur, God knows how much. And besides, Bailie, I show a pocket-book to the others;—and declarant has do not hold him to be a sound friend to Government.”

398 Sir Walter Scott “Indeed?” said Bailie Littlejohn; “if I thought that, judicial declaration on the part of an accused person, it would alter the question considerably.” which, to say the truth, has hanged many an honester “Right—for, in beating him,” observed Oldbuck, “the man than he is.” bedesman must have shown his gratitude to the king by “Well, but, Bailie,” continued Oldbuck, “you have no thumping his enemy; and in robbing him, he would only objection to let me try him?” have plundered an Egyptian, whose wealth it is lawful “None in the world, Monkbarns. I hear the sergeant to spoil. Now, suppose this interview in the ruins of St. below—I’ll rehearse the manual in the meanwhile. Baby, Ruth had relation to politics,—and this story of hidden carry my gun and bayonet down to the room below—it treasure, and so forth, was a bribe from the other side makes less noise there when we ground arms.” And so of the water for some great man, or the funds destined exit the martial magistrate, with his maid behind him to maintain a seditious club?” bearing his weapons. “My dear sir,” said the magistrate, catching at the idea, “A good squire that wench for a gouty champion,” ob- “you hit my very thoughts! How fortunate should I be served Oldbuck.—“Hector, my lad, hook on, hook on— if I could become the humble means of sifting such a Go with him, boy—keep him employed, man, for half- matter to the bottom!—Don’t you think we had better an-hour or so—butter him with some warlike terms— call out the volunteers, and put them on duty?” praise his dress and address.” “Not just yet, while podagra deprives them of an es- Captain M’Intyre, who, like many of his profession, sential member of their body. But will you let me exam- looked down with infinite scorn on those citizen soldiers ine Ochiltree?” who had assumed arms without any professional title “Certainly; but you’ll make nothing of him. He gave to bear them, rose with great reluctance, observing that me distinctly to understand he knew the danger of a he should not know what to say to Mr. Littlejohn; and

399 The Antiquary that to see an old gouty shop-keeper attempting the But Hector, who saw which way the conversation was exercise and duties of a private soldier, was really too tending, and hated all allusions to the foil he had sus- ridiculous. tained from the fish, made his escape before the Anti- “It may be so, Hector,” said the Antiquary, who sel- quary concluded the sentence. dom agreed with any person in the immediate proposition which was 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, where parties plead in person, for lack of cash to retain the professed heroes of the bar. I am sure in the one case we never regret the want of 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 you 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,” said his uncle, “whose ardour for quarrelling cannot pass so much as a poor phoca sleeping upon the beach!”

400 Sir Walter Scott thence trickled down his cheeks and white beard. His features were, nevertheless, calm and composed, and his CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH whole posture and mien indicated patience and resignation. Oldbuck had approached him without being observed, and roused him out of his musing by saying Well, well, at worst, ’tis neither theft nor coinage, kindly, “I am sorry, Edie, to see you so much cast down Granting I knew all that you charge me with. What though the tomb hath borne a second birth, about this matter.” And given the wealth to one that knew not on’t, The mendicant started, dried his eyes very hastily with Yet fair exchange was never robbery, the sleeve of his gown, and endeavouring to recover his Far less pure bounty— usual tone of indifference and jocularity, answered, but Old Play. 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 advan- THE ANTIQUARY, in order to avail himself of the permis- tage o’ prisons and courts o’ justice, that ye may greet sion given him to question the accused party, chose your een out an ye like, and nane o’ the folk that’s con- rather to go to the apartment in which Ochiltree was cerned about them will ever ask you what it’s for.” detained, than to make the examination appear formal “Well, Edie,” replied Oldbuck, “I hope your present by bringing him again into the magistrate’s office. He cause of distress is not so bad but it may be removed.” found the old man seated by a window which looked out “And I had hoped, Monkbarns,” answered the mendi- on the sea; and as he gazed on that prospect, large tears cant, in a tone of reproach, “that ye had ken’d me bet- found their way, as if unconsciously, to his eye, and from ter than to think that this bit trifling trouble o’ my ain

401 The Antiquary wad bring tears into my auld een, that hae seen far dif- qualities of a safe and pleasant companion by land or by ferent kind o’ distress.—Na, na!—But here’s been the sea—one, Edie, whom, from the ingenuousness of his dis- puir lass, Caxon’s daughter, seeking comfort, and has position, I would choose, did I ever go a sea-voyage (which gotten unco little—there’s been nae speerings o’ Taffril’s I never do, unless across the ferry), fragilem mecum solvere gunbrig since the last gale; and folk report on the key phaselum, to be the companion of my risk, as one against that a king’s ship had struck on the Reef of Rattray, whom the elements could nourish no vengeance. No, Edie, and a’ hands lost—God forbid! for as sure as you live, it is not, and cannot be true—it is a fiction of the idle Monkbarns, the puir lad Lovel, that ye liked sae weel, jade Rumour, whom I wish hanged with her trumpet must have perished.” about her neck, that serves only with its screech-owl tones “God forbid indeed!” echoed the Antiquary, turning to fright honest folks out of their senses.—Let me know pale—”I would rather Monkbarns House were on fire. how you got into this scrape of your own.” My poor dear friend and coadjutor! I will down to the “Are ye axing me as a magistrate, Monkbarns, or is it quay instantly.” just for your ain satisfaction!” “I’m sure yell learn naething mair than I hae tauld “For my own satisfaction solely,” replied the ye, sir,” said Ochiltree, “for the officer-folk here were Antiquaxy. very civil (that is, for the like o’ them), and lookit up ae “Put up your pocket-book and your keelyvine pen their letters and authorities, and could throw nae light then, for I downa speak out an ye hae writing materials on’t either ae way or another.” in your hands—they’re a scaur to unlearned folk like “It can’t be true! it shall not be true!” said the Anti- me—Od, ane o’ the clerks in the neist room will clink quary, “And I won’t believe it if it were!—Taffril’s an down, in black and white, as muckle as wad hang a man, excellent sea man, and Lovel (my poor Lovel!) has all the before ane kens what he’s saying.”

402 Sir Walter Scott Monkbarns complied with the old man’s humour, and it from what I know of the parties. But I think it likely put up his memorandum-book. that you know a great deal more than you have thought Edie then went with great frankness through the part it proper to tell me, about this matter of the treasure of the story already known to the reader, informing the trove—I suspect you have acted the part of the Lar Antiquary of the scene which he had witnessed between Familiaris in Plautus—a sort of Brownie, Edie, to speak Dousterswivel and his patron in the ruins of St. Ruth, to your comprehension, who watched over hidden trea- and frankly confessing that he could not resist the op- sures. —I do bethink me you were ten Sir Arthur made portunity of decoying the adept once more to visit the his successful attack upon Misticot’s grave, and also that tomb of Misticot, with the purpose of taking a comic when the labourers began to flag, you, Edie, were again revenge upon him for his quackery. He had easily per- the first to leap into the trench, and to make the discov- suaded Steenie, who was a bold thoughtless young fel- ery of the treasure. Now you must explain an this to low, to engage in the frolic along with him, and the jest me, unless you would have me use you as ill as Euclio had been inadvertently carried a great deal farther than does Staphyla in the Aulularia.” was designed. Concerning the pocket-book, he explained “Lordsake, sir,” replied the mendicant, “what do I ken that he had expressed his surprise and sorrow as soon as about your Howlowlaria?—it’s mair like a dog’s lan- he found it had been inadvertently brought off: and that guage than a man’s.” publicly, before all the inmates of the cottage, Steenie “You knew, however, of the box of treasure being had undertaken to return it the next day, and had only there?” continued Oldbuck. been prevented by his untimely fate. “Dear sir,” answered Edie, assuming a countenance The Antiquary pondered a moment, and then said, of great simplicity, “what likelihood is there o’that? d’ye “Your account seems very probable, Edie, and I believe think sae puir an auld creature as me wad hae kend o’

403 The Antiquary sic a like thing without getting some gude out o’t?— cepting this, that there was nae ill intended, but muckle and ye wot weel I sought nane and gat nane, like Michael gude, and that the purpose was to serve them that are Scott’s man. What concern could I hae wi’t?” worth twenty hundred o’ me. But there’s nae law, I trow, “That’s just what I want you to explain to me,” said that makes it a sin to ken where ither folles siller is, if Oldbuck; “for I am positive you knew it was there.” we didna pit hand til’t oursell?” “Your honour’s a positive man, Monkbarns—and, for Oldbuck walked once or twice up and down the room a positive man, I must needs allow ye’re often in the in profound thought, endeavouring to find some plau- right.” sible reason for transactions of a nature so mysterious— “You allow, then, Edie, that my belief is well founded?” but his ingenuity was totally at fault. He then placed Edie nodded acquiescence. himself before the prisoner. “Then please to explain to me the whole affair from “This story of yours, friend Edie, is an absolute beginning to end,” said the Antiquary. enigma, and would require a second Œdipus to solve “If it were a secret o’ mine, Monkbarns,” replied the it—who Œdipus was, I will tell you some other time if beggar, “ye suldna ask twice; for I hae aye said ahint you remind me—However, whether it be owing to the your back, that for a’ the nonsense maggots that ye wisdom or to the maggots with which you compliment whiles take into your head, ye are the maist wise and me, I am strongly disposed to believe that you have spo- discreet o’ a’ our country gentles. But I’se een be open- ken the truth, the rather that you have not made any of hearted wi’ you, and tell you that this is a friend’s se- those obtestations of the superior powers, which I ob- cret, and that they suld draw me wi’ wild horses, or saw serve you and your comrades always make use of when me asunder, as they did the children of Ammon, sooner you mean to deceive folks.” (Here Edie could not sup- than I would speak a word mair about the matter, express a smile.) “If, therefore, you will answer me one

404 Sir Walter Scott question, I will endeavour to procure your liberation.” a penny by me—And troth I wad fain be out again, now “If ye’ll let me hear the question,” said Edie, with the the weather’s fine—and then I hae the best chance o’ caution of a canny Scotchman, “I’ll tell you whether hearing the first news o’ my friends.” I’ll answer it or no.” “Well, Edie, as the bouncing and thumping beneath “It is simply,” said the Antiquary, “Did Dousterswivel has somewhat ceased, I presume Bailie Littlejohn has know anything about the concealment of the chest of dismissed his military preceptor, and has retired from bullion?” the labours of Mars to those of Themis—I will have “He, the ill-fa’ard loon!” answered Edie, with much some conversation with him—But I cannot and will not frankness of manner—“there wad hae been little believe any of those wretched news you were telling me.” speerings o’t had Dustansnivel ken’d it was there—it “God send your honour may be right!” said the men- wad hae been butter in the black dog’s hause.” dicant, as Oldbuck left the room. “I thought as much,” said Oldbuck. “Well, Edie, if I The Antiquary found the magistrate, exhausted with the procure your freedom, you must keep your day, and ap- fatigues of the drill, reposing in his gouty chair, humming pear to clear me of the bail-bond, for these are not times the air, “How merrily we live that soldiers be!” and be- for prudent men to incur forfeitures, unless you can point tween each bar comforting himself with a spoonful of out another Aulam auri plenam quadrilibrem—another mock-turtle soup. He ordered a similar refreshment for Search, No. I.” Oldbuck, who declined it, observing, that, not being a mili- “Ah!” said the beggar, shaking his head, “I doubt the tary man, he did not feel inclined to break his habit of bird’s flown that laid thae golden eggs—for I winna ca’ keeping regular hours for meals—“Soldiers like you, Bailie, her goose, though that’s the gait it stands in the story- must snatch their food as they find means and time. But I buick—But I’ll keep my day, Monkbarns; ye’se no loss am sorry to hear ill news of young Taffril’s brig.”

405 The Antiquary “Ah, poor fellow!” said the bailie, “he was a credit to wrong,” replied the young soldier, “I suppose you will the town—much distinguished on the first of June.” own my intention was not to blame in this case. I did “But,” said Oldbuck, “I am shocked to hear you talk my best to hit Lovel, and if I had been successful, ’tis of him in the preterite tense.” clear my scrape would have been his, and his scrape “Troth, I fear there may be too much reason for it, would have been mine.” Monkbarns;—and yet let us hope the best. The acci- “And whom or what do you intend to hit now, that dent is said to have happened in the Rattray reef of you are lugging with you that leathern magazine there, rocks, about twenty miles to the northward, near marked Gunpowder?” Dirtenalan Bay—I have sent to inquire about it—and “I must be prepared for Lord Glenallan’s moors on your nephew run out himself as if he had been flying to the twelfth, sir,” said M’Intyre. get the Gazette of a victory.” “Ah, Hector! thy great chasse, as the French call it, Here Hector entered, exclaiming as he came in, “I be- would take place best— lieve it’s all a damned lie—I can’t find the least authority for it, but general rumour.” Omne cum Proteus pecus egit altos “And pray, Mr. Hector,” said his uncle, “if it had been true, Visere montes— whose fault would it have been that Lovel was on board?” “Not mine, I am sure,” answered Hector; “it would Could you meet but with a martial phoca, instead of an have been only my misfortune.” unwarlike heath-bird.” “Indeed!” said his uncle, “I should not have thought “The devil take the seal, sir, or phoca, if you choose to of that.” call it so! It’s rather hard one can never hear the end of “Why, sir, with all your inclination to find me in the a little piece of folly like that.”

406 Sir Walter Scott “Well, well,” said Oldbuck, “I am glad you have the “Hush! not a word about it,” said the Antiquary. “I grace to be ashamed of it—as I detest the whole race of gave you a hint before—I will possess you more fully Nimrods, I wish them all as well matched. Nay, never hereafter—I promise you, there is a secret.” start off at a jest, man—I have done with the phoca— “But, Mr. Oldbuck, if the state is concerned, I, who though, I dare say, the Bailie could tell us the value of do the whole drudgery business here, really have a title seal-skins just now.” to be consulted, and until I am”— “They are up,” said the magistrate, “they are well up— “Hush! hush!” said the Antiquary, winking and put- the fishing has been unsuccessful lately.” ting his finger to his nose,—“you shall have the full “We can bear witness to that,” said the tormenting credit, the entire management, whenever matters are Antiquary, who was delighted with the hank this inci- ripe. But this is an obstinate old fellow, who will not dent had given him over the young sportsman: One word hear of two people being as yet let into his mystery, and more, Hector, and he has not fully acquainted me with the clew to Dousterswivel’s devices.” We’ll hang a seal-skin on thy recreant limbs. “Aha! so we must tip that fellow the alien act, I suppose?” Aha, my boy! Come, never mind it; I must go to busi- “To say truth, I wish you would.” ness.—Bailie, a word with you: you must take bail— “Say no more,” said the magistrate; “it shall forth- moderate bail, you understand—for old Ochiltree’s ap- with be done—he shall be removed tanquam suspect—I pearance.” think that’s one of your own phrases, Monkbarns?” “You don’t consider what you ask,” said the Bailie; “It is classical, Bailie—you improve.” “the offence is assault and robbery.” “Why, public business has of late pressed upon me so

407 The Antiquary much, that I have been obliged to take my foreman into a prudent man, and one that would be as unwilling to partnership. I have had two several correspondences lose forty, as four hundred merks. So I will accept your with the Under Secretary of State—one on the proposed bail, meo periculo—what say you to that law phrase tax on Riga hemp-seed, and the other on putting down again? I had it from a learned counsel. I will vouch it, political societies. So you might as well communicate to my lord, he said, meo periculo.” me as much as you know of this old fellow’s discovery “And I will vouch for Edie Ochiltree, meo periculo, in of a plot against the state.” like manner,” said Oldbuck. “So let your clerk draw out “I will, instantly, when I am master of it,” replied the bail-bond, and I will sign it.” Oldbuck—“I hate the trouble of managing such mat- When this ceremony had been performed, the Anti- ters myself. Remember, however, I did not say decid- quary communicated to Edie the joyful tidings that he edly a plot against the state I only say I hope to dis- was once more at liberty, and directed him to make the cover, by this man’s means, a foul plot.” best of his way to Monkbarns House, to which he him- “If it be a plot at all, there must be treason in it, or self returned with his nephew, after having perfected sedition at least,” said the Bailie—“Will you bail him their good work. for four hundred merks?” “Four hundred merks for an old Blue-Gown! Think on the act 1701 regulating bail-bonds!—Strike off a cipher from the sum—I am content to bail him for forty merks.” “Well, Mr. Oldbuck, everybody in Fairport is always willing to oblige you—and besides, I know that you are

408 Sir Walter Scott “Ay, Hector,” said the uncle, “and if my collection were yours, you would make it fly to the gunsmith, the horse- CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH market, the dog-breaker,—Coemptos undique nobiles libros—mutare loricis Iberis.” “I could not use your books, my dear uncle,” said the Full of wise saws and modern instances. young soldier, “that’s true; and you will do well to pro-

As You Like It. vide 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 belonged to an old friend, to get a

“I WISH TO HEAVEN, Hector,” said the Antiquary, next set of horses like Lord Glenallan’s.” morning after breakfast, “you would spare our nerves, “I don’t think you would, lad—I don’t think you and not be keeping snapping that arquebuss of yours.” would,” said his softening relative. “I love to tease you “Well, sir, I’m sure I’m sorry to disturb you,” said his a little sometimes; it keeps up the spirit of discipline nephew, still handling his fowling-piece;—“but it’s a capi- and habit of subordination—You will pass your time tal gun—it’s a Joe Manton, that cost forty guineas.” happily here having me to command you, instead of “A fool and his money are soon parted, nephew—there Captain, or Colonel, or Knight in Arms,’ as Milton has is a Joe Miller for your Joe Manton,” answered the An- it; and instead of the French,” he continued, relapsing tiquary; “I am glad you have so many guineas to throw into his ironical humour, “you have the Gens humida away.” ponti—for, as Virgil says, “Every one has their fancy, uncle,—you are fond of books.” Sternunt se somno diversae in littore phocae;

409 The Antiquary “Well, now, Miss Womankind, what is the meaning of which might be rendered, that imploring countenance?—has Juno done any more mischief?” Here phocae slumber on the beach, “No, uncle; but Juno’s master is in such fear of your Within our Highland Hector’s reach. 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 Nay, if you grow angry, I have done. Besides, I see old sure; but then you can turn everybody so sharply into Edie in the court-yard, with whom I have business. ridicule”— Good-bye, Hector—Do you remember how she splashed “Well, my dear,” answered Oldbuck, propitiated by into the sea like her master Proteus, et se jactu dedit aequor the compliment, “I will rein in my satire, and, if pos- in altum?” sible, speak no more of the phoca—I will not even speak M’Intyre,—waiting, however, till the door was shut,— of sealing a letter, but say umph, and give a nod to you then gave way to the natural impatience of his temper. when I want the wax-light—I am not monitoribus asper, “My uncle is the best man in the world, and in his way but, Heaven knows, the most mild, quiet, and easy of the kindest; but rather than hear any more about that human beings, whom sister, niece, and nephew, guide cursed phoca, as he is pleased to call it, I would exchange just as best pleases them.” for the West Indies, and never see his face again.” With this little panegyric on his own docility, Mr. Miss M’Intyre, gratefully attached to her uncle, and Oldbuck entered the parlour, and proposed to his nephew passionately fond of her brother, was, on such occasions, a walk to the Mussel-crag. “I have some questions to the usual envoy of reconciliation. She hastened to meet ask of a woman at Mucklebackit’s cottage,” he observed, her uncle on his return, before he entered the parlour. “and I would willingly have a sensible witness with me—

410 Sir Walter Scott so, for fault of a better, Hector, I must be contented “I have been on many a regimental court-martial, sir,” with you.” answered Captain M’Intyre. “But here’s a new cane for “There is old Edie, sir, or Caxon—could not they do you.” better than me?” answered M’Intyre, feeling somewhat “Much obliged, much obliged.” alarmed at the prospect of a long tete-a-tete with his uncle. “I bought it from our drum-major,” added M’Intyre, “Upon my word, young man, you turn me over to “who came into our regiment from the Bengal army pretty companions, and I am quite sensible of your po- when it came down the Red Sea. It was cut on the banks liteness,” replied Mr. Oldbuck. “No, sir, I intend the old of the Indus, I assure you.” Blue-Gown shall go with me—not as a competent wit- “Upon my word, ’tis a fine ratan, and well replaces ness, for he is, at present, as our friend Bailie Littlejohn that which the ph—Bah! what was I going to say?” says (blessings on his learning!) tanquam suspectus, and The party, consisting of the Antiquary, his nephew, you are suspicione major, as our law has it.” and the old beggar, now took the sands towards Mussel- “I wish I were a major, sir,” said Hector, catching only crag—the former in the very highest mood of commu- the last, and, to a soldier’s ear, the most impressive word nicating information, and the others, under a sense of in the sentence,—“but, without money or interest, there former obligation, and some hope for future favours, is little chance of getting the step.” decently attentive to receive it. The uncle and nephew “Well, well, most doughty son of Priam,” said the An- walked together, the mendicant about a step and a half tiquary, “be ruled by your friends, and there’s no saying behind, just near enough for his patron to speak to him what may happen—Come away with me, and you shall by a slight inclination of his neck, and without the see what may be useful to you should you ever sit upon trouble of turning round. (Petrie, in his Essay on Good- a court-martial, sir.” breeding, dedicated to the magistrates of Edinburgh,

411 The Antiquary recommends, upon his own experience, as tutor in a fam- fore—that part of our law would suit some of our mess ily of distinction, this attitude to all led captains, tu- well.” tors, dependants, and bottle-holders of every descrip- “And if they arena confined for debt,” said Ochiltree, tion. ) Thus escorted, the Antiquary moved along full “what is’t that tempts sae mony puir creatures to bide of his learning, like a lordly man of war, and every now in the tolbooth o’ Fairport yonder?—they a’ say they and then yawing to starboard and larboard to discharge were put there by their creditors—Od! they maun like a broadside upon his followers. it better than I do, if they’re there o’ free will.” “And so it is your opinion,” said he to the mendicant, “A very natural observation, Edie, and many of your “that this windfall—this arca auri, as Plautus has it, betters would make the same; but it is founded entirely will not greatly avail Sir Arthur in his necessities?” upon ignorance of the feudal system. Hector, be so good “Unless he could find ten times as much,” said the as to attend, unless you are looking out for another— beggar, “and that I am sair doubtful of;—I heard Puggie Ahem!” (Hector compelled himself to give attention at Orrock, and the tother thief of a sheriff-officer, or mes- this hint. ) “And you, Edie, it may be useful to you reram senger, speaking about it—and things are ill aff when cognoscere causas. The nature and origin of warrant for the like o’ them can speak crousely about ony caption is a thing haud alienum a Scaevolae studiis.— gentleman’s affairs. I doubt Sir Arthur will be in stane You must know then, once more, that nobody can be wa’s for debt, unless there’s swift help and certain.” arrested in Scotland for debt.” “You speak like a fool,” said the Antiquary.— “I haena muckle concern wi’ that, Monkbarns,” said “Nephew, it is a remarkable thing, that in this happy the old man, “for naebody wad trust a bodle to a country no man can be legally imprisoned for debt.” gaberlunzie.” “Indeed, sir?” said M’Intyre; “I never knew that be- “I pr’ythee, peace, man—As a compulsitor, therefore,

412 Sir Walter Scott of payment, that being a thing to which no debtor is fully and rightfully declared a rebel to our gracious sov- naturally inclined, as I have too much reason to war- ereign, whose command he has disobeyed, and that by rant from the experience I have had with my own,—we three blasts of a horn at the market-place of Edinburgh, had first the letters of four forms, a sort of gentle invi- the metropolis of Scotland. And he is then legally im- tation, by which our sovereign lord the king, interesting prisoned, not on account of any civil debt, but because himself, as a monarch should, in the regulation of his of his ungrateful contempt of the royal mandate. What subjects’ private affairs, at first by mild exhortation, say you to that, Hector?—there’s something you never and afterwards by letters of more strict enjoinment and knew before.”* more hard compulsion—What do you see extraordinary “No, uncle; but, I own, if I wanted money to pay my about that bird, Hector?—it’s but a seamaw.” debts, I would rather thank the king to send me some, “It’s a pictarnie, sir,” said Edie. than to declare me a rebel for not doing what I could “Well, what an if it were—what does that signify at not do.” present?—But I see you’re impatient; so I will waive “Your education has not led you to consider these the letters of four forms, and come to the modern pro- things,” replied his uncle; “you are incapable of esti- cess of diligence.—You suppose, now, a man’s commit- mating the elegance of the legal fiction, and the man- ted to prison because he cannot pay his debt? Quite oth- ner in which it reconciles that duress, which, for the pro- erwise: the truth is, the king is so good as to interfere at * The doctrine of Monkbarns on the origin of imprisonment the request of the creditor, and to send the debtor his for civil debt in Scotland, may appear somewhat whimsical, royal command to do him justice within a certain time— but was referred to, and admitted to be correct, by the Bench fifteen days, or six, as the case may be. Well, the man of the Supreme Scottish Court, on 5th December 1828, in the case of Thom v. Black. In fact, the Scottish law is in this resists and disobeys: what follows? Why, that he be law- particular more jealous of the personal liberty of the subject than any other code in Europe. 413 The Antiquary tection of commerce, it has been found necessary to canny things;—I was taen up on ane at Saint James’s extend towards refractory debtors, with the most scru- Fair, and keepit in the auld kirk at Kelso the haill day pulous attention to the liberty of the subject.” and night; and a cauld goustie place it was, I’se assure “I don’t know, sir,” answered the unenlightened Hec- ye.—But whatna wife’s this, wi’ her creel on her back? tor; “but if a man must pay his debt or go to jail, it It’s puir Maggie hersell, I’m thinking.” signifies but little whether he goes as a debtor or a rebel, It was so. The poor woman’s sense of her loss, if not I should think. But you say this command of the king’s diminished, was become at least mitigated by the inevi- gives a license of so many days—Now, egad, were I in table necessity of attending to the means of supporting the scrape, I would beat a march and leave the king and her family; and her salutation to Oldbuck was made in the creditor to settle it among themselves before they an odd mixture between the usual language of solicita- came to extremities.” tion with which she plied her customers, and the tone “So wad I,” said Edie; “I wad gie them leg-bail to a of lamentation for her recent calamity. certainty.” “How’s a’ wi’ ye the day, Monkbarns? I havena had “True,” replied Monkbarns; “but those whom the law the grace yet to come down to thank your honour for suspects of being unwilling to abide her formal visit, the credit ye did puir Steenie, wi’ laying his head in a she proceeds with by means of a shorter and more un- rath grave, puir fallow. “—Here she whimpered and ceremonious call, as dealing with persons on whom pa- wiped her eyes with the corner of her blue apron—“But tience and favour would be utterly thrown away.” the fishing comes on no that ill, though the gudeman “Ay,” said Ochiltree, “that will be what they ca’ the hasna had the heart to gang to sea himsell—Atweel I fugie-warrants—I hae some skeel in them. There’s Bor- would fain tell him it wad do him gude to put hand to der-warrants too in the south country, unco rash un- wark—but I’m maist fear’d to speak to him—and it’s

414 Sir Walter Scott an unco thing to hear ane o’ us speak that gate o’ a as if he wad ever hae lookit ower his shouther at the like man—However, I hae some dainty caller haddies, and o’her!—Weel, Monkbarns, they’re braw caller haddies, they sall be but three shillings the dozen, for I hae nae and they’ll bid me unco little indeed at the house if ye pith to drive a bargain ennow, and maun just tak what want crappit-heads the day.” ony Christian body will gie, wi’ few words and nae And so on she paced with her burden,—grief, grati- flyting.” tude for the sympathy of her betters, and the habitual “What shall we do, Hector?” said Oldbuck, pausing: love of traffic and of gain, chasing each other through “I got into disgrace with my womankind for making a her thoughts. bad bargain with her before. These maritime animals, “And now that we are before the door of their hut,” Hector, are unlucky to our family.” said Ochiltree, “I wad fain ken, Monkbarns, what has “Pooh, sir, what would you do?—give poor Maggie gar’d ye plague yoursell wi’ me a’ this length? I tell ye what she asks, or allow me to send a dish of fish up to sincerely I hae nae pleasure in ganging in there. I downa Monkbarns.” bide to think how the young hae fa’en on a’ sides o’ me, And he held out the money to her; but Maggie drew and left me an useless auld stump wi’ hardly a green back her hand. “Na, na, Captain; ye’re ower young and leaf on’t.” ower free o’ your siller—ye should never tak a fish-wife’s “This old woman,” said Oldbuck, “sent you on a mes- first bode; and troth I think maybe a flyte wi’ the auld sage to the Earl of Glenallan, did she not?” housekeeper at Monkbarns, or Miss Grizel, would do me “Ay!” said the surprised mendicant; “how ken ye that some gude—And I want to see what that hellicate quean sae weel?” Jenny Ritherout’s doing—folk said she wasna weel— “Lord Glenallan told me himself,” answered the Anti- She’ll be vexing hersell about Steenie, the silly tawpie, quary; “so there is no delation—no breach of trust on

415 The Antiquary your part; and as he wishes me to take her evidence down indeed, she had a grand education, and was muckle taen on some important family matters, I chose to bring you out afore she married an unco bit beneath hersell. She’s with me, because in her situation, hovering between aulder than me by half a score years—but I mind weel dotage and consciousness, it is possible that your voice eneugh they made as muckle wark about her making a and appearance may awaken trains of recollection which half-merk marriage wi’ Simon Mucklebackit, this I should otherwise have no means of exciting. The hu- Saunders’s father, as if she had been ane o’ the gentry. man mind—what are you about, Hector?” But she got into favour again, and then she lost it again, “I was only whistling for the dog, sir,” replied the Cap- as I hae heard her son say, when he was a muckle chield; tain “she always roves too wide—I knew I should be and then they got muckle siller, and left the Countess’s troublesome to you.” land, and settled here. But things never throve wi’ them. “Not at all, not at all,” said Oldbuck, resuming the Howsomever, she’s a weel-educate woman, and an she subject of his disquisition—“the human mind is to be win to her English, as I hae heard her do at an orra treated like a skein of ravelled silk, where you must cau- time, she may come to fickle us a’.” tiously 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 hersell, or anything like hersell, she may come to wind us a pirn. It’s fearsome baith to see and hear her when she wampishes about her arms, and gets to her English, and speaks as if she were a prent book, let a-be an auld fisher’s wife. But,

416 Sir Walter Scott The mackerel loves the wind, But the oyster loves the dredging sang, CHAPTER NINETEENTH For they come of a gentle kind.”

A diligent collector of these legendary scraps of ancient Life ebbs from such old age, unmarked and silent, poetry, his foot refused to cross the threshold when his As the slow neap-tide leaves yon stranded galley.— Late she rocked merrily at the least impulse ear was thus arrested, and his hand instinctively took That wind or wave could give; but now her keel pencil and memorandum-book. From time to time the Is settling on the sand, her mast has ta’en old woman spoke as if to the children—”Oh ay, hinnies, An angle with the sky, from which it shifts not. Each wave receding shakes her less and less, whisht! whisht! and I’ll begin a bonnier ane than that— Till, bedded on the strand, she shall remain Useless as motionless. “Now haud your tongue, baith wife and carle, Old Play. And listen, great and sma’, And I will sing of Glenallan’s Earl That fought on the red Harlaw.

AS THE ANTIQUARY lifted the latch of the hut, he was surprised to hear the shrill tremulous voice of Elspeth “The cronach’s cried on Bennachie, chanting forth an old ballad in a wild and doleful And doun the Don and a’, recitative. And hieland and lawland may mournfu’ be For the sair field of Harlaw.— “The herring loves the merry moonlight,

417 The Antiquary I dinna mind the neist verse weel—my memory’s failed, perhaps, to cheveron;—the word’s worth a dollar,”—and and theres unco thoughts come ower me—God keep us down it went in his red book. frae temptation!” Here her voice sunk in indistinct muttering. “They hadna ridden a mile, a mile, “It’s a historical ballad,” said Oldbuck, eagerly, “a A mile, but barely ten, genuine and undoubted fragment of minstrelsy! Percy When Donald came branking down the brae would admire its simplicity—Ritson could not impugn Wi’ twenty thousand men. its authenticity.” “Ay, but it’s a sad thing,” said Ochiltree, “to see hu- “Their tartans they were waving wide, man nature sae far owertaen as to be skirling at auld Their glaives were glancing clear, sangs on the back of a loss like hers.” Their pibrochs rung frae side to side, “Hush! hush!” said the Antiquary—“she has gotten Would deafen ye to hear. the thread of the story again. “—And as he spoke, she sung— “The great Earl in his stirrups stood That Highland host to see: “They saddled a hundred milk-white steeds, Now here a knight that’s stout and good They hae bridled a hundred black, May prove a jeopardie: With a chafron of steel on each horse’s head, And a good knight upon his back.”— “What wouldst thou do, my squire so gay, That rides beside my reyne, “Chafron!” exclaimed the Antiquary,—“equivalent, Were ye Glenallan’s Earl the day,

418 Sir Walter Scott And I were Roland Cheyne? “If they hae twenty thousand blades, And we twice ten times ten, “To turn the rein were sin and shame, Yet they hae but their tartan plaids, To fight were wondrous peril, And we are mail-clad men. What would ye do now, Roland Cheyne, Were ye Glenallan’s Earl?’ “My horse shall ride through ranks sae rude, As through the moorland fern, Ye maun ken, hinnies, that this Roland Cheyne, for as Then neer let the gentle Norman blude poor and auld as I sit in the chimney-neuk, was my for- Grow cauld for Highland kerne.’” bear, and an awfu’ man he was that dayin the fight, but specially after the Earl had fa’en, for he blamed himsell “Do you hear that, nephew?” said Oldbuck;—“you for the counsel he gave, to fight before Mar came up wi’ observe your Gaelic ancestors were not held in high re- Mearns, and Aberdeen, and Angus.” pute formerly by the Lowland warriors.” Her voice rose and became more animated as she re- “I hear,” said Hector, “a silly old woman sing a silly old cited the warlike counsel of her ancestor— song. I am surprised, sir, that you, who will not listen to Ossian’s songs of Selma, can be pleased with such trash. “Were I Glenallan’s Earl this tide, I vow, I have not seen or heard a worse halfpenny ballad; And ye were Roland Cheyne, I don’t believe you could match it in any pedlar’s pack in The spur should be in my horse’s side, the country. I should be ashamed to think that the honour And the bridle upon his mane. of the Highlands could be affected by such doggrel. “— And, tossing up his head, he snuffed the air indignantly.

419 The Antiquary Apparently the old woman heard the sound of their ticle, or legendary fragment. I always suspected there voices; for, ceasing her song, she called out, “Come in, was a skirmish of cavalry before the main battle of the sirs, come in—good-will never halted at the door-stane.” Harlaw.”* They entered, and found to their surprise Elspeth “If your honour pleases,” said Edie, “had ye not bet- alone, sitting “ghastly on the hearth,” like the personi- ter proceed to the business that brought us a’ here? I’se fication of Old Age in the Hunter’s song of the Owl,* engage to get ye the sang ony time.” “wrinkled, tattered, vile, dim-eyed, discoloured, torpid.” “I believe you are right, Edie—Do manus—I submit. “They’re a’ out,” she said, as they entered; “but an ye But how shall we manage? She sits there the very image will sit a blink, somebody will be in. If ye hae business of dotage. Speak to her, Edie—try if you can make her wi’ my gude-daughter, or my son, they’ll be in belyve,— recollect having sent you to Glenallan House.” I never speak on business mysell. Bairns, gie them Edie rose accordingly, and, crossing the floor, placed seats—the bairns are a’ gane out, I trow,”—looking himself in the same position which he had occupied around her;—“I was crooning to keep them quiet a wee during his former conversation with her. “I’m fain to while since; but they hae cruppen out some gate. Sit see ye looking sae weel, cummer; the mair, that the black down, sirs, they’ll be in belyve;” and she dismissed her ox has tramped on ye since I was aneath your roof-tree.” spindle from her hand to twirl upon the floor, and soon “Ay,” said Elspeth; but rather from a general idea of seemed exclusively occupied in regulating its motion, as misfortune, than any exact recollection of what had unconscious of the presence of the strangers as she ap- happened,—“there has been distress amang us of late— peared indifferent to their rank or business there. I wonder how younger folk bide it—I bide it ill. I canna “I wish,” said Oldbuck, “she would resume that can- hear the wind whistle, and the sea roar, but I think I see * See Mrs. Grant on the Highland Superstitions, vol. ii. p. 260, for this fine translation from the Gaelic. * Note H. Battle of Harlaw. 420 Sir Walter Scott the coble whombled keel up, and some o’ them strug- Nomina, servorum, nec vultus agnoscit amici, gling in the waves!—Eh, sirs; sic weary dreams as folk Cum queis preterita coenavit nocte, nec illos hae between sleeping and waking, before they win to Quos genuit, quos ecluxit.” the lang sleep and the sound! I could amaist think whiles my son, or else Steenie, my oe, was dead, and that I had “That’s Latin!” said Elspeth, rousing herself as if she seen the burial. Isna that a queer dream for a daft auld attended to the lines, which the Antiquary recited with carline? What for should ony o’ them dee before me?— great pomp of diction—“that’s Latin!” and she cast a it’s out o’ the course o’ nature, ye ken.” wild glance around her—“Has there a priest fund me “I think you’ll make very little of this stupid old out at last?” woman,” said Hector, —who still nourished, perhaps, “You see, nephew, her comprehension is almost equal some feelings of the dislike excited by the disparaging to your own of that fine passage.” mention of his countrymen in her lay—“I think you’ll “I hope you think, sir, that I knew it to be Latin as make but little of her, sir; and it’s wasting our time to well as she did?” sit here and listen to her dotage.” “Why, as to that—But stay, she is about to speak.” “Hector,” said the Antiquary, indignantly, “if you do “I will have no priest—none,” said the beldam, with not respect her misfortunes, respect at least her old age impotent vehemence; “as I have lived I will die—none and grey hairs: this is the last stage of existence, so finely shall say that I betrayed my mistress, though it were to treated by the Latin poet— save my soul!” “That bespoke a foul conscience,” said the mendi- —Omni cant;—”I wuss she wad mak a clean breast, an it were Membrorum damno major dementia, quae neo but for her sake;” and he again assailed her.

421 The Antiquary “Weel, gudewife, I did your errand to the Yerl.” says—I hae maist forgotten how to sing, or else the tune’s “To what Earl? I ken nae Earl;—I ken’d a Countess left my auld head— ance—I wish to Heaven I had never ken’d her! for by that acquaintance, neighbour, their cam,”—and she “He turn’d him right and round again, counted her withered fingers as she spoke “first Pride, Said, Scorn na at my mither; then Malice, then Revenge, then False Witness; and Light loves I may get mony a ane, Murder tirl’d at the door-pin, if he camna ben. And But minnie neer anither. werena thae pleasant guests, think ye, to take up their quarters in ae woman’s heart? I trow there was routh o’ Then he was but of the half blude, ye ken, and her’s company.” was the right Glenallan after a’. Na, na, I maun never “But, cummer,” continued the beggar, “it wasna the maen doing and suffering for the Countess Joscelin— Countess of Glenallan I meant, but her son, him that never will I maen for that.” was Lord Geraldin.” Then drawing her flax from the distaff, with the dogged “I mind it now,” she said; “I saw him no that langsyne, air of one who is resolved to confess nothing, she re- and we had a heavy speech thegither. Eh, sirs! the comely sumed her interrupted occupation. young lord is turned as auld and frail as I am: it’s muckle “I hae heard,” said the mendicant, taking his cue from that sorrow and heartbreak, and crossing of true love, what Oldbuck had told him of the family history—“I hae will do wi’ young blood. But suldna his mither hae lookit heard, cummer, that some ill tongue suld hae come between to that hersell?—we were but to do her bidding, ye ken. the Earl, that’s Lord Geraldin, and his young bride.” I am sure there’s naebody can blame me—he wasna my “Ill tongue?” she said in hasty alarm; “and what had son, and she was my mistress. Ye ken how the rhyme she to fear frae an ill tongue?—she was gude and fair

422 Sir Walter Scott eneugh—at least a’ body said sae. But had she keepit “We shall mak naething mair out o’ her,” said her ain tongue aff ither folk, she might hae been living Ochiltree. “When she has clinkit hersell down that way, like a leddy for a’ that’s come and gane yet.” and faulded her arms, she winna speak a word, they say, “But I hae heard say, gudewife,” continued Ochiltree, for weeks thegither. And besides, to my thinking, her “there was a clatter in the country, that her husband face is sair changed since we cam in. However, I’se try and her were ower sibb when they married.” her ance mair to satisfy your honour.—So ye canna keep “Wha durst speak o’ that?” said the old woman hast- in mind, cummer, that your auld mistress, the Countess ily; “wha durst say they were married?—wha ken’d o’ Joscelin, has been removed?” that?—Not the Countess—not I. If they wedded in se- “Removed!” she exclaimed; for that name never failed cret, they were severed in secret—They drank of the to produce its usual effect upon her; “then we maun a’ fountains of their ain deceit.” follow—a’ maun ride when she is in the saddle. Tell them “No, wretched beldam!” exclaimed Oldbuck, who to let Lord Geraldin ken we’re on before them. Bring could keep silence no longer, “they drank the poison that my hood and scarf—ye wadna hae me gang in the car- you and your wicked mistress prepared for them.” riage wi’ my leddy, and my hair in this fashion?” “Ha, ha!” she replied, “I aye thought it would come She raised her shrivelled arms, and seemed busied like to this. It’s but sitting silent when they examine me— a woman who puts on her cloak to go abroad, then there’s nae torture in our days; and if there is, let them dropped them slowly and stiffly; and the same idea of a rend me!—It’s ill o’ the vassal’s mouth that betrays the journey still floating apparently through her head, she bread it eats.” proceeded, in a hurried and interrupted manner,—“Call “Speak to her, Edie,” said the Antiquary; “she knows Miss Neville—What do you mean by Lady Geraldin? I your voice, and answers to it most readily.” said Eveline Neville, not Lady Geraldin—there’s no

423 The Antiquary Lady Geraldin; tell her that, and bid her change her wet seen mony a ane dee, baith in the field o’ battle, and a gown, and no’ look sae pale. Bairn! what should she do fair-strae death at hame; but I wad rather see them a’ wi’ a bairn?—maidens hae nane, I trow.—Teresa— ower again, as sic a fearfu’ flitting as hers!” Teresa—my lady calls us!—Bring a candle;—the grand “We must call in the neighbours,” said Oldbuck, when staircase is as mirk as a Yule midnight—We are coming, he had somewhat recovered his horror and astonishment, my lady!”—With these words she sunk back on the “and give warning of this additional calamity. I wish settle, and from thence sidelong to the floor.* she could have been brought to a confession. And, though Edie ran to support her, but hardly got her in his arms, of far less consequence, I could have wished to tran- before he said, “It’s a’ ower—she has passed away even scribe that metrical fragment. But Heaven’s will must with that last word.” be done!” “Impossible,” said Oldbuck, hastily advancing, as did They left the hut accordingly, and gave the alarm in his nephew. But nothing was more certain. She had ex- the hamlet, whose matrons instantly assembled to com- pired with the last hurried word that left her lips; and pose the limbs and arrange the body of her who might all that remained before them were the mortal relics of be considered as the mother of their settlement. Oldbuck the creature who had so long struggled with an internal promised his assistance for the funeral. sense of concealed guilt, joined to all the distresses of “Your honour,” said Alison Breck, who was next in age and poverty. age to the deceased, “suld send doun something to us “God grant that she be gane to a better place!” said for keeping up our hearts at the lykewake, for a’ Edie, as he looked on the lifeless body; “but oh! there Saunders’s gin, puir man, was drucken out at the burial was something lying hard and heavy at her heart. I have o’ Steenie, and we’ll no get mony to sit dry-lipped aside the corpse. Elspeth was unco clever in her young days, * Note I. Elspeth’s death. 424 Sir Walter Scott as I can mind right weel, but there was aye a word o’ her riding very hard along the sands, and stopped his horse no being that chancy. Ane suldna speak ill o’ the dead— when he saw the Antiquary. “There had something,” he mair by token, o’ ane’s cummer and neighbour—but said, “very particular happened at the Castle”—(he there was queer things said about a leddy and a bairn or could not, or would not, explain what)—“and Miss she left the Craigburnfoot. And sae, in gude troth, it Wardour had sent him off express to Monkbarns, to beg will be a puir lykewake, unless your honour sends us that Mr. Oldbuck would come to them without a something to keep us cracking.” moment’s delay.” “You shall have some whisky,” answered Oldbuck, “the “I am afraid,” said the Antiquary, “his course also is rather that you have preserved the proper word for that drawing to a close. What can I do?” ancient custom of watching the dead.—You observe, “Do, sir?” exclaimed Hector, with his characteristic Hector, this is genuine Teutonic, from the Gothic impatience,—“get on the horse, and turn his head home- Leichnam, a corpse. It is quite erroneously called Late- ward—you will be at Knockwinnock Castle in ten min- wake, though Brand favours that modern corruption and utes.” derivation.” “He is quite a free goer,” said the servant, dismount- “I believe,” said Hector to himself, “my uncle would ing to adjust the girths and stirrups,—“he only pulls a give away Monkbarns to any one who would come to little if he feels a dead weight on him.” ask it in genuine Teutonic! Not a drop of whisky would “I should soon be a dead weight off him, my friend,” the old creatures have got, had their president asked it said the Antiquary.—“What the devil, nephew, are you for the use of the Late-wake.” weary of me? or do you suppose me weary of my life, While Oldbuck was giving some farther directions, and that I should get on the back of such a Bucephalus as promising assistance, a servant of Sir Arthur’s came that? No, no, my friend, if I am to be at Knockwinnock

425 The Antiquary to-day, it must be by walking quietly forward on my only answered with a heedless “Never fear—never fear, own feet, which I will do with as little delay as possible. sir.” Captain M’Intyre may ride that animal himself, if he pleases.” With that he gave his able horse the head, “I have little hope I could be of any use, uncle, but I And, bending forward, struck his armed heels cannot think of their distress without wishing to show Against the panting sides of his poor jade, sympathy at least—so I will ride on before, and an- Up to the rowel-head; and starting so, nounce to them that you are coming.—I’ll trouble you He seemed in running to devour the way, for your spurs, my friend.” Staying no longer question. “You will scarce need them, sir,” said the man, taking them off at the same time, and buckling them upon “There they go, well matched,” said Oldbuck, looking Captain Mlntyre’s heels, “he’s very frank to the road.” after them as they started—“a mad horse and a wild Oldbuck stood astonished at this last act of temerity, boy, the two most unruly creatures in Christendom! and “are you mad, Hector?” he cried, “or have you forgot- all to get half an hour sooner to a place where nobody ten what is said by Quintus Curtius, with whom, as a wants him; for I doubt Sir Arthur’s griefs are beyond soldier, you must needs be familiar,—Nobilis equus um- the cure of our light horseman. It must be the villany bra quidem virgae regitur; ignavus ne calcari quidem of Dousterswivel, for whom Sir Arthur has done so excitari potest; which plainly shows that spurs are use- much; for I cannot help observing, that, with some na- less in every case, and, I may add, dangerous in most.” tures, Tacitus’s maxim holdeth good: Beneficia eo usque But Hector, who cared little for the opinion of either laeta sunt dum videntur exsolvi posse; ubi multum Quintus Curtius or of the Antiquary, upon such a topic, antevenere, pro gratia odium redditur,—from which a wise

426 Sir Walter Scott man might take 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.” CHAPTER TWENTIETH Murmuring to himself such scraps of cynical philosophy, our Antiquary paced the sands towards Knockwinnock; but it is necessary we should outstrip So, while the Goose, of whom the fable told, Incumbent, brooded o’er her eggs of gold, him, for the purpose of explaining the reasons of his With hand outstretched, impatient to destroy, being so anxiously summoned thither. 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 of the 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 ecstasy than sober sense. Indeed, at one time his daughter had become seriously apprehensive for his intellect; 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

427 The Antiquary philosopher’s stone. He talked of buying contiguous A fico for the world, and worldlings base estates, that would have led him from one side of the I speak of Africa and golden joys! island to the other, as if he were determined to brook no neighbour save the sea. He corresponded with an archi- The reader may conceive the amazement of Miss tect of eminence, upon a plan of renovating the castle Wardour, when, instead of undergoing an investigation of his forefathers on a style of extended magnificence concerning the addresses of Lovel, as she had expected that might have rivalled that of Windsor, and laying from the long conference of her father with Mr. Oldbuck, out the grounds on a suitable scale. Troops of liveried upon the morning of the fated day when the treasure menials were already, in fancy, marshalled in his halls, was discovered, the conversation of Sir Arthur an- and—for what may not unbounded wealth authorize nounced an imagination heated with the hopes of pos- its possessor to aspire to?—the coronet of a marquis, sessing the most unbounded wealth. But she was seri- perhaps of a duke, was glittering before his imagina- ously alarmed when Dousterswivel was sent for to the tion. His daughter—to what matches might she not look Castle, and was closeted with her father—his mishap forward? Even an alliance with the blood-royal was not condoled with—his part taken, and his loss compen- beyond the sphere of his hopes. His son was already a sated. All the suspicions which she had long entertained general—and he himself whatever ambition could dream respecting this man became strengthened, by observing of in its wildest visions. his pains to keep up the golden dreams of her father, In this mood, if any one endeavoured to bring Sir and to secure for himself, under various pretexts, as much Arthur down to the regions of common life, his replies as possible out of the windfall which had so strangely were in the vein of Ancient Pistol— fallen to Sir Arthur’s share. Other evil symptoms began to appear, following close

428 Sir Walter Scott on each other. Letters arrived every post, which Sir Dousterswivel anew with breach of those promises Arthur, as soon as he had looked at the directions, flung through which he had hoped to convert all his lead into into the fire without taking the trouble to open them. gold. But that worthy gentleman’s turn was now served; Miss Wardour could not help suspecting that these and as he had grace enough to wish to avoid witnessing epistles, the contents of which seemed to be known to the fall of the house which he had undermined, he was her father by a sort of intuition, came from pressing at the trouble of bestowing a few learned terms of art creditors. In the meanwhile, the temporary aid which upon Sir Arthur, that at least he might not be tormented he had received from the treasure dwindled fast away. before his time. He took leave of him, with assurances By far the greater part had been swallowed up by the that he would return to Knockwinnock the next morn- necessity of paying the bill of six hundred pounds, which ing, with such information as would not fail to relieve had threatened Sir Arthur with instant distress. Of the Sir Arthur from all his distresses. rest, some part was given to the adept, some wasted upon “For, since I have consulted in such matters, I ave extravagances which seemed to the poor knight fully never,” said Mr. Herman Dousterswivel, “approached authorized by his full-blown hopes,—and some went to so near de arcanum, what you call de great mystery,— stop for a time the mouths of such claimants as, being de Panchresta—de Polychresta—I do know as much of weary of fair promises, had become of opinion with it as Pelaso de Taranta, or Basilius—and either I will Harpagon, that it was necessary to touch something bring you in two and tree days de No. III. of Mr. substantial. At length circumstances announced but too Mishdigoat, or you shall call me one knave myself, and plainly, that it was all expended within two or three days never look me in de face again no more at all.” after its discovery; and there appeared no prospect of a The adept departed with this assurance, in the firm supply. Sir Arthur, naturally impatient, now taxed resolution of making good the latter part of the propo-

429 The Antiquary sition, and never again appearing before his injured pa- the sickness of delayed hope, became peevish and fret- tron. Sir Arthur remained in a doubtful and anxious ful, and his words and actions sometimes expressed a state of mind. The positive assurances of the philoso- reckless desperation, which alarmed Miss Wardour ex- pher, with the hard words Panchresta, Basilius, and so tremely. We have seen, on a former occasion, that Sir forth, produced some effect on his mind. But he had Arthur was a man of passions lively and quick, in pro- been too often deluded by such jargon, to be absolutely portion to the weakness of his character in other re- relieved of his doubt, and he retired for the evening into spects; he was unused to contradiction, and if he had his library, in the fearful state of one who, hanging over been hitherto, in general, good-humoured and cheerful, a precipice, and without the means of retreat, perceives it was probably because the course of his life had af- the stone on which he rests gradually parting from the forded no such frequent provocation as to render his ir- rest of the crag, and about to give way with him. ritability habitual. The visions of hope decayed, and there increased in On the third morning after Dousterswivel’s departure, proportion that feverish agony of anticipation with the servant, as usual, laid on the breakfast table the which a man, educated in a sense of consequence, and newspaper and letters of the day. Miss Wardour took up possessed of opulence,—the supporter of an ancient the former to avoid the continued ill-humour of her fa- name, and the father of two promising children,—fore- ther, who had wrought himself into a violent passion, saw the hour approaching which should deprive him of because the toast was over-browned. all the splendour which time had made familiarly nec- “I perceive how it is,” was his concluding speech on essary to him, and send him forth into the world to this interesting subject,—“my servants, who have had struggle with poverty, with rapacity, and with scorn. their share of my fortune, begin to think there is little Under these dire forebodings, his temper, exhausted by to be made of me in future. But while I am the

430 Sir Walter Scott scoundrel’s master I will be so, and permit no neglect— larly wrang, I wadna hae made ony answer when Sir no, nor endure a hair’s-breadth diminution of the re- Arthur challenged me. I hae been lang in his service, spect I am entitled to exact from them.” and he has been a kind master, and you a kind mistress, “I am ready to leave your honour’s service this in- and I wad like ill ye should think I wad start for a hasty stant,” said the domestic upon whom the fault had been word. I am sure it was very wrang o’ me to speak about charged, “as soon as you order payment of my wages.” wages to his honour, when maybe he has something to Sir Arthur, as if stung by a serpent, thrust his hand vex him. I had nae thoughts o’ leaving the family in into his pocket, and instantly drew out the money which this way.” it contained, but which was short of the man’s claim. “Go down stair, Robert,” said his mistress—“some- “What money have you got, Miss Wardour?” he said, in thing has happened to fret my father—go down stairs, a tone of affected calmness, but which concealed vio- and let Alick answer the bell.” lent agitation. When the man left the room, Sir Arthur re-entered, Miss Wardour gave him her purse; he attempted to as if he had been watching his departure. “What’s the count the bank notes which it contained, but could not meaning of this?” he said hastily, as he observed the reckon them. After twice miscounting the sum, he threw notes lying still on the table—“Is he not gone? Am I the whole to his daughter, and saying, in a stern voice, neither to be obeyed as a master or a father?” “Pay the rascal, and let him leave the house instantly!” “He is gone to give up his charge to the housekeeper, he strode out of the room. sir,—I thought there was not such instant haste.” The mistress and servant stood alike astonished at the “There is haste, Miss Wardour,” answered her father, agitation and vehemence of his manner. interrupting her; —“What I do henceforth in the house “I am sure, ma’am, if I had thought I was particu- of my forefathers, must be done speedily, or never.”

431 The Antiquary He then sate down, and took up with a trembling hand thought, as Mr. Taffril is a brave man, and from our the basin of tea prepared for him, protracting the swal- own country, you would be happy to hear”— lowing of it, as if to delay the necessity of opening the “Oh, I am happy—as happy as possible—and, to make post-letters which lay on the table, and which he eyed you happy too, you shall have some of my good news in from time to time, as if they had been a nest of adders return.” And he caught up a letter. “It does not signify ready to start into life and spring upon him. which I open first—they are all to the same tune.” “You will be happy to hear,” said Miss Wardour, will- He broke the seal hastily, ran the letter over, and then ing to withdraw her father’s mind from the gloomy re- threw it to his daughter. “Ay—I could not have lighted flections in which he appeared to be plunged, “you will more happily!—this places the copestone.” be happy to hear, sir, that Lieutenant Taffril’s gun-brig Miss Wardour, in silent terror, took up the letter. “Read has got safe into Leith Roads—I observe there had been it—read it aloud!” said her father; “it cannot be read apprehensions for his safety—I am glad we did not hear too often; it will serve to break you in for other good them till they were contradicted.” news of the same kind.” “And what is Taffril and his gun-brig to me?” She began to read with a faltering voice, “Dear Sir.” “Sir!” said Miss Wardour in astonishment; for Sir “He dears me too, you see, this impudent drudge of a Arthur, in his ordinary state of mind, took a fidgety writer’s office, who, a twelvemonth since, was not fit sort of interest in all the gossip of the day and country. company for my second table—I suppose I shall be dear “I say,” he repeated in a higher and still more impa- Knight’ with him by and by.” tient key, “what do I care who is saved or lost? It’s noth- “Dear Sir,” resumed Miss Wardour; but, interrupting ing to me, I suppose?” herself, “I see the contents are unpleasant, sir—it will “I did not know you were busy, Sir Arthur; and only vex you my reading them aloud.”

432 Sir Walter Scott “If you will allow me to know my own pleasure, Miss tinued to read—“I am for myself and partner, sorry we Wardour, I entreat you to go on—I presume, if it were cannot oblige you by looking out for the sums you men- unnecessary, I should not ask you to take the trouble.” tion, or applying for a suspension in the case of “Having been of late taken into copartnery,” contin- Goldiebirds’ bond, which would be more inconsistent, ued Miss Wardour, reading the letter, “by Mr. Gilbert as we have been employed to act as the said Goldiebirds’ Greenhorn, son of your late correspondent and man of procurators and attorneys, in which capacity we have business, Girnigo Greenhorn, Esq., writer to the signet, taken out a charge of horning against you, as you must whose business I conducted as parliament-house clerk be aware by the schedule left by the messenger, for the for many years, which business will in future be carried sum of four thousand seven hundred and fifty-six on under the firm of Greenhorn and Grinderson (which pounds five shillings and sixpence one-fourth of a penny I memorandum for the sake of accuracy in addressing sterling, which, with annual-rent and expenses effeiring, your future letters), and having had of late favours of we presume will be settled during the currency of the yours, directed to my aforesaid partner, Gilbert Green- charge, to prevent further trouble. Same time, I am horn, in consequence of his absence at the Lamberton under the necessity to observe our own account, amount- races, have the honour to reply to your said favours.” ing to seven hundred and sixty-nine pounds ten shil- “You see my friend is methodical, and commences by lings and sixpence, is also due, and settlement would be explaining the causes which have procured me so mod- agreeable; but as we hold your rights, title-deeds, and est and elegant a correspondent. Go on—I can bear it.” documents in hypothec, shall have no objection to give And he laughed that bitter laugh which is perhaps the reasonable time—say till the next money term. I am, most fearful expression of mental misery. Trembling to for myself and partner, concerned to add, that Messrs. proceed, and yet afraid to disobey, Miss Wardour con- Goldiebirds’ instructions to us are to proceed peremptorie

433 The Antiquary and sine mora, of which I have the pleasure to advise And he sate down and began to write with great vehe- you, to prevent future mistakes, reserving to ourselves mence, then stopped and read aloud:—“Mr. Gilbert otherwise to age’ as accords. I am, for self and partner, Greenhorn,—in answer to two letters of a late date, I dear sir, your obliged humble servant, Gabriel received a letter from a person calling himself Grinderson, for Greenhorn and Grinderson.” Grinderson, and designing himself as your partner. “Ungrateful villain!” said Miss Wardour. When I address any one, I do not usually expect to be “Why, no—it’s in the usual rule, I suppose; the blow answered by deputy—I think I have been useful to your could not have been perfect if dealt by another hand— father, and friendly and civil to yourself, and therefore it’s all just as it should be,” answered the poor Baronet, am now surprised—And yet,” said he, stopping short, his affected composure sorely belied by his quivering lip “why should I be surprised at that or anything else? or and rolling eye—“But here’s a postscript I did not no- why should I take up my time in writing to such a scoun- tice —come, finish the epistle.” drel?—I shan’t be always kept in prison, I suppose; and “I have to add (not for self but partner) that Mr. Green- to break that puppy’s bones when I get out, shall be my horn will accommodate you by taking your service of first employment.” plate, or the bay horses, if sound in wind and limb, at a “In prison, sir?” said Miss Wardour, faintly. fair appreciation, in part payment of your accompt.” “Ay, in prison to be sure. Do you make any question “G—d confound him!” said Sir Arthur, losing all com- about that? Why, Mr. what’s his name’s fine letter for mand of himself at this condescending proposal: “his self and partner seems to be thrown away on you, or else grandfather shod my father’s horses, and this descen- you have got four thousand so many hundred pounds, dant of a scoundrelly blacksmith proposes to swindle with the due proportion of shillings, pence, and half- me out of mine! But I will write him a proper answer.” pence, to pay that aforesaid demand, as he calls it.”

434 Sir Walter Scott “I, sir? O if I had the means!—But where’s my “Should I not send to Monkbarns, sir?” said his daughter. brother?—why does he not come, and so long in Scot- “To what purpose? He cannot lend me such a sum, land? He might do something to assist us.” and would not if he could, for he knows I am otherwise “Who, Reginald?—I suppose he’s gone with Mr. Gilbert drowned in debt; and he would only give me scraps of Greenhorn, or some such respectable person, to the misanthropy and quaint ends of Latin.” Lamberton races—I have expected him this week past; but “But he is shrewd and sensible, and was bred to busi- I cannot wonder that my children should neglect me as well ness, and, I am sure, always loved this family.” as every other person. But I should beg your pardon, my “Yes, I believe he did. It is a fine pass we are come to, love, who never either neglected or offended me in your life.” when the affection of an Oldbuck is of consequence to a And kissing her cheek as she threw her arms round his Wardour! But when matters come to extremity, as I sup- neck, he experienced that consolation which a parent pose they presently will—it may be as well to send for feels, even in the most distressed state, in the assurance him. And now go take your walk, my dear—my mind is that he possesses the affection of a child. more composed than when I had this cursed disclosure Miss Wardour took the advantage of this revulsion of to make. You know the worst, and may daily or hourly feeling, to endeavour to soothe her father’s mind to com- expect it. Go take your walk—I would willingly be alone posure. She reminded him that he had many friends. for a little while.” “I had many once,” said Sir Arthur; “but of some I When Miss Wardour left the apartment, her first oc- have exhausted their kindness with my frantic projects; cupation was to avail herself of the half permission others are unable to assist me—others are unwilling. It granted by her father, by despatching to Monkbarns the is all over with me. I only hope Reginald will take ex- messenger, who, as we have already seen, met the Anti- ample by my folly.” quary and his nephew on the sea-beach.

435 The Antiquary Little recking, and indeed scarce knowing, where she bury himself in a disagreeable place like Fairport, and was wandering, chance directed her into the walk be- brood over an unrequited passion, might be ridiculed neath the Briery Bank, as it was called. A brook, which by others as romantic, but was naturally forgiven as an in former days had supplied the castle-moat with water, excess of affection by the person who was the object of here descended through a narrow dell, up which Miss his attachment. Had he possessed an independence, Wardour’s taste had directed a natural path, which was however moderate, or ascertained a clear and undisputed rendered neat and easy of ascent, without the air of claim to the rank in society he was well qualified to being formally made and preserved. It suited well the adorn, she might now have had it in her power to offer character of the little glen, which was overhung with her father, during his misfortunes, an asylum in an es- thickets and underwood, chiefly of larch and hazel, in- tablishment of her own. These thoughts, so favourable termixed with the usual varieties of the thorn and brier. to the absent lover, crowded in, one after the other, with In this walk had passed that scene of explanation be- such a minute recapitulation of his words, looks, and tween Miss Wardour and Lovel which was overheard by actions, as plainly intimated that his former repulse had old Edie Ochiltree. With a heart softened by the dis- been dictated rather by duty than inclination. Isabella tress which approached her family, Miss Wardour now was musing alternately upon this subject, and upon that recalled every word and argument which Lovel had urged of her father’s misfortunes, when, as the path winded in support of his suit, and could not help confessing to round a little hillock covered with brushwood, the old herself, it was no small subject of pride to have inspired Blue-Gown suddenly met her. a young man of his talents with a passion so strong and With an air as if he had something important and mys- disinterested. That he should have left the pursuit of a terious to communicate, he doffed his bonnet, and as- profession in which he was said to be rapidly rising, to sumed the cautious step and voice of one who would

436 Sir Walter Scott not willingly be overheard. “I hae been wishing muckle be about their wark belyve; whare they clip, there needs to meet wi’ your leddyship—for ye ken I darena come nae kame—they shear close eneugh.” to the house for Dousterswivel.” “Are you sure this bad hour, Edie, is so very near?— “I heard indeed,” said Miss Wardour, dropping an alms come, I know, it will.” into the bonnet—“I heard that you had done a very “It’s e’en as I tell you, leddy. But dinna be cast down— foolish, if not a very bad thing, Edie—and I was sorry there’s a heaven ower your head here, as weel as in that to hear it.” fearful night atween the Ballyburghness and the Halket- “Hout, my bonny leddy—fulish? A’ the world’s fules— head. D’ye think He, wha rebuked the waters, canna and how should auld Edie Ochiltree be aye wise?—And protect you against the wrath of men, though they be for the evil—let them wha deal wi’ Dousterswivel tell armed with human authority?” whether he gat a grain mair than his deserts.” “It is indeed all we have to trust to.” “That may be true, Edie, and yet,” said Miss Wardour, “Ye dinna ken—ye dinna ken: when the night’s dark- “you may have been very wrong.” est, the dawn’s nearest. If I had a gude horse, or could “Weel, weel, we’se no dispute that e’ennow—it’s about ride him when I had him, I reckon there wad be help yoursell I’m gaun to speak. Div ye ken what’s hanging yet. I trusted to hae gotten a cast wi’ the Royal Char- ower the house of Knockwinnock?” lotte, but she’s coupit yonder, it’s like, at Kittlebrig. “Great distress, I fear, Edie,” answered Miss Wardour; There was a young gentleman on the box, and he “but I am surprised it is already so public.” behuved to drive; and Tam Sang, that suld hae mair “Public!—Sweepclean, the messenger, will be there the sense, he behuved to let him, and the daft callant couldna day wi’ a’ his tackle. I ken it frae ane o’ his concurrents, tak the turn at the corner o’ the brig; and od! he took as they ca’ them, that’s warned to meet him; and they’ll the curbstane, and he’s whomled her as I wad whomle a

437 The Antiquary toom bicker—it was a luck I hadna gotten on the tap o’ “Mak haste then, my bonny leddy—mak haste, for her. Sae I came down atween hope and despair, to see if the love o’ goodness!”—and he continued to exhort her ye wad send me on.” to expedition until they reached the Castle. “And, Edie—where would ye go?” said the young lady. “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,” said the persevering Blue-Gown. “But what is it that you would do at Tannonburgh?— or how can your going there benefit my father’s affairs?” “Indeed, my sweet leddy,” said the gaberlunzie, “ye maun just trust that bit secret to auld Edie’s grey pow, and ask nae questions about it. Certainly 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’ your distress.” “Well, Edie, follow me then,” said Miss Wardour, “and I will try to get you sent to Tannonburgh.”

438 Sir Walter Scott M’Intyre flew to her, as, struck dumb with the melancholy conviction of her father’s ruin, she paused upon CHAPTER TWENTY-FIRST the threshold of the gateway. “Dear Miss Wardour,” he said, “do not make yourself uneasy; my uncle is coming immediately, and I am sure Let those go see who will—I like it not— he will find some way to clear the house of these ras- For, say he was a slave to rank and pomp, And all the nothings he is now divorced from cals.” By the hard doom of stern necessity: “Alas! Captain M’Intyre, I fear it will be too late.” Yet it is sad to mark his altered brow, “No,” answered Edie, impatiently—“could I but get Where Vanity adjusts her flimsy veil O’er the deep wrinkles of repentant anguish. to Tannonburgh. In the name of Heaven, Captain, con- trive some way to get me on, and ye’ll do this poor ru- Old Play. ined family the best day’s doing that has been done them since Redhand’s days—for as sure as e’er an auld saw came true, Knockwinnock house and land will be lost WHEN MISS WARDOUR arrived in the court of the Castle, and won this day.” she was apprized by the first glance that the visit of the “Why, what good can you do, old man?” said Hector. officers of the law had already taken place. There was But Robert, the domestic with whom Sir Arthur had confusion, and gloom and sorrow, and curiosity among been so much displeased in the morning, as if he had the domestics, while the retainers of the law went from been watching for an opportunity to display his zeal, place to place, making an inventory of the goods and stepped hastily forward and said to his mistress, “If you chattels falling under their warrant of distress, or poin- please, ma’am, this auld man, Ochiltree, is very skeely ding, as it is called in the law of Scotland. Captain 439 The Antiquary and auld-farrant about mony things, as the diseases of dence and sagacity, which authorized Robert’s conclu- cows and horse, and sic like, and I am sure be disna want sion that he would not so earnestly have urged the ne- to be at Tannonburgh the day for naething, since he in- cessity of this expedition had he not been convinced of sists on’t this gate; and, if your leddyship pleases, I’ll its utility. But so soon as the servant took hold of a horse drive him there in the taxed-cart in an hour’s time. I to harness him for the taxed-cart, an officer touched wad fain be of some use—I could bite my very tongue him on the shoulder—“My friend, you must let that out when I think on this morning.” beast alone—he’s down in the schedule.” “I am obliged to you, Robert,” said Miss Wardour; “What!” said Robert, “am I not to take my master’s “and if you really think it has the least chance of being horse to go my young leddy’s errand?” useful”— “You must remove nothing here,” said the man of of- “In the name of God,” said the old man, “yoke the fice, “or you will be liable for all consequences.” cart, Robie, and if I am no o’ some use, less or mair, I’ll “What the devil, sir,” said Hector, who having followed gie ye leave to fling me ower Kittlebrig as ye come back to examine Ochiltree more closely on the nature of his again. But, O man, haste ye, for time’s precious this day.” hopes and expectations, already began to bristle like one Robert looked at his mistress as she retired into the of the terriers of his own native mountains, and sought house, and seeing he was not prohibited, flew to the but a decent pretext for venting his displeasure, “have stable-yard, which was adjacent to the court, in order you the impudence to prevent the young lady’s servant to yoke the carriage; for, though an old beggar was the from obeying her orders?” personage least likely to render effectual assistance in a There was something in the air and tone of the young case of pecuniary distress, yet there was among the com- soldier, which seemed to argue that his interference was mon people of Edie’s circle, a general idea of his pru- not likely to be confined to mere expostulation; and

440 Sir Walter Scott which, if it promised finally the advantages of a pro- and he slid his enigmatical ring from one end of the ba- cess of battery and deforcement, would certainly com- ton to the other, being the appropriate symbol of his mence with the unpleasant circumstances necessary for having been forcibly interrupted in the discharge of his founding such a complaint. The legal officer, confronted duty. with him of the military, grasped with one doubtful hand Honest Hector, better accustomed to the artillery of the greasy bludgeon which was to enforce his authority, the field than to that of the law, saw this mystical cer- and with the other produced his short official baton, emony with great indifference; and with like unconcern tipped with silver, and having a movable ring upon it— beheld the messenger sit down to write out an execution ”Captain M’Intyre,—Sir, I have no quarrel with you,— of deforcement. But at this moment, to prevent the well- but if you interrupt me in my duty, I will break the meaning hot-headed Highlander from running the risk wand of peace, and declare myself deforced.” of a severe penalty, the Antiquary arrived puffing and “And who the devil cares,” said Hector, totally igno- blowing, with his handkerchief crammed under his hat, rant of the words of judicial action, “whether you de- and his wig upon the end of his stick. clare yourself divorced or married? And as to breaking “What the deuce is the matter here?” he exclaimed, your wand, or breaking the peace, or whatever you call hastily adjusting his head-gear; “I have been following it, all I know is, that I will break your bones if you pre- you in fear of finding your idle loggerhead knocked vent the lad from harnessing the horses to obey his against one rock or other, and here I find you parted mistress’s orders.” with your Bucephalus, and quarrelling with Sweepclean. “I take all who stand here to witness,” said the mes- A messenger, Hector, is a worse foe than a phoca, whether senger, “that I showed him my blazon, and explained it be the phoca barbata, or the phoca vitulina of your late my character. He that will to Cupar maun to Cupar,”— conflict.”

441 The Antiquary “D—n the phoca, sir,” said Hector, “whether it be the He then spoke to the messenger, who, upon his arrival, one or the other—I say d—n them both particularly! I had laid aside all thoughts of making a good by-job out think you would not have me stand quietly by and see a of the deforcement, and accepted Mr. Oldbuck’s assur- scoundrel like this, because he calls himself a king’s ances that the horse and taxed-cart should be safely re- messenger, forsooth—(I hope the king has many better turned in the course of two or three hours. for his meanest errands)—insult a young lady of family “Very well, sir,” said the Antiquary, “since you are dis- and fashion like Miss Wardour?” posed to be so civil, you shall have another job in your “Rightly argued, Hector,” said the Antiquary; “but own best way—a little cast of state politics—a crime the king, like other people, has now and then shabby punishable per Legem Juliam, Mr. Sweepclean—Hark errands, and, in your ear, must have shabby fellows to thee hither.” do them. But even supposing you unacquainted with And after a whisper of five minutes, he gave him a the statutes of William the Lion, in which capite quarto slip of paper, on receiving which, the messenger mounted versu quinto, this crime of deforcement is termed his horse, and, with one of his assistants, rode away despectus Domini Regis—a contempt, to wit, of the king pretty sharply. The fellow who remained seemed to de- himself, in whose name all legal diligence issues,—could lay his operations purposely, proceeded in the rest of you not have inferred, from the information I took so his duty very slowly, and with the caution and precision much pains to give you to-day, that those who interrupt of one who feels himself overlooked by a skilful and se- officers who come to execute letters of caption, are vere inspector. tanquam participes criminis rebellionis? seeing that he In the meantime, Oldbuck, taking his nephew by the who aids a rebel, is himself, quodammodo, an accessory arm, led him into the house, and they were ushered into to rebellion—But I’ll bring you out of this scrape.” the presence of Sir Arthur Wardour, who, in a flutter

442 Sir Walter Scott between wounded pride, agonized apprehension, and officers’ horses, and his was as handsome a grey charger vain attempts to disguise both under a show of indiffer- as I have seen.” ence, exhibited a spectacle of painful interest. Sir Arthur was about to ring the bell, when Mr. “Happy to see you, Mr. Oldbuck—always happy to Oldbuck said, “My nephew came on your own grey horse, see my friends in fair weather or foul,” said the poor Sir Arthur.” Baronet, struggling not for composure, but for gaiety— “Mine!” said the poor Baronet; “mine was it? then the sun an affectation which was strongly contrasted by the ner- had been in my eyes. Well, I’m not worthy having a horse vous and protracted grasp of his hand, and the agita- any longer, since I don’t know my own when I see him.” tion of his whole demeanour—“I am happy to see you. “Good Heaven!” thought Oldbuck, “how is this man You are riding, I see—I hope in this confusion your altered from the formal stolidity of his usual manner!— horses are taken good care of—I always like to have my he grows wanton under adversity—Sed pereunti mille friend’s horses looked after—Egad! they will have all figurae.”—He then proceeded aloud—“Sir Arthur, we my care now, for you see they are like to leave me none must necessarily speak a little on business.” of my own—he! he! he! eh, Mr. Oldbuck?” “To be sure,” said Sir Arthur; “but it was so good that This attempt at a jest was attended by a hysterical I should not know the horse I have ridden these five giggle, which poor Sir Arthur intended should sound as years—ha! ha! ha!” an indifferent laugh. “Sir Arthur,” said the Antiquary, “don’t let us waste “You know I never ride, Sir Arthur,” said the Anti- time which is precious; we shall have, I hope, many bet- quary. ter seasons for jesting—desipere in loco is the maxim of “I beg your pardon; but sure I saw your nephew ar- Horace. I more than suspect this has been brought on rive on horseback a short time since. We must look after by the villany of Dousterswivel.”

443 The Antiquary “Don’t mention his name, sir!” said Sir Arthur; and age this diversion, in hopes it might mitigate the feel- his manner entirely changed from a fluttered affecta- ings which seemed like to overset the poor man’s under- tion of gaiety to all the agitation of fury; his eyes standing; “honester men have stretched a rope, or the sparkled, his mouth foamed, his hands were clenched— law has been sadly cheated—But this unhappy business ”don’t mention his name, sir,” he vociferated, “unless of yours—can nothing be done? Let me see the charge.” you would see me go mad in your presence! That I should He took the papers; and, as he read them, his counte- have been such a miserable dolt—such an infatuated nance grew hopelessly dark and disconsolate. Miss idiot—such a beast endowed with thrice a beast’s stu- Wardour had by this time entered the apartment, and pidity, to be led and driven and spur-galled by such a fixing her eyes on Mr. Oldbuck, as if she meant to read rascal, and under such ridiculous pretences!—Mr. her fate in his looks, easily perceived, from the change Oldbuck, I could tear myself when I think of it.” in his eye, and the dropping of his nether-jaw, how little “I only meant to say,” answered the Antiquary, “that was to be hoped. this fellow is like to meet his reward; and I cannot but “We are then irremediably ruined, Mr. Oldbuck?” said think we shall frighten something out of him that may the young lady. be of service to you. He has certainly had some unlaw- “Irremediably?—I hope not—but the instant demand ful correspondence on the other side of the water.” is very large, and others will, doubtless, pour in.” “Has he?—has he?—has he indeed?—then d—n the “Ay, never doubt that, Monkbarns,” said Sir Arthur; house-hold goods, horses, and so forth—I will go to “where the slaughter is, the eagles will be gathered to- prison a happy man, Mr. Oldbuck. I hope in heaven gether. I am like a sheep which I have seen fall down a there’s a reasonable chance of his being hanged?” precipice, or drop down from sickness—if you had not “Why, pretty fair,” said Oldbuck, willing to encour- seen a single raven or hooded crow for a fortnight be-

444 Sir Walter Scott fore, he will not lie on the heather ten minutes before They had been shut up together for about two hours, half-a-dozen will be picking out his eyes (and he drew when Miss Wardour interrupted them with her cloak on his hand over his own), and tearing at his heartstrings as if prepared for a journey. Her countenance was very before the poor devil has time to die. But that d—d long- pale, yet expressive of the composure which character- scented vulture that dogged me so long—you have got ized her disposition. him fast, I hope?” “The messenger is returned, Mr. Oldbuck.” “Fast enough,” said the Antiquary; “the gentleman “Returned?—What the devil! he has not let the fel- wished to take the wings of the morning, and bolt in the low go?” what d’ye call it,—the coach and four there. But he would “No—I understand he has carried him to confinement; have found twigs limed for him at Edinburgh. As it is, he and now he is returned to attend my father, and says he never got so far, for the coach being overturned—as how can wait no longer.” could it go safe with such a Jonah?—he has had an infer- A loud wrangling was now heard on the staircase, in nal tumble, is carried into a cottage near Kittlebrig, and which the voice of Hector predominated. “You an of- to prevent all possibility of escape, I have sent your friend ficer, sir, and these ragamuffins a party! a parcel of beg- Sweepclean to bring him back to Fairport in nomine regis, garly tailor fellows—tell yourselves off by nine, and we or to act as his sick-nurse at Kittlebrig, as is most fitting. shall know your effective strength.” And now, Sir Arthur, permit me to have some conversa- The grumbling voice of the man of law was then heard tion with you on the present unpleasant state of your indistinctly muttering a reply, to which Hector re- affairs, that we may see what can be done for their extri- torted—“Come, come, sir, this won’t do;—march your cation;” and the Antiquary led the way into the library, party, as you call them, out of this house directly, or I’ll followed by the unfortunate gentleman. send you and them to the right about presently.”

445 The Antiquary “The devil take Hector,” said the Antiquary, hasten- and you will only make matters worse by opposing ing to the scene of action; “his Highland blood is up him.—I fear, Sir Arthur, you must accompany this man again, and we shall have him fighting a duel with the to Fairport; there is no help for it in the first instance— bailiff. Come, Mr. Sweepclean, you must give us a little I will accompany you, to consult what further can be time—I know you would not wish to hurry Sir Arthur.” done—My nephew will escort Miss Wardour to “By no means, sir,” said the messenger, putting his Monkbarns, which I hope she will make her residence hat off, which he had thrown on to testify defiance of until these unpleasant matters are settled.” Captain M’Intyre’s threats; “but your nephew, sir, holds “I go with my father, Mr. Oldbuck,” said Miss Wardour very uncivil language, and I have borne too much of it firmly—“I have prepared his clothes and my own—I already; and I am not justified in leaving my prisoner suppose we shall have the use of the carriage?” any longer after the instructions I received, unless I am “Anything in reason, madam,” said the messenger; “I to get payment of the sums contained in my diligence.” have ordered it out, and it’s at the door—I will go on And he held out the caption, pointing with the awful the box with the coachman—I have no desire to in- truncheon, which he held in his right hand, to the for- trude—but two of the concurrents must attend on horse- midable line of figures jotted upon the back thereof. back.” Hector, on the other hand, though silent from respect “I will attend too,” said Hector, and he ran down to to his uncle, answered this gesture by shaking his secure a horse for himself. clenched fist at the messenger with a frown of High- “We must go then,” said the Antiquary. land wrath. “To jail,” said the Baronet, sighing involuntarily. “And “Foolish boy, be quiet,” said Oldbuck, “and come with what of that?” he resumed, in a tone affectedly cheer- me into the room—the man is doing his miserable duty, ful—“it is only a house we can’t get out of, after all—

446 Sir Walter Scott Suppose a fit of the gout, and Knockwinnock would be Guardover, may be pardoned a sigh when he leaves the the same—Ay, ay, Monkbarns—we’ll call it a fit of the castle of his fathers thus poorly escorted. When I was gout without the d—d pain.” sent to the Tower with my late father, in the year 1745, But his eyes swelled with tears as he spoke, and his it was upon a charge becoming our birth—upon an ac- faltering accent marked how much this assumed gaiety cusation of high treason, Mr. Oldbuck;—we were es- cost him. The Antiquary wrung his hand, and, like the corted from Highgate by a troop of life-guards, and com- Indian Banians, who drive the real terms of an impor- mitted upon a secretary of state’s warrant; and now, tant bargain by signs, while they are apparently talk- here I am, in my old age, dragged from my household ing of indifferent matters, the hand of Sir Arthur, by by a miserable creature like that” (pointing to the mes- its convulsive return of the grasp, expressed his sense senger), “and for a paltry concern of pounds, shillings, of gratitude to his friend, and the real state of his inter- and pence.” nal agony.—They stepped slowly down the magnificent “At least,” said Oldbuck, “you have now the company staircase—every well-known object seeming to the un- of a dutiful daughter, and a sincere friend, if you will fortunate father and daughter to assume a more promi- permit me to say so, and that may be some consolation, nent and distinct appearance than usual, as if to press even without the certainty that there can be no hang- themselves on their notice for the last time. ing, drawing, or quartering, on the present occasion. But At the first landing-place, Sir Arthur made an ago- I hear that choleric boy as loud as ever. I hope to God he nized pause; and as he observed the Antiquary look at has got into no new broil!—it was an accursed chance him anxiously, he said with assumed dignity—“Yes, Mr. that brought him here at all.” Oldbuck, the descendant of an ancient line—the repre- In fact, a sudden clamour, in which the loud voice and sentative of Richard Redhand and Gamelyn de somewhat northern accent of Hector was again preemi-

447 The Antiquary nently distinguished, broke off this conversation. The cause we must refer to the next chapter. CHAPTER TWENTY-SECOND

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—

Old Play.

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 bud- get 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

448 Sir Walter Scott frankness of Highland congratulation. The messenger, “God save the king!” exclaimed the Antiquary at the who had a kind of instinctive terror for Captain first glance at the contents of his packet, and, surprised M’Intyre, drew towards his prisoner, keeping an eye of at once out of decorum, philosophy, and phlegm, he caution on the soldier’s motions. skimmed his cocked hat in the air, from which it de- “Don’t suppose I shall trouble myself about you, you scended not again, being caught in its fall by a branch dirty fellow,” said the soldier; “there’s a guinea for the of the chandelier. He next, looking joyously round, laid fright I have given you; and here comes an old forty-two a grasp on his wig, which he perhaps would have sent man, who is a fitter match for you than I am.” after the beaver, had not Edie stopped his hand, exclaim- The messenger (one of those dogs who are not too ing “Lordsake! he’s gaun gyte!—mind Caxon’s no here scornful to eat dirty puddings) caught in his hand the to repair the damage.” guinea which Hector chucked at his face; and abode Every person now assailed the Antiquary, clamouring warily and carefully the turn which matters were now to know the cause of so sudden a transport, when, some- to take. All voices meanwhile were loud in inquiries, what ashamed of his rapture, he fairly turned tail, like which no one was in a hurry to answer. a fox at the cry of a pack of hounds, and ascending the “What is the matter, Captain M’Intyre?” said Sir Arthur. stair by two steps at a time, gained the upper landing- “Ask old Edie,” said Hector;—“I only know all’s safe place, where, turning round, he addressed the astonished and well.” audience as follows:— “What is all this, Edie?” said Miss Wardour to the “My good friends, favete linguis—To give you infor- mendicant. mation, I must first, according to logicians, be possessed “Your leddyship maun ask Monkbarns, for he has got- of it myself; and, therefore, with your leaves, I will re- ten the yepistolary correspondensh.” tire into the library to examine these papers —Sir Arthur

449 The Antiquary and Miss Wardour will have the goodness to step into in a situation to give effectual assistance for extricating the parlour—Mr. Sweepclean, secede paulisper, or, in your them. I understand Sir Arthur is threatened with se- own language, grant us a supersedere of diligence for vere measures by persons who acted formerly as his five minutes—Hector, draw off your forces, and make agents; and, by advice of a creditable man of business your bear-garden flourish elsewhere—and, finally, be all here, I have procured the enclosed writing, which I un- of good cheer till my return, which will be instanter.” derstand will stop their proceedings until their claim The contents of the packet were indeed so little ex- shall be legally discussed, and brought down to its proper pected, that the Antiquary might be pardoned, first his amount. I also enclose bills to the amount of one thou- ecstasy, and next his desire of delaying to communicate sand pounds to pay any other pressing demands, and the intelligence they conveyed, until it was arranged and request of your friendship to apply them according to digested in his own mind. your discretion. You will be surprised I give you this Within the envelope was a letter addressed to Jonathan trouble, when it would seem more natural to address Oldbuck, Esq. of Monkbarns, of the following pur- my father directly in his own affairs. But I have yet had port:— no assurance that his eyes are opened to the character of a person against whom you have often, I know, “Dear Sir,—To you, as my father’s proved and valued warned him, and whose baneful influence has been the friend, I venture to address myself, being detained here occasion of these distresses. And as I owe the means of by military duty of a very pressing nature. You must relieving Sir Arthur to the generosity of a matchless by this time be acquainted with the entangled state of friend, it is my duty to take the most certain measures our affairs; and I know it will give you great pleasure to for the supplies being devoted to the purpose for which learn, that I am as fortunately as unexpectedly placed they were destined,—and I know your wisdom and kind-

450 Sir Walter Scott ness will see that it is done. My friend, as he claims an extremely methodical in money matters—and lastly, interest in your regard, will explain some views of his fraught with all the importance of disclosure, he de- own in the enclosed letter. The state of the post-office scended to the parlour. at Fairport being rather notorious, I must send this let- “Sweepclean,” said he, as he entered, to the officer ter to Tannonburgh; but the old man Ochiltree, whom who stood respectfully at the door, “you must sweep particular circumstances have recommended as trust- yourself clean out of Knockwinnock Castle, with all worthy, has information when the packet is likely to your followers, tag-rag and bob-tail. Seest thou this pa- reach that place, and will take care to forward it. I ex- per, man?” pect to have soon an opportunity to apologize in person “A sist on a bill o’ suspension,” said the messenger, for the trouble I now give, and have the honour to be with a disappointed look;—“I thought it would be a your very faithful servant, queer thing if ultimate diligence was to be done against “Reginald Gamelyn Wardour.” “Edinburgh, 6th Au- sic a gentleman as Sir Arthur—Weel, sir, I’se go my ways gust, 179-.” with my party—And who’s to pay my charges?” “They who employed thee,” replied Oldbuck, “as thou The Antiquary hastily broke the seal of the enclosure, full well dost know. —But here comes another express: the contents of which gave him equal surprise and plea- this is a day of news, I think.” sure. When he had in some measure composed himself This was Mr. Mailsetter on his mare from Fairport, after such unexpected tidings, he inspected the other with a letter for Sir Arthur, another to the messenger, papers carefully, which all related to business—put the both of which, he said, he was directed to forward in- bills into his pocket-book, and wrote a short acknowl- stantly. The messenger opened his, observing that Green- edgment to be despatched by that day’s post, for he was horn and Grinderson were good enough men for his ex-

451 The Antiquary penses, and here was a letter from them desiring him to forgetful of, or ungrateful for, the constant patronage stop the diligence. Accordingly, he immediately left the which my family [his family! curse him for a puppy!] have apartment, and staying no longer than to gather his uniformly experienced from that of Knockwinnock. I am posse together, he did then, in the phrase of Hector, who sorry to find, from an interview I had this day with Mr. watched his departure as a jealous mastiff eyes the re- Wardour, that he is much irritated, and, I must own, with treat of a repulsed beggar, evacuate Flanders. apparent reason. But in order to remedy as much as in Sir Arthur’s letter was from Mr. Greenhorn, and a cu- me lies the mistake of which he complains [pretty mis- riosity in its way. We give it, with the worthy Baronet’s take, indeed! to clap his patron into jail], I have sent this comments. express to discharge all proceedings against your person or property; and at the same time to transmit my respect- “Sir—[Oh! I am dear sir no longer; folks are only dear to ful apology. I have only to add, that Mr. Grinderson is of Messrs. Greenhorn and Grinderson when they are in ad- opinion, that if restored to your confidence, he could point versity]—Sir, I am much concerned to learn, on my re- out circumstances connected with Messrs. Goldiebirds’ turn from the country, where I was called on particular present claim which would greatly reduce its amount [so, business [a bet on the sweepstakes, I suppose], that my so, willing to play the rogue on either side]; and that there partner had the impropriety, in my absence, to under- is not the slightest hurry in settling the balance of your take the concerns of Messrs. Goldiebirds in preference to accompt with us; and that I am, for Mr. G. as well as yours, and had written to you in an unbecoming manner. myself, Dear Sir [O ay, he has written himself into an I beg to make my most humble apology, as well as Mr. approach to familiarity], your much obliged and most Grindersons—[come, I see he can write for himself and humble servant, partner too]—and trust it is impossible you can think me “Gilbert Greenhorn.”

452 Sir Walter Scott should neglect it in their idleness, and tricksters abuse “Well said, Mr. Gilbert Greenhorn,” said Monkbarns; it in their knavery. But it is the more to the honour of “I see now there is some use in having two attorneys in those (and I will vouch for many) who unite integrity one firm. Their movements resemble those of the man with skill and attention, and walk honourably upright and woman in a Dutch baby-house. When it is fair where there are so many pitfalls and stumbling-blocks weather with the client, out comes the gentleman part- for those of a different character. To such men their fel- ner to fawn like a spaniel; when it is foul, forth bolts the low citizens may safely entrust the care of protecting operative brother to pin like a bull-dog. Well, I thank their patrimonial rights, and their country the more God that my man of business still wears an equilateral sacred charge of her laws and privileges.” cocked hat, has a house in the Old Town, is as much “They are best aff, however, that hae least to do with afraid of a horse as I am myself, plays at golf of a Sat- them,” said Ochiltree, who had stretched his neck into urday, goes to the kirk of a Sunday, and, in respect he the parlour door; for the general confusion of the fam- has no partner, hath only his own folly to apologize for.” ily not having yet subsided, the domestics, like waves “There are some writers very honest fellows,” said Hec- after the fall of a hurricane, had not yet exactly regained tor; “I should like to hear any one say that my cousin, their due limits, but were roaming wildly through the Donald M’Intyre, Strathtudlem’s seventh son (the other house. six are in the army), is not as honest a fellow”— “Aha, old Truepenny, art thou there?” said the Anti- “No doubt, no doubt, Hector, all the M’Intyres are quary. “Sir Arthur, let me bring in the messenger of good so; they have it by patent, man—But I was going to luck, though he is but a lame one. You talked of the say, that in a profession where unbounded trust is nec- raven that scented out the slaughter from afar; but here’s essarily reposed, there is nothing surprising that fools a blue pigeon (somewhat of the oldest and toughest, I

453 The Antiquary grant) who smelled the good news six or seven miles off, his honour Sir Arthur, and the young laird, and the house flew thither in the taxed-cart, and returned with the of Knockwinnock in a’ its branches, far and near!—it’s olive branch.” been a kind and gude house to the puir this mony hun- “Ye owe it o’ to puir Robie that drave me;—puir fal- dred years.” low,” said the beggar, “he doubts he’s in disgrace wi’ my “There”—said the Antiquary to Sir Arthur—“we leddy and Sir Arthur.” won’t dispute—but there you see the gratitude of the Robert’s repentant and bashful face was seen over the poor people naturally turns to the civil virtues of your mendicant’s shoulder. family. You don’t hear them talk of Redhand, or Hell- “In disgrace with me?” said Sir Arthur—“how so?”— in-Harness. For me, I must say, Odi accipitrem qui sem- for the irritation into which he had worked himself on per vivit in armis—so let us eat and drink in peace, and occasion of the toast had been long forgotten. “O, I rec- be joyful, Sir Knight.” ollect—Robert, I was angry, and you were wrong;—go A table was quickly covered in the parlour, where the about your work, and never answer a master that speaks party sat joyously down to some refreshment. At the to you in a passion.” request of Oldbuck, Edie Ochiltree was permitted to sit “Nor any one else,” said the Antiquary; “for a soft by the sideboard in a great leathern chair, which was answer turneth away wrath.” placed in some measure behind a screen. “And tell your mother, who is so ill with the rheuma- “I accede to this the more readily,” said Sir Arthur, tism, to come down to the housekeeper to-morrow,” said “because I remember in my fathers days that chair was Miss Wardour, “and we will see what can be of service occupied by Ailshie Gourlay, who, for aught I know, was to her.” the last privileged fool, or jester, maintained by any fam- “God bless your leddyship,” said poor Robert, “and ily of distinction in Scotland.”

454 Sir Walter Scott “Aweel, Sir Arthur,” replied the beggar, who never hesi- Wardour, “it would be all too little to regale you after tated an instant between his friend and his jest, “mony your friendly exertions.” a wise man sits in a fule’s seat, and mony a fule in a wise “Say you so?” said the Antiquary: “why, then, a cup man’s, especially in families o’ distinction.” of thanks to you, my fair enemy, and soon may you be Miss Wardour, fearing the effect of this speech (how- besieged as ladies love best to be, and sign terms of ca- ever worthy of Ailsbie Gourlay, or any other privileged pitulation in the chapel of Saint Winnox!” jester) upon the nerves of her father, hastened to in- Miss Wardour blushed—Hector coloured, and then quire whether ale and beef should not be distributed to grew pale. the servants and people whom the news had assembled Sir Arthur answered, “My daughter is much obliged round the Castle. to you, Monkbarns; but unless you’ll accept of her your- “Surely, my love,” said her father; “when was it ever self, I really do not know where a poor knight’s daugh- otherwise in our families when a siege had been raised?” ter is to seek for an alliance in these mercenary times.” “Ay, a siege laid by Saunders Sweepclean the bailiff, “Me, mean ye, Sir Arthur? No, not I! I will claim privi- and raised by Edie Ochiltree the gaberlunzie, par nobile lege of the duello, and, as being unable to encounter my fratrum,” said Oldbuck, “and well pitted against each fair enemy myself, I will appear by my champion—But other in respectability. But never mind, Sir Arthur— of this matter hereafter. What do you find in the papers these are such sieges and such reliefs as our time of day there, Hector, that you hold your head down over them admits of—and our escape is not less worth commemo- as if your nose were bleeding?” rating in a glass of this excellent wine—Upon my credit, “Nothing particular, sir; but only that, as my arm is it is Burgundy, I think.” now almost quite well, I think I shall relieve you of my “Were there anything better in the cellar,” said Miss company in a day or two, and go to Edinburgh. I see

455 The Antiquary Major Neville is arrived there. I should like to see him.” and that you are engaged to meet one of Lord Glenallan’s “Major whom?” said his uncle. gamekeepers, God knows where, to persecute the peace- “Major Neville, sir,” answered the young soldier. ful feathered creation.” “And who the devil is Major Neville?” demanded the “True, true, uncle—I had forgot that,” exclaimed the Antiquary. volatile Hector; “but you said something just now that “O, Mr. Oldbuck,” said Sir Arthur, “you must remem- put everything out of my head.” ber his name frequently in the newspapers—a very dis- “An it like your honours,” said old Edie, thrusting his tinguished young officer indeed. But I am happy to say white bead from behind the screen, where he had been that Mr. M’Intyre need not leave Monkbarns to see him, plentifully regaling himself with ale and cold meat— for my son writes that the Major is to come with him to “an it like your honours, I can tell ye something that Knockwinnock, and I need not say how happy I shall will keep the Captain wi’ us amaist as weel as the pout- be to make the young gentlemen acquainted,—unless, ing—Hear ye na the French are coming?” indeed, they are known to each other already.” “The French, you blockhead?” answered Oldbuck— “No, not personally,” answered Hector, “but I have ”Bah!” had occasion to hear a good deal of him, and we have “I have not had time,” said Sir Arthur Wardour, “to several mutual friends—your son being one of them. look over my lieutenancy correspondence for the week— But I must go to Edinburgh; for I see my uncle is begin- indeed, I generally make a rule to read it only on Wednes- ning to grow tired of me, and I am afraid”— days, except in pressing cases,—for I do everything by “That you will grow tired of him?” interrupted method; but from the glance I took of my letters, I ob- Oldbuck,—“I fear that’s past praying for. But you have served some alarm was entertained.” forgotten that the ecstatic twelfth of August approaches, “Alarm?” said Edie, “troth there’s alarm, for the

456 Sir Walter Scott provost’s gar’d the beacon light on the Halket-head be Antiquary and his nephew resumed their walk home- sorted up (that suld hae been sorted half a year syne) in ward, after parting from Knockwinnock with the warm- an unco hurry, and the council hae named nae less a est expressions of mutual regard, and an agreement to man than auld Caxon himsell to watch the light. Some meet again as soon as possible. say it was out o’ compliment to Lieutenant Taffril,— for it’s neist to certain that he’ll marry Jenny Caxon,— some say it’s to please your honour and Monkbarns that wear wigs—and some say there’s some auld story about a periwig that ane o’ the bailies got and neer paid for— Onyway, 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’ll friz 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

457 The Antiquary “Well, sir,” said M’Intyre, with much composure. “Well, sir,” echoed his uncle—“Deuce take the fellow! CHAPTER TWENTY-THIRD he answers me as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world, that he, a captain in the array, and nothing at all besides, should marry the daughter of a baronet.” Nay, if she love me not, I care not for her: “I presume to think, sir,” said the young Highlander, Shall I look pale because the maiden blooms Or sigh because she smiles, and smiles on others “there would be no degradation on Miss Wardour’s part Not I, by Heaven!—I hold my peace too dear, in point of family.” To let it, like the plume upon her cap, “O, Heaven forbid we should come on that topic!— Shake at each nod that her caprice shall dictate. No, no, equal both—both on the table-land of gentility, Old Play. and qualified to look down on every roturier in Scotland.” “And in point of fortune we are pretty even, since neither of us have got any,” continued Hector. “There may “HECTOR,” said his uncle to Captain M’Intyre, in the be an error, but I cannot plead guilty to presumption.” course of their walk homeward, “I am sometimes in- “But here lies the error, then, if you call it so,” replied clined to suspect that, in one respect, you are a fool.” his uncle: “she won’t have you, Hector.” “If you only think me so in one respect, sir, I am sure “Indeed, sir?” you do me more grace than I expected or deserve.” “It is very sure, Hector; and to make it double sure, I “I mean in one particular par excellence,” answered must inform you that she likes another man. She mis- the Antiquary. “I have sometimes thought that you have understood some words I once said to her, and I have cast your eyes upon Miss Wardour.” since been able to guess at the interpretation she put on

458 Sir Walter Scott them. At the time I was unable to account for her hesi- especially if she had a taste for natural history, and loved tation and blushing; but, my poor Hector, I now under- a specimen of a phoca.” stand them as a death-signal to your hopes and preten- “It’s a little hard, sir,” said Hector, “I must have that sions. So I advise you to beat your retreat and draw off cursed seal thrown into my face on all occasions—but I your forces as well as you can, for the fort is too well care little about it—and I shall not break my heart for garrisoned for you to storm it.” Miss Wardour. She is free to choose for herself, and I “I have no occasion to beat any retreat, uncle,” said wish her all happiness.” Hector, holding himself very upright, and marching with “Magnanimously resolved, thou prop of Troy! Why, a sort of dogged and offended solemnity; “no man needs Hector, I was afraid of a scene. Your sister told me you to retreat that has never advanced. There are women in were desperately in love with Miss Wardour.” Scotland besides Miss Wardour, of as good family”— “Sir,” answered the young man, “you would not have “And better taste,” said his uncle; “doubtless there are, me desperately in love with a woman that does not care Hector; and though I cannot say but that she is one of about me?” the most accomplished as well as sensible girls I have “Well, nephew,” said the Antiquary, more seriously, seen, yet I doubt, much of her merit would be cast away “there is doubtless much sense in what you say; yet I on you. A showy figure, now, with two cross feathers would have given a great deal, some twenty or twenty- above her noddle—one green, one blue; who would wear five years since, to have been able to think as you do.” a riding-habit of the regimental complexion, drive a gig “Anybody, I suppose, may think as they please on such one day, and the next review the regiment on the grey subjects,” said Hector. trotting pony which dragged that vehicle, hoc erat in “Not according to the old school,” said Oldbuck; “but, votis;—these are the qualities that would subdue you, as I said before, the practice of the modern seems in

459 The Antiquary this case the most prudential, though, I think, scarcely The feeling of vacuity peculiar to such a deprivation, the most interesting. But tell me your ideas now on this was alleviated by the appearance of old Ochiltree, saun- prevailing subject of an invasion. The cry is still, They tering beside the clipped yew and holly hedges, with the come.” air of a person quite at home. Indeed, so familiar had Hector, swallowing his mortification, which he was pe- he been of late, that even Juno did not bark at him, but culiarly anxious to conceal from his uncle’s satirical ob- contented herself with watching him with a close and servation, readily entered into a conversation which was vigilant eye. Our Antiquary stepped out in his night- to turn the Antiquary’s thoughts from Miss Wardour gown, and instantly received and returned his greeting. and the seal. When they reached Monkbarns, the com- “They are coming now, in good earnest, Monkbarns. I municating to the ladies the events which had taken just cam frae Fairport to bring ye the news, and then place at the castle, with the counter-information of how I’ll step away back again. The Search has just come into long dinner had waited before the womankind had ven- the bay, and they say she’s been chased by a French fleet. tured to eat it in the Antiquary’s absence, averted these “The Search?” said Oldbuck, reflecting a moment. delicate topics of discussion. “Oho!” The next morning the Antiquary arose early, and, as “Ay, ay, Captain Taffril’s gun-brig, the Search.” Caxon had not yet made his appearance, he began men- “What? any relation to Search, No. II.?” said Oldbuck, tally to feel the absence of the petty news and small catching at the light which the name of the vessel seemed talk of which the ex-peruquier was a faithful reporter, to throw on the mysterious chest of treasure. and which habit had made as necessary to the Anti- The mendicant, like a man detected in a frolic, put his quary as his occasional pinch of snuff, although he held, bonnet before his face, yet could not help laughing heart- or affected to hold, both to be of the same intrinsic value. ily.—“The deil’s in you, Monkbarns, for garring odds

460 Sir Walter Scott and evens meet. Wha thought ye wad hae laid that and Oldbuck, “though somewhat strangely.” that thegither? Od, I am clean catch’d now.” “I’ll say this for mysell, Monkbarns,” answered the “I see it all,” said Oldbuck, “as plain as the legend on mendicant, “that I am the fittest man in the haill coun- a medal of high preservation—the box in which the’ try to trust wi’ siller, for I neither want it, nor wish for bullion was found belonged to the gun-brig, and the trea- it, nor could use it if I had it. But the lad hadna muckle sure to my phoenix?”—(Edie nodded assent),—“and choice in the matter, for he thought he was leaving the was buried there that Sir Arthur might receive relief in country for ever (I trust he’s mistaen in that though); his difficulties?” and the night was set in when we learned, by a strange “By me,” said Edie, “and twa o’ the brig’s men—but chance, Sir Arthur’s sair distress, and Lovel was obliged they didna ken its contents, and thought it some bit to be on board as the day dawned. But five nights after- smuggling concern o’ the Captain’s. I watched day and wards the brig stood into the bay, and I met the boat by night till I saw it in the right hand; and then, when that appointment, and we buried the treasure where ye fand German deevil was glowering at the lid o’ the kist (they it.” liked mutton weel that licked where the yowe lay), I “This was a very romantic, foolish exploit,” said think some Scottish deevil put it into my head to play Oldbuck: “why not trust me, or any other friend?” him yon ither cantrip. Now, ye see, if I had said mair or “The blood o’ your sister’s son,” replied Edie, “was on less to Bailie Littlejohn, I behoved till hae come out wi’ his hands, and him maybe dead outright—what time a’ this story; and vexed would Mr. Lovel hae been to had he to take counsel?—or how could he ask it of you, have it brought to light—sae I thought I would stand by onybody?” to onything rather than that.” “You are right. But what if Dousterswivel had come “I must say he has chosen his confidant well,” said before you?”

461 The Antiquary “There was little fear o’ his coming there without Sir “Well, notwithstanding all these wise precautions, I Arthur: he had gotten a sair gliff the night afore, and think your contrivance succeeded better than such a never intended to look near the place again, unless he clumsy one deserved, Edie. But how the deuce came had been brought there sting and ling. He ken’d weel Lovel by such a mass of silver ingots?” the first pose was o’ his ain hiding, and how could he “That’s just what I canna tell ye—But they were put expect a second? He just havered on about it to make on board wi’ his things at Fairport, it’s like, and we the mair o’ Sir Arthur.” stowed them into ane o’ the ammunition-boxes o’ the “Then how,” said Oldbuck, “should Sir Arthur have brig, baith for concealment and convenience of car- come there unless the German had brought him?” riage.” “Umph!” answered Edie drily. “I had a story about “Lord!” said Oldbuck, his recollection recurring to the Misticot wad hae brought him forty miles, or you either. earlier part of his acquaintance with Lovel; “and this Besides, it was to be thought he would be for visiting the young fellow, who was putting hundreds on so strange a place he fand the first siller in—he ken’d na the secret o’ hazard, I must be recommending a subscription to him, that job. In short, the siller being in this shape, Sir Arthur and paying his bill at the Ferry! I never will pay any in utter difficulties, and Lovel determined he should never person’s bill again, that’s certain.—And you kept up a ken the hand that helped him,—for that was what he constant correspondence with Lovel, I suppose?” insisted maist upon,—we couldna think o’ a better way “I just gat ae bit scrape o’ a pen frae him, to say there to fling the gear in his gate, though we simmered it and wad, as yesterday fell, be a packet at Tannonburgh, wi’ wintered it e’er sae lang. And if by ony queer mischance letters o’ great consequence to the Knockwinnock folk; Doustercivil had got his claws on’t, I was instantly to hae for they jaloused the opening of our letters at Fairport— informed you or the Sheriff o’ the haill story.” And that’s a’s true; I hear Mrs. Mailsetter is to lose her

462 Sir Walter Scott office for looking after other folk’s business and neglect- orders for the forces and volunteers to be alert; and ing her ain.” there’s a clever young officer to come here forthwith, to “And what do you expect now, Edie, for being the ad- look at our means o’ defence—I saw the Bailies lass viser, and messenger, and guard, and confidential per- cleaning his belts and white breeks—I gae her a hand, son in all these matters?” for ye maun think she wasna ower clever at it, and sae I “Deil haet do I expect—excepting that a’ the gentles gat a’ the news for my pains.” will come to the gaberlunzie’s burial; and maybe ye’ll “And what think you, as an old soldier?” carry the head yoursell, as ye did puir Steenie “Troth I kenna—an they come so mony as they speak Mucklebackit’s.—What trouble was’t to me? I was o’, they’ll be odds against us. But there’s mony yauld ganging about at ony rate—Oh, but I was blythe when chields amang thae volunteers; and I mauna say muckle I got out of Prison, though; for I thought, what if that about them that’s no weel and no very able, because I am weary letter should come when I am closed up here like something that gate mysell. —But we’se do our best.” an oyster, and a’ should gang wrang for want o’t? and “What! so your martial spirit is rising again, Edie? whiles I thought I maun mak a clean breast and tell you a’ about it; but then I couldna weel do that without Even in our ashes glow their wonted fires! contravening Mr. Lovel’s positive orders; and I reckon he had to see somebody at Edinburgh afore he could do I would not have thought you, Edie, had so much to what he wussed to do for Sir Arthur and his family.” fight for?” “Well, and to your public news, Edie—So they are still “Me no muckle to fight for, sir?—isna there the coun- coming are they?” try to fight for, and the burnsides that I gang daundering “Troth they say sae, sir; and there’s come down strict beside, and the hearths o’the gudewives that gie me my

463 The Antiquary bit bread, and the bits o’ weans that come toddling to “I have had a letter this morning, from which I un- play wi’ me when I come about a landward town?— derstand he has acquitted you of the charge he brought Deil!” he continued, grasping his pike-staff with great against you, and offers to make such discoveries as will emphasis, “an I had as gude pith as I hae gude-will, and render the settlement of Sir Arthur’s affairs a more easy a gude cause, I should gie some o’ them a day’s kemping.” task than we apprehended—So writes the Sheriff; and “Bravo, bravo, Edie! The country’s in little ultimate adds, that he has given some private information of danger, when the beggar’s as ready to fight for his dish importance to Government, in consideration of which, as the laird for his land.” I understand he will be sent back to play the knave in Their further conversation reverted to the particulars his own country.” of the night passed by the mendicant and Lovel in the “And a’ the bonny engines, and wheels, and the coves, ruins of St. Ruth; by the details of which the Antiquary and sheughs, doun at Glenwithershins yonder, what’s was highly amused. to come o’ them?” said Edie. “I would have given a guinea,” he said, “to have seen “I hope the men, before they are dispersed, will make the scoundrelly German under the agonies of those ter- a bonfire of their gimcracks, as an army destroy their rors, which it is part of his own quackery to inspire into artillery when forced to raise a siege. And as for the holes, others; and trembling alternately for the fury of his Edie, I abandon them as rat-traps, for the benefit of patron, and the apparition of some hobgoblin.” the next wise men who may choose to drop the sub- “Troth,” said the beggar, “there was time for him to stance to snatch at a shadow.” be cowed; for ye wad hae thought the very spirit of Hell- “Hech, sirs! guide us a’! to burn the engines? that’s a in-Harness had taken possession o’ the body o’ Sir great waste. —Had ye na better try to get back part o’ Arthur. But what will come o’ the land-louper?” your hundred pounds wi’ the sale o’ the materials?” he

464 Sir Walter Scott continued, with a tone of affected condolence. “Pshaw! pshaw!” said the Antiquary, turning from him “Not a farthing,” said the Antiquary, peevishly, tak- hastily, and retreating into the house. ing a turn from him, and making a step or two away. The mendicant looked after him a moment, and with Then returning, half-smiling at his own pettishness, he a chuckling laugh, such as that with which a magpie or said, “Get thee into the house, Edie, and remember my parrot applauds a successful exploit of mischief, he re- counsel, never speak to me about a mine, nor to my sumed once more the road to Fairport. His habits had nephew Hector about a phoca, that is a sealgh, as you given him a sort of restlessness, much increased by the call it.” pleasure he took in gathering news; and in a short time “I maun be ganging my ways back to Fairport,” said he had regained the town which he left in the morning, the wanderer; “I want to see what they’re saying there for no reason that he knew himself, unless just to “hae a about the invasion;—but I’ll mind what your honour bit crack wi’ Monkbarns.” says, no to speak to you about a sealgh, or to the Cap- tain about the hundred pounds that you gied to Douster”— “Confound thee!—I desired thee not to mention that 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 Praetorian yonder, or the bodle that the packman sauld to ye for an auld coin.”

465 The Antiquary adjusting his observation by a cross-staff which had been placed so as to bear upon the point. And behold, the CHAPTER TWENTY-FOURTH light increased, like a comet to the eye of the astrono- mer, “with fear of change perplexing nations.” “The Lord preserve us!” said Caxon, “what’s to be done Red glared the beacon on Pownell now? But there will be wiser heads than mine to look to On Skiddaw there were three; The bugle horn on moor and fell that, sae I’se e’en fire the beacon.” Was heard continually. And he lighted the beacon accordingly, which threw up to the sky a long wavering train of light, startling James Hogg. the sea-fowl from their nests, and reflected far beneath by the reddening billows of the sea. The brother ward- ers of Caxon being equally diligent, caught, and repeated THE WATCH who kept his watch on the hill, and looked his signal. The lights glanced on headlands and capes towards Birnam, probably conceived himself dreaming and inland hills, and the whole district was alarmed by when he first beheld the fated grove put itself into mo- the signal of invasion.* tion for its march to Dunsinane. Even so old Caxon, as Our Antiquary, his head wrapped warm in two double perched in his hut, he qualified his thoughts upon the night-caps, was quietly enjoying his repose, when it was approaching marriage of his daughter, and the dignity suddenly broken by the screams of his sister, his niece, of being father-in-law to Lieutenant Taffril, with an oc- and two maid-servants. casional peep towards the signal-post with which his own “What the devil is the matter?” said he, starting up in corresponded, was not a little surprised by observing a his bed—“womankind in my room at this hour of light in that direction. He rubbed his eyes, looked again, *Note J. Alarms of Invasion. 466 Sir Walter Scott night!—are ye all mad?” and man can gang—and auld Mucklebackit’s gane wi’ the “The beacon, uncle!” said Miss M’Intyre. lave—muckle gude he’ll do!—Hech, sirs!—he’ll be missed “The French coming to murder us!” screamed Miss the morn wha wad hae served king and country weel!” Griselda. “Give me,” said Oldbuck, “the sword which my father “The beacon! the beacon!—the French! the French!— wore in the year forty-five—it hath no belt or baldrick— murder! murder! and waur than murder!”—cried the two but we’ll make shift.” handmaidens, like the chorus of an opera. So saying he thrust the weapon through the cover of “The French?” said Oldbuck, starting up—“get out his breeches pocket. At this moment Hector entered, of the room, womankind that you are, till I get my things who had been to a neighbouring height to ascertain on—And hark ye, bring me my sword.” whether the alarm was actual. “Whilk o’ them, Monkbarns?” cried his sister, offer- “Where are your arms, nephew?” exclaimed ing a Roman falchion of brass with the one hand, and Oldbuck—“where is your double-barrelled gun, that was with the other an Andrea Ferrara without a handle. never out of your hand when there was no occasion for “The langest, the langest,” cried Jenny Rintherout, such vanities?” dragging in a two-handed sword of the twelfth century. “Pooh! pooh! sir,” said Hector, “who ever took a fowl- “Womankind,” said Oldbuck in great agitation, “be ing-piece on action? I have got my uniform on, you see— composed, and do not give way to vain terror—Are you I hope I shall be of more use if they will give me a com- sure they are come?” mand than I could be with ten double-barrels. And you, “Sure, sure!” exclaimed Jenny—“ower sure!—a’ the sea sir, must get to Fairport, to give directions for quarter- fencibles, and the land fencibles, and the volunteers and yeo- ing and maintaining the men and horses, and prevent- manry, are on fit, and driving to Fairport as hard as horse ing confusion.”

467 The Antiquary “You are right, Hector,—l believe I shall do as much teers beating to arms, were blended with the voice of with my head as my hand too. But here comes Sir Arthur the officers, the sound of the bugles, and the tolling of Wardour, who, between ourselves, is not fit to accom- the bells from the steeple. The ships in the harbour were plish much either one way or the other.” lit up, and boats from the armed vessels added to the Sir Arthur was probably of a different opinion; for, bustle, by landing men and guns destined to assist in dressed in his lieutenancy uniform, he was also on the the defence of the place. This part of the preparations road to Fairport, and called in his way to take Mr. was superintended by Taffril with much activity. Two Oldbuck with him, having had his original opinion of or three light vessels had already slipped their cables his sagacity much confirmed by late events. And in spite and stood out to sea, in order to discover the supposed of all the entreaties of the womankind that the Anti- enemy. quary would stay to garrison Monkbarns, Mr. Oldbuck, Such was the scene of general confusion, when Sir with his nephew, instantly accepted Sir Arthur’s offer. Arthur Wardour, Oldbuck, and Hector, made their way Those who have witnessed such a scene can alone con- with difficulty into the principal square, where the town- ceive the state of bustle in Fairport. The windows were house is situated. It was lighted up, and the magistracy, glancing with a hundred lights, which, appearing and with many of the neighbouring gentlemen, were as- disappearing rapidly, indicated the confusion within sembled. And here, as upon other occasions of the like doors. The women of lower rank assembled and kind in Scotland, it was remarkable how the good sense clamoured in the market-place. The yeomanry, pouring and firmness of the people supplied almost all the defi- from their different glens, galloped through the streets, ciencies of inexperience. some individually, some in parties of five or six, as they The magistrates were beset by the quarter-masters of had met on the road. The drums and fifes of the volun- the different corps for billets for men and horses. “Let

468 Sir Walter Scott us,” said Bailie Littlejohn, “take the horses into our posed, in great force of numbers and high confidence warehouses, and the men into our parlours—share our and spirits. And so much did military experience at that supper with the one, and our forage with the other. We moment overbalance all other claims to consequence, have made ourselves wealthy under a free and paternal that even old Edie, instead of being left, like Diogenes government, and now is the time to show we know its at Sinope, to roll his tub when all around were prepar- value.” ing for defence, had the duty assigned him of superin- A loud and cheerful acquiescence was given by all tending the serving out of the ammunition, which he present, and the substance of the wealthy, with the per- executed with much discretion. sons of those of all ranks, were unanimously devoted to Two things were still anxiously expected—the pres- the defence of the country. ence of the Glenallan volunteers, who, in consideration Captain M’Intyre acted on this occasion as military of the importance of that family, had been formed into adviser and aide-de-camp to the principal magistrate, a separate corps, and the arrival of the officer before and displayed a degree of presence of mind, and knowl- announced, to whom the measures of defence on that edge of his profession, totally unexpected by his uncle, coast had been committed by the commander-in-chief, who, recollecting his usual insouciance and impetuosity, and whose commission would entitle him to take upon gazed at him with astonishment from time to time, as himself the full disposal of the military force. he remarked the calm and steady manner in which he At length the bugles of the Glenallan yeomanry were explained the various measures of precaution that his heard, and the Earl himself, to the surprise of all who experience suggested, and gave directions for executing knew his habits and state of health, appeared at their them. He found the different corps in good order, con- head in uniform. They formed a very handsome and well- sidering the irregular materials of which they were com- mounted squadron, formed entirely out of the Earl’s

469 The Antiquary Lowland tenants, and were followed by a regiment of tenancy, hastened to the door of their town-house to five hundred men, completely equipped in the Highland receive him; but what was the surprise of all present, dress, whom he had brought down from the upland glens, but most especially that of the Antiquary, when they with their pipes playing in the van. The clean and ser- became aware, that the handsome uniform and military viceable appearance of this band of feudal dependants cap disclosed the person and features of the pacific Lovel! called forth the admiration of Captain M’Intyre; but A warm embrace, and a hearty shake of the hand, were his uncle was still more struck by the manner in which, necessary to assure him that his eyes were doing him upon this crisis, the ancient military spirit of his house justice. Sir Arthur was no less surprised to recognise his seemed to animate and invigorate the decayed frame of son, Captain Wardour, in Lovel’s, or rather Major the Earl, their leader. He claimed, and obtained for him- Neville’s company. The first words of the young officers self and his followers, the post most likely to be that of were a positive assurance to all present, that the cour- danger, displayed great alacrity in making the neces- age and zeal which they had displayed were entirely sary dispositions, and showed equal acuteness in discuss- thrown away, unless in so far as they afforded an ac- ing their propriety. Morning broke in upon the military ceptable proof of their spirit and promptitude. councils of Fairport, while all concerned were still ea- “The watchman at Halket-head,” said Major Neville, gerly engaged in taking precautions for their defence. “as we discovered by an investigation which we made in At length a cry among the people announced, “There’s our route hither, was most naturally misled by a bonfire the brave Major Neville come at last, with another of- which some idle people had made on the hill above ficer;” and their post-chaise and four drove into the Glenwithershins, just in the line of the beacon with square, amidst the huzzas of the volunteers and inhab- which his corresponded.” itants. The magistrates, with their assessors of the lieu- Oldbuck gave a conscious look to Sir Arthur, who re-

470 Sir Walter Scott turned it with one equally sheepish, and a shrug of the “I felt my heart warm to him from the first, and your shoulders, lordship has suggested the very cause.” “It must have been the machinery which we con- “But who—who is he?” continued Lord Glenallan, demned to the flames in our wrath,” said the Antiquary, holding the Antiquary with a convulsive grasp. plucking up heart, though not a little ashamed of hav- “Formerly I would have called him Lovel, but now he ing been the cause of so much disturbance—“The devil turns out to be Major Neville.” take Dousterswivel with all my heart!—I think he has “Whom my brother brought up as his natural son— bequeathed us a legacy of blunders and mischief, as if whom he made his heir—Gracious Heaven! the child of he had lighted some train of fireworks at his departure. my Eveline!” I wonder what cracker will go off next among our shins. “Hold, my lord—hold!” said Oldbuck, “do not give But yonder comes the prudent Caxon.—Hold up your too hasty way to such a presumption;—what probabil- head, you ass—your betters must bear the blame for ity is there?” you—And here, take this what-d’ye-call it”—(giving “Probability? none! There is certainty! absolute cer- him his sword)—“I wonder what I would have said yes- tainty! The agent I mentioned to you wrote me the whole terday to any man that would have told me I was to story—I received it yesterday, not sooner. Bring him, stick such an appendage to my tail.” for God’s sake, that a father’s eyes may bless him before Here he found his arm gently pressed by Lord he departs.” Glenallan, who dragged him into a separate apartment. “I will; but for your own sake and his, give him a few “For God’s sake, who is that young gentleman who is so moments for preparation.” strikingly like”— And, determined to make still farther investigation “Like the unfortunate Eveline,” interrupted Oldbuck. before yielding his entire conviction to so strange a tale,

471 The Antiquary he sought out Major Neville, and found him expediting have no better right to the name of Neville, by which I the necessary measures for dispersing the force which have been generally distinguished, than to that of Lovel, had been assembled. under which you knew me.” “Pray, Major Neville, leave this business for a moment “Indeed! then, I trust, we shall find out one for you to to Captain Wardour and to Hector, with whom, I hope, which you shall have a firm and legal title.” you are thoroughly reconciled” (Neville laughed, and “Sir!—I trust you do not think the misfortune of my shook hands with Hector across the table), “and grant birth a fit subject”— me a moment’s audience.” “By no means, young man,” answered the Antiquary, “You have a claim on me, Mr. Oldbuck, were my busi- interrupting him;—“I believe I know more of your birth ness more urgent,” said Neville, “for having passed than you do yourself—and, to convince you of it, you myself upon you under a false name, and rewarding your were educated and known as a natural son of Geraldin hospitality by injuring your nephew.” Neville of Neville’s-Burgh, in Yorkshire, and I presume, “You served him as he deserved,” said Oldbuck— as his destined heir?” ”though, by the way, he showed as much good sense as “Pardon me—no such views were held out to me. I spirit to-day—Egad! if he would rub up his learning, was liberally educated, and pushed forward in the army and read Caesar and Polybus, and the Stratagemata by money and interest; but I believe my supposed fa- Polyaeni, I think he would rise in the army—and I will ther long entertained some ideas of marriage, though certainly lend him a lift.” he never carried them into effect.” “He is heartily deserving of it,” said Neville; “and I “You say your supposed father?—What leads you to am glad you excuse me, which you may do the more suppose Mr. Geraldin Neville was not your real father?” frankly, when you know that I am so unfortunate as to “I know, Mr. Oldbuck, that you would not ask these

472 Sir Walter Scott questions on a point of such delicacy for the gratifica- “Raro antecedentem scelestum, or, as I may here say, tion of idle curiosity. I will therefore tell you candidly, scelestam,” said Oldbuck, “deseruit poena—even Epicu- that last year, while we occupied a small town in French reans admitted that. And what did you do upon this?” Flanders, I found in a convent, near which I was quar- “I remonstrated with Mr. Neville by letter, and to no tered, a woman who spoke remarkably good English— purpose. I then obtained leave of absence, and threw She was a Spaniard—her name Teresa D’Acunha. In myself at his feet, conjuring him to complete the disclo- the process of our acquaintance, she discovered who I sure which Teresa had begun. He refused, and, on my was, and made herself known to me as the person who importunity, indignantly upbraided me with the favours had charge of my infancy. She dropped more than one he had already conferred. I thought he abused the power hint of rank to which I was entitled, and of injustice of a benefactor, as he was compelled to admit he had no done to me, promising a more full disclosure in case of title to that of a father, and we parted in mutual dis- the death of a lady in Scotland, during whose lifetime pleasure. I renounced the name of Neville, and assumed she was determined to keep the secret. She also inti- that under which you knew me. It was at this time, when mated that Mr. Geraldin Neville was not my father. We residing with a friend in the north of England who were attacked by the enemy, and driven from the town, favoured my disguise, that I became acquainted with which was pillaged with savage ferocity by the republi- Miss Wardour, and was romantic enough to follow her cans. The religious orders were the particular objects of to Scotland. My mind wavered on various plans of life, their hate and cruelty. The convent was burned, and when I resolved to apply once more to Mr. Neville for an several nuns perished—among others Teresa; and with explanation of the mystery of my birth. It was long ere her all chance of knowing the story of my birth: tragic I received an answer; you were present when it was put by all accounts it must have been.” into my hands. He informed me of his bad state of

473 The Antiquary health, and conjured me, for my own sake, to inquire no “And since that time you have been occupied, I sup- farther into the nature of his connection with me, but pose, with plans for Sir Arthur’s relief?” to rest satisfied with his declaring it to be such and so “Yes, sir; with the assistance of Captain Wardour at intimate, that he designed to constitute me his heir. Edinburgh.” When I was preparing to leave Fairport to join him, a “And Edie Ochiltree here—you see I know the whole second express brought me word that he was no more. story. But how came you by the treasure?” The possession of great wealth was unable to suppress “It was a quantity of plate which had belonged to my the remorseful feelings with which I now regarded my uncle, and was left in the custody of a person at Fairport. conduct to my benefactor, and some hints in his letter Some time before his death he had sent orders that it appearing to intimate there was on my birth a deeper should be melted down. He perhaps did not wish me to stain than that of ordinary illegitimacy, I remembered see the Glenallan arms upon it.” certain prejudices of Sir Arthur.” “Well, Major Neville—or let me say, Lovel, being the “And you brooded over these melancholy ideas until name in which I rather delight—you must, I believe, you were ill, instead of coming to me for advice, and exchange both of your alias’s for the style and title of telling me the whole story?” said Oldbuck. the Honourable William Geraldin, commonly called “Exactly; then came my quarrel with Captain Lord Geraldin.” M’Intyre, and my compelled departure from Fairport The Antiquary then went through the strange and mel- and its vicinity.” ancholy circumstances concerning his mother’s death. “From love and from poetry—Miss Wardour and the “I have no doubt,” he said, “that your uncle wished Caledoniad?” the report to be believed, that the child of this unhappy “Most true.” marriage was no more—perhaps he might himself have

474 Sir Walter Scott an eye to the inheritance of his brother—he was then a chasing, bearing the motto of Aldobrand Oldenbuck, gay wild young man—But of all intentions against your Kunst macht gunst. person, however much the evil conscience of Elspeth Old Edie, the most important man that ever wore a might lead her to inspect him from the agitation in which blue gown, bowls away easily from one friend’s house to he appeared, Teresa’s story and your own fully acquit another, and boasts that he never travels unless on a him. And now, my dear sir, let me have the pleasure of sunny day. Latterly, indeed, he has given some symp- introducing a son to a father.” toms of becoming stationary, being frequently found in We will not attempt to describe such a meeting. The the corner of a snug cottage between Monkbarns and proofs on all sides were found to be complete, for Mr. Knockwinnock, to which Caxon retreated upon his Neville had left a distinct account of the whole transac- daughter’s marriage, in order to be in the neighbourhood tion with his confidential steward in a sealed packet, of the three parochial wigs, which he continues to keep which was not to be opened until the death of the old in repair, though only for amusement. Edie has been Countess; his motive for preserving secrecy so long ap- heard to say, “This is a gey bein place, and it’s a comfort pearing to have been an apprehension of the effect which to hae sic a corner to sit in in a bad day.” It is thought, the discovery, fraught with so much disgrace, must nec- as he grows stiffer in the joints, he will finally settle there. essarily produce upon her haughty and violent temper. The bounty of such wealthy patrons as Lord and Lady In the evening of that day, the yeomanry and volun- Geraldin flowed copiously upon Mrs. Hadoway and upon teers of Glenallan drank prosperity to their young mas- the Mucklebackits. By the former it was well employed, ter. In a month afterwards Lord Geraldin was married by the latter wasted. They continue, however, to receive to Miss Wardour, the Antiquary making the lady a it, but under the administration of Edie Ochiltree; and present of the wedding ring—a massy circle of antique they do not accept it without grumbling at the channel

475 The Antiquary through which it is conveyed. Hector is rising rapidly in the army, and has been more than once mentioned in the Gazette, and rises propor- NOTES TO THE ANTIQUARY tionally 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 harp- ing upon the story of the phoca. People talk of a mar- Note A, p. 14.—Mottoes. riage between Miss M’Intyre and Captain Wardour; but this wants confirmation. [“It was in correcting the proof-sheets of this novel that The Antiquary is a frequent visitor at Knockwinnock Scott first took to equipping his chapters with mottoes of his own fabrication. On one occasion he happened to and Glenallan House, ostensibly for the sake of com- ask John Ballantyne, who was sitting by him, to hunt pleting two essays, one on the mail-shirt of the Great for a particular passage in Beaumont and Fletcher. John Earl, and the other on the left-hand gauntlet of Hell- did as he was bid, but did not succeed in discovering the in-Harness. He regularly inquires whether Lord Geraldin lines. ‘Hang it, Johnnie,’ cried Scott, ‘I believe I can make a motto sooner than you will find one.’ He did so has commenced the Caledoniad, and shakes his head at accordingly; and from that hour, whenever memory the answers he receives. En attendant, however, he has failed to suggest an appropriate epigraph, he had re- completed his notes, which, we believe, will be at the course to the inexhaustible mines of “old play” or “old service of any one who chooses to make them public ballad,” to which we owe some of the most exquisite verses that ever flowed from his pen.”—J. G. Lockhart. without risk or expense to THE ANTIQUARY. See also the Introduction to “Chronicles of the Canongate,” vol. xix.]

476 Sir Walter Scott Note B, p. 33.—Sandy Gordon’s Itinerarium. Note C, p. 64.—Praetorium.

[This well-known work, the “Itinerarium Septentrionale, It may be worth while to mention that the incident of or a Journey thro’ most of the Counties of Scotland, the supposed Praetorium actually happened to an anti- and those in the North of England,” was published at quary of great learning and acuteness, Sir John Clerk London in 1727, folio. The author states, that in pros- of Penicuik, one of the Barons of the Scottish Court of ecuting his work he “made a pretty laborious progress Exchequer, and a parliamentary commissioner for ar- through almost every part of Scotland for three years rangement of the Union between England and Scotland. successively.” Gordon was a native of Aberdeenshire, and As many of his writings show, Sir John was much at- had previously spent some years in travelling abroad, tached to the study of Scottish antiquities. He had a probably as a tutor. He became Secretary to the Lon- small property in Dumfriesshire, near the Roman sta- don Society of Antiquaries in 1736. This office he re- tion on the hill called Burrenswark. Here he received signed in 1741, and soon after went out to South Caro- the distinguished English antiquarian Roger Gale, and lina with Governor Glen, where he obtained a consider- of course conducted him to see this remarkable spot, able grant of land. On his death, about the year 1753, where the lords of the world have left such decisive marks he is said to have left “a handsome estate to his fam- of their martial labours. ily.”—See Literary Anecdotes of Bowyer, by John Nichols, An aged shepherd whom they had used as a guide, or vol. v., p. 329, etc.] who had approached them from curiosity, listened with mouth agape to the dissertations on foss and vellum, ports dextra, sinistra, and decumana, which Sir John Clerk delivered ex cathedra, and his learned visitor listened with the deference to the dignity of a connoisseur on his own ground. But when the cicerone proceeded to point out a small hillock near the centre of the enclosure as the Praetorium, Corydon’s patience could hold no longer, and, like Edie Ochiltree, he forgot all rever-

477 The Antiquary ence, and broke in with nearly the same words—“Pra- Note D, p. 114.—Mr. Rutherfurd’s Dream etorium here, Praetorium there, I made the bourock mysell with a flaughter-spade.” The effect of this unde- The legend of Mrs. Grizel Oldbuck was partly taken from niable evidence on the two lettered sages may be left to an extraordinary story which happened about seventy the reader’s imagination. years since, in the South of Scotland, so peculiar in its The late excellent and venerable John Clerk of Eldin, circumstances that it merits being mentioned in this the celebrated author of Naval Tactics, used to tell this place. Mr. Rutherfurd of Bowland, a gentleman of story with glee, and being a younger son of Sir John’s landed property in the vale of Gala, was prosecuted for was perhaps present on the occasion. a very considerable sum, the accumulated arrears of teind (or tithe) for which he was said to be indebted to a noble family, the titulars (lay impropriators of the tithes). Mr. Rutherfurd was strongly impressed with the belief that his father had, by a form of process peculiar to the law of Scotland, purchased these lands from the titular, and therefore that the present prosecution was groundless. But, after an industrious search among his father’s papers, an investigation of the public records, and a careful inquiry among all persons who had trans- acted law business for his father, no evidence could be recovered to support his defence. The period was now near at hand when he conceived the loss of his lawsuit to be inevitable, and he had formed his determination to ride to Edinburgh next day, and make the best bargain he could in the way of compromise. He went to bed with this resolution and, with all the circumstances of the case floating upon his mind, had a dream to the

478 Sir Walter Scott following purpose:—His father, who had been many instead of going straight to Edinburgh. When he came years dead, appeared to him, he thought, and asked him there he waited on the gentleman mentioned in the why he was disturbed in his mind. In dreams men are dream, a very old man; without saying anything of the not surprised at such apparitions. Mr. Rutherfurd vision, he inquired whether he remembered having con- thought that he informed his father of the cause of his ducted such a matter for his deceased father. The old distress, adding that the payment of a considerable sum gentleman could not at first bring the circumstance to of money was the more unpleasant to him, because he his recollection, but on mention of the Portugal piece had a strong consciousness that it was not due, though of gold, the whole returned upon his memory; he made he was unable to recover any evidence in support of his an immediate search for the papers, and recovered belief, “You are right, my son,” replied the paternal them,—so that Mr. Rutherfurd carried to Edinburgh shade; “I did acquire right to these teinds, for payment the documents necessary to gain the cause which he was of which you are now prosecuted. The papers relating on the verge of losing. to the transaction are in the hands of Mr.—, a writer The author has often heard this story told by persons (or attorney), who is now retired from professional busi- who had the best access to know the facts, who were not ness, and resides at Inveresk, near Edinburgh. He was a likely themselves to be deceived, and were certainly in- person whom I employed on that occasion for a particu- capable of deception. He cannot therefore refuse to give lar reason, but who never on any other occasion transit credit, however extraordinary the circumstances may acted business on my account. It is very possible,” pur- appear. The circumstantial character of the informa- sued the vision, “that Mr.—may have forgotten a mat- tion given in the dream, takes it out of the general class ter which is now of a very old date; but you may call it of impressions of the kind which are occasioned by the to his recollection by this token, that when I came to fortuitous coincidence of actual events with our sleep- pay his account, there was difficulty in getting change ing thoughts. On the other hand, few will suppose that for a Portugal piece of gold, and that we were forced to the laws of nature were suspended, and a special com- drink out the balance at a tavern.” munication from the dead to the living permitted, for Mr. Rutherfurd awakened in the morning with all the the purpose of saving Mr. Rutherfurd a certain number words of the vision imprinted on his mind, and thought of hundred pounds. The author’s theory is, that the it worth while to ride across the country to Inveresk, dream was only the recapitulation of information which 479 The Antiquary Mr. Rutherfurd had really received from his father while Note E, p. 165.—Nick-sticks. in life, but which at first he merely recalled as a general impression that the claim was settled. It is not uncom- A sort of tally generally used by bakers of the olden mon for persons to recover, during sleep, the thread of time in settling with their customers. Each family had ideas which they have lost during their waking hours. its own nick-stick, and for each loaf as delivered a notch It may be added, that this remarkable circumstance was made on the stick. Accounts in Exchequer, kept by was attended with bad consequences to Mr. Rutherfurd; the same kind of check, may have occasioned the whose health and spirits were afterwards impaired by Antiquary’s partiality. In Prior’s time the English bak- the attention which he thought himself obliged to pay ers had the same sort of reckoning. to the visions of the night. Have you not seen a baker’s maid, Between two equal panniers sway’d? Her tallies useless lie and idle, If placed exactly in the middle.

480 Sir Walter Scott Note F, p. 239.—Witchcraft. Note G, p. 292.—Gyneocracy.

A great deal of stuff to the same purpose with that In the fishing villages on the Firths of Forth and Tay, placed in the mouth of the German adept, may be found as well as elsewhere in Scotland, the government is in Reginald Scott’s Discovery of Witchcraft, Third Edi- gyneocracy, as described in the text. In the course of tion, folio, London, 1665. The Appendix is entitled, “An the late war, and during the alarm of invasion, a fleet Excellent Discourse of the Nature and Substances of of transports entered the Firth of Forth under the con- Devils and Spirits, in two Books; the first by the afore- voy of some ships of war, which would reply to no sig- said author (Reginald Scott), the Second now added in nals. A general alarm was excited, in consequence of this Third Edition as succedaneous to the former, and which, all the fishers, who were enrolled as sea-fencibles, conducing to the completing of the whole work.” This got on board the gun-boats which they were to man as Second Book, though stated as succedaneous to the first, occasion should require, and sailed to oppose the sup- is, in fact, entirely at variance with it; for the work of posed enemy. The foreigners proved to be Russians, with Reginald Scott is a compilation of the absurd and su- whom we were then at peace. The county gentlemen of perstitious ideas concerning witches so generally enter- Mid-Lothian, pleased with the zeal displayed by the sea- tained at the time, and the pretended conclusion is a fencibles at a critical moment, passed a vote for pre- serious treatise on the various means of conjuring as- senting the community of fishers with a silver punch- tral spirits. bowl, to be used on occasions of festivity. But the fisher- [Scott’s Discovery of Witchcraft was first published in women, on hearing what was intended, put in their claim the reign of Queen Elizabeth, London, 1584.] to have some separate share in the intended honorary reward. The men, they said, were their husbands; it was they who would have been sufferers if their husbands had been killed, and it was by their permission and in- junctions that they embarked on board the gun-boats for the public service. They therefore claimed to share the reward in some manner which should distinguish

481 The Antiquary the female patriotism which they had shown on the oc- Note H, p. 420.—Battle of Harlaw. casion. The gentlemen of the county willingly admitted the claim; and without diminishing the value of their The great battle of Harlaw, here and formerly referred compliment to the men, they made the females a present to, might be said to determine whether the Gaelic or the of a valuable broach, to fasten the plaid of the queen Saxon race should be predominant in Scotland. Donald, of the fisher-women for the time. Lord of the Isles, who had at that period the power of It may be further remarked, that these Nereids are an independent sovereign, laid claim to the Earldom of punctilious among themselves, and observe different Ross during the Regency of Robert, Duke of Albany. ranks according to the commodities they deal in. One To enforce his supposed right, he ravaged the north with experienced dame was heard to characterise a younger a large army of Highlanders and Islesmen. He was en- damsel as “a puir silly thing, who had no ambition, and countered at Harlaw, in the Garioch, by Alexander, Earl would never,” she prophesied, “rise above the mussel- of Mar, at the head of the northern nobility and gentry line of business.” of Saxon and Norman descent. The battle was bloody and indecisive; but the invader was obliged to retire in consequence of the loss he sustained, and afterwards was compelled to make submission to the Regent, and renounce his pretensions to Ross; so that all the advantages of the field were gained by the Saxons. The battle of Harlaw was fought 24th July 1411.

482 Sir Walter Scott Note I, p. 424.—Elspeth’s death. At this time, Archie, who had been long attacked by a liver-complaint, was in the very last stage of that disease. Yet he prepared himself to accompany the body The concluding circumstance of Elspeth’s death is taken of the master whom he had so long and so faithfully from an incident said to have happened at the funeral waited upon. The medical persons assured him he could of John, Duke of Roxburghe. All who were acquainted not survive the journey. It signified nothing, he said, with that accomplished nobleman must remember that whether he died in England or Scotland; he was resolved he was not more remarkable for creating and possessing to assist in rendering the last honours to the kind mas- a most curious and splendid library, than for his acquain- ter from whom he had been inseparable for so many tance with the literary treasures it contained. In arrang- years, even if he should expire in the attempt. The poor ing his books, fetching and replacing the volumes which invalid was permitted to attend the Duke’s body to Scot- he wanted, and carrying on all the necessary intercourse land; but when they reached Fleurs he was totally ex- which a man of letters holds with his library, it was the hausted, and obliged to keep his bed, in a sort of stupor Duke’s custom to employ, not a secretary or librarian, which announced speedy dissolution. On the morning but a livery servant, called Archie, whom habit had made of the day fixed for removing the dead body of the Duke so perfectly acquainted with the library, that he knew to the place of burial, the private bell by which he was every book, as a shepherd does the individuals of his wont to summon his attendant to his study was rung flock, by what is called head-mark, and could bring his violently. This might easily happen in the confusion of master whatever volume he wanted, and afford all the such a scene, although the people of the neighbourhood mechanical aid the Duke required in his literary re- prefer believing that the bell sounded of its own accord. searches. To secure the attendance of Archie, there was Ring, however, it did; and Archie, roused by the well- a bell hung in his room, which was used on no occasion known summons, rose up in his bed, and faltered, in except to call him individually to the Duke’s study. broken accents, “Yes, my Lord Duke—yes—I will wait His Grace died in Saint James’s Square, London, in on your Grace instantly;” and with these words on his the year 1804; the body was to be conveyed to Scotland, lips he is said to have fallen back and expired. to lie in state at his mansion of Fleurs, and to be removed from thence to the family burial-place at Bowden.

483 The Antiquary Note J, p. 466.—Alarm of invasion. alarm would have run northward, and roused all Scot- land. But the watch at this important point judiciously considered, that if there had been an actual or threat- The story of the false alarm at Fairport, and the conse- ened descent on our eastern sea-coast, the alarm would quences, are taken from a real incident. Those who wit- have come along the coast and not from the interior of nessed the state of Britain, and of Scotland in particu- the country. lar, from the period that succeeded the war which com- Through the Border counties the alarm spread with menced in 1803 to the battle of Trafalgar, must recol- rapidity, and on no occasion when that country was the lect those times with feelings which we can hardly hope scene of perpetual and unceasing war, was the summons to make the rising generation comprehend. Almost ev- to arms more readily obeyed. In Berwickshire, ery individual was enrolled either in a military or civil Roxburghshire, and Selkirkshire, the volunteers and capacity, for the purpose of contributing to resist the militia got under arms with a degree of rapidity and long-suspended threats of invasion, which were echoed alacrity which, considering the distance individuals lived from every quarter. Beacons were erected along the from each other, had something in it very surprising— coast, and all through the country, to give the signal for they poured to the alarm-posts on the sea-coast in a every one to repair to the post where his peculiar duty state so well armed and so completely appointed, with called him, and men of every description fit to serve baggage, provisions, etc., as was accounted by the best held themselves in readiness on the shortest summons. military judges to render them fit for instant and effec- During this agitating period, and on the evening of the tual service. 2d February 1804, the person who kept watch on the There were some particulars in the general alarm which commanding station of Home Castle, being deceived by are curious and interesting. The men of Liddesdale, the some accidental fire in the county of Northumberland, most remote point to the westward which the alarm which he took for the corresponding signal-light in that reached, were so much afraid of being late in the field, county with which his orders were to communicate, that they put in requisition all the horses they could lighted up his own beacon. The signal was immediately find, and when they had thus made a forced march out repeated through all the valleys on the English Border. of their own country, they turned their borrowed steeds If the beacon at Saint Abb’s Head had been fired, the loose to find their way back through the hills, and they 484 Sir Walter Scott all got back safe to their own stables. Another remark- rather see him dead on that hearth, than hear that he able circumstance was, the general cry of the inhabit- had been a horse’s length behind his companions in the ants of the smaller towns for arms, that they might go defence of his king and country.” The author mentions along with their companions. The Selkirkshire Yeo- what was immediately under his own eye, and within manry made a remarkable march, for although some of his own knowledge; but the spirit was universal, wher- the individuals lived at twenty and thirty miles’ distance ever the alarm reached, both in Scotland and England. from the place where they mustered, they were never- The account of the ready patriotism displayed by the theless embodied and in order in so short a period, that country on this occasion, warmed the hearts of they were at Dalkeith, which was their alarm-post, about Scottishmen in every corner of the world. It reached one o’clock on the day succeeding the first signal, with the ears of the well-known Dr. Leyden, whose enthusi- men and horses in good order, though the roads were in astic love of Scotland, and of his own district of a bad state, and many of the troopers must have ridden Teviotdale, formed a distinguished part of his charac- forty or fifty miles without drawing bridle. Two mem- ter. The account which was read to him when on a sick- bers of the corps chanced to be absent from their homes, bed, stated (very truly) that the different corps, on ar- and in Edinburgh on private business. The lately mar- riving at their alarm-posts, announced themselves by ried wife of one of these gentlemen, and the widowed their music playing the tunes peculiar to their own dis- mother of the other, sent the arms, uniforms, and charg- tricts, many of which have been gathering-signals for ers of the two troopers, that they might join their com- centuries. It was particularly remembered, that the panions at Dalkeith. The author was very much struck Liddesdale men, before mentioned, entered Kelso play- by the answer made to him by the last-mentioned lady, ing the lively tune— when he paid her some compliment on the readiness which she showed in equipping her son with the means O wha dare meddle wi’ me, of meeting danger, when she might have left him a fair And wha dare meddle wi’ me! excuse for remaining absent. “Sir,” she replied, with the My name it is little Jock Elliot, spirit of a Roman matron, “none can know better than And wha dare meddle wi’ me! you that my son is the only prop by which, since his father’s death, our family is supported. But I would The patient was so delighted with this display of an- 485 The Antiquary cient Border spirit, that he sprung up in his bed, and began to sing the old song with such vehemence of action and voice, that his attendants, ignorant of the cause of excitation, concluded that the fever had taken possession of his brain; and it was only the entry of another Borderer, Sir John Malcolm, and the explanation which he was well qualified to give, that prevented them from resorting to means of medical coercion. The circumstances of this false alarm and its consequences may be now held of too little importance even for a note upon a work of fiction; but, at the period when it happened, it was hailed by the country as a pro- pitious omen, that the national force, to which much must naturally have been trusted, had the spirit to look in the face the danger which they had taken arms to repel; and every one was convinced, that on whichever side God might bestow the victory, the invaders would meet with the most determined opposition from the children of the soil.

486