Where the broad oak, with intercepting boughs,
Chequers the sunbeam in the greensward alley—
Up and
away y!—for lovely paths are these

To tread, when the glad sun is on his throne;
Less pleasant, and less safe, when Cynthia's lamp
With doubtful glimmer lights the dreary forest.

Ivanhoe.

This wandering race, sever'd from other men,
Boast yet their intercourse with human arts;
The seas, the woods, the deserts which they haunt,
Find them acquainted with their secret treasures;
And unregarded herbs, and flowers, and blossoms,
Display undream'd-of powers when gather'd by them.
The Jew-Ivanhoe.

Stern was the law which bade its vot'ries leave
At human woes with human hearts to grieve;
Stern was the law, which at the winning wile
Of frank and harmless mirth forbade to smile;
But sterner still, when high the iron rod

Of tyrant power she shook, and call'd that power of God.

Ivanhoe.

Nay, dally not with time, the wise man's treasure, . Though fools are lavish on't-the fatal Fisher Hooks souls, while we waste moments.

Abbot.

There's something in that ancient superstition,
Which, erring as it is, our fancy loves.

The spring that, with its thousand crystal bubbles,

Bursts from the bosom of some desert rock
In secret solitude, may well be deem'd
The haunt of something purer, more refined,
And mightier than ourselves.

Abbot.

Some feelings are to mortals given,
With less of earth in them than heaven
And if there be a human tear
From passion's dross refined and clear,
A tear so limpid and so meek,
It would not stain an angel's cheek,
'Tis that which pious fathers shed
Upon a duteous daughter's head!

Lady of the Lake.

The sultry summer day is done,
The western hills have hid the sun,
But mountain peak and village spire
Retain reflection of his fire.

In crimson and in gold arrayed,
Streaks yet awhile the closing shade,
Then slow resigns to darkening heaven
The tints which brighter hours had given.
Thus aged men, full loth and slow,
The vanities of life forego,

And count their youthful follies o'er,
Till Memory lends her light no more.

Rokeby.

THE END.

A NEW AND CHEAPER ISSUE

OF THE

NOVELS, LIFE, POETRY, AND
PROSE WRITINGS,

OF

SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART.

NINETY-EIGHT VOLUMES,

WITH 196 ENGRAVINGS FROM TURNER, STANFIELD, AND OTHERS.

Commencing on 1st December 1847.

A VOLUME TO APPEAR EVERY FORTNIGHT TILL COMPLETED,

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PROSE,..................................... 28

NINETY-EIGHT VOLUMES.

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AND EVERY BOOKSELLER IN GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND.

The Publishers, with a desire to follow out to the utmost extent the CHEAP ISSUES of the day, have now to announce,

On 1st December 1847,

VOLUME ONE OF THE

WAVERLEY NOVELS,

FORTY-EIGHT VOLUMES.

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7, 8. ROB Roy.

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-HEART OF MID-
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14. BRIDE OF LAM-
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15. LEGEND OF MON

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16, 17. IVANHOE.

18, 19. MONASTERY.

20, 21. ABBOT.

22, 23. KENILWORTH.

24, 25. PIRATE.

Notwithstanding the success which has attended the various Editions of SIR WALTER SCOTT'S WORKS, the Public has never ceased to shew great favour to this Series of the NOVELS-" the Magnum Opus" of the Author. The well-known Designs, however, attached to this Edition (excepting a few Proofs which still remain), may be looked upon as worn out. Each Volume, therefore, of the present Issue will have a Frontispiece after STANFIELD and others, and a Vignette-Title.

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WAVERLEY awoke in the morning, from troubled dreams and unrefreshing slumbers, to a full consciousness of the horrors of his situation. How it might terminate he knew not. He might be delivered up to military law, which, in the midst of civil war, was not likely to be scrupulous in the choice of its victims, or the quality of the evidence. Nor did he feel much more comfortable at the thoughts of a trial before a Scottish court of justice, where he knew the laws and forms differed in many respects from those of England, and had been taught to believe, however erroneously, that the liberty and rights of the subject were less carefully protected. A sentiment of bitterness rose in his mind against the government, which he considered as the cause of his embarrassment and peril, and he cursed internally his scrupulous rejection of MacIvor's invitation to accompany him to the field.

Why did not I," he said to himself, "like other men of honour, take the earliest opportunity to welcome to Britain the descendants of her ancient kings, and lineal heir of her throne? Why did not I

'Unthread the rude eye of rebellion,

And welcome home again discarded faith,

Seek out Prince Charles, and fall before his feet?'

All that has been recorded of excellence and worth in the house of Waverley has been founded upon their loyal faith to the house of Stuart. From the interpretation which this Scotch magistrate has put upon the letters of my uncle and father, it is plain that I ought to have understood them as marshalling me to the course of my ancestors; and it has been my gross dulness, joined to 3

Specimen Page of the Type of the Novels, 48 Vols.