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our's night's resi. The room's ready, and here's prevent her pursuing her observations from the hand the rush light.' She showed him into a very small, to the face, which might have betrayed more than but neat room. "What a comfortable looking bed, Lord Colambre wished she should know, her own said Lord Colambre. Ah, these red check cur. Grace came in at this instant- There, it's for you tains,' said she, letting them down; 'these have safe, mother dear—ihe lase!' said Grace, throwing lasted well; they were give me by a good friend a packet into her lap. The old woman lifted up her now far away, over the seas, my Lady Clonbrony; hands to heaven with the lease between themand made by the preniest hands ever you see, her Thanks be to Heaven !' Grace passed on, and neice's, Miss Grace Nugent's, and she a little child sunk down on the first seat she could reach. Her that time; sweet love ! all gone!' The old woman face flushed, and, looking much fatigued, she loos. wiped a tear from her eye, and Lord Colainbre did ened the strings of her bonnet and cloak.-" Then, what he could to appear indifferent. She set down I'm tired !' but recollecting herself, she rose, and the candle and left the room; Lord Colambre went curtsied to the gentleman. What tired ye, dear?' to bed, but he lay awake, 'revolving sweet and - Why, after prayers, we had to go-for the agent bitter thoughts.'

was not at prayers, nor at home for us, when we “ The kettle was on the fire, tea things set, called—we had to go all the way up to the castle ; every thing prepared for her guest, by the hospita: and there by great good luck, we found Mr. Nick ble hostess, who, thinking the genileman would Garraghty himself, come from Dublin, and the lase take tea to his breakfast, had sent off a gossoon by in his hands; and he sealed it up that way, and the first light to Clonbrony, for an ounce of tea, a handed it to me very civil. I never saw him so quarter of sugar, and a loaf of white bread; and good — though he offered me a glass of spirits, there was on the litile table good cream, milk, which was not manners 10 a decent young woman, butter, eggs-all the promise of an excellent break in a morning—as Brian noticed after.'—. But why fast. It was a fresh morning, and there was a plea: didn't Brian come home all the way with you, sant fire on the hearth neatly swept up. The old Grace ?' He would have seen me home,' said woman was sitting in her chimney corner, behind a Grace, only ibat he went up a piece of the mounlille skreen of white-washed wall, built out into tain for some stones or ore for the gentleman,-for the room, for the purpose of keeping those who sat he had the manners to think of him this morning, at the fire from the blast of the door. There was a though shame for me, I had not, when I came in, loop-hole in this wall, to let the light in, just at the or I would not have told you all this, and he himself height of a person's head, who was sitting near the by. See, there he is, mother.'-Brian came in very chimney. The rays of the morning sun now came hot, out of breath, with his hat full of stones. Good through it, shining across the face of the old woman, morrow to your honour. I was in bed last night ; as she sat knitting ; Lord Colambre thought he had and sorry they did not call me up to be of sarvice. seldom seen a more agreeable countenance; intelli. Larry was telling us, this morning, your honour's gent eyes, benevolent smile, a natural expression from Wales, and looking for mines in Ireland, and of cheerfulness, subdued by age and misfortune. I heard talk that there was one on our mountain"A good morrow 10 you kindly, sir, and I hope may be, you'd be curious to see ; and so, I brought you got the night well ?-A fine day for us this the best I could, but I'm no judge.' Sunday morning; my. Grace is gone to early prayers,

Vol. vi. pp. 182—188. so your honour will be conient with an old woman to make your breakfast.-0, let me put in plenty, A scene of villainy now begins to disclose or it will never be good; and if your honour takes itself, as the experienced reader must have stirabout, an old hand will engage to make that to anticipated. The pencil writing is rubbed your liking any way, for by great happiness we have out: but the agent promises, that if they pay the miller made my Grace a compliment of, last up their arrears, and be handsome, with their tinje she went to the mill.''-pp. 171-179. sealing money and glove money, &c. he will

grant a renewal.

To obtain the rent, the In the course of conversation, she informs widow is obliged to sell her cow.—But she her guest of the precarious tenure on which shall tell her story in her own words. she held the little possession that formed her only means of subsistence.

". Well, still it was but paper we got for the cow;

then that must be gold before the agent would take, “' The good lord himself granted us the lase ; or touch it—so I was laying out to sell the dresser, the life's dropped, and the years is out : but we and had taken the plates and cups, and little things had a promise of renewal in writing from the land off it, and my boy was lifting it out with Andy the lord. --God bless him! if he was not away, he'd carpenter, that was agreeing for it, when in comes be a good gentleman, and we'd be happy and safe.' Grace, all rosy, and out of breath-it's a wonder I * But if you have a promise in writing of a renewal, minded her run out, and not missed her—Mother, surely, you are safe, whether your landlord is absent says she, here's the gold for you, don't be stirring or present.'—Ah, no! that makes a great differ, your dresser. And where's your own gown and when there's no eye or hand over the agent.—Yet, cloak, Grace ? says I. But, I beg your pardon, indeed, there,' added she, after a pause, as you sir; may be I'm tiring you ?-Lord Colambre ensay, I think we are safe ; for we have that memo- couraged her to go on. – Where's your gown and fandunı in writing, with a pencil, under his own cloak, Grace, says I.'-Gone,' says she.

• The hand, on the back of the lase, to me, by the same cloak' was too warm and heavy, and I don't doubt, token when my good lord had his foot on the step mother, but it was that helped to make me faint of the coach, going away; and I'll never forget this morning. And as to ihe gown, sure I've a the smile of her ihat got that good turn done for very nice one here, that you spun for me yourself, me, Miss Grace.

And just when she was going to mother; and that I prize above all the gowns thai England and London, and young as she was, to ever came out of a loom; and that Brian said be. have the thought to stop and turn to the likes of came me to his fancy above any gown ever he see me! O, then, if you could see her, and know her me wear, and what could I wish for more.'-Now, as I did! That was the comforting angel upon I'd a mind to scold her for going to sell the gown earth-look and voice, and heart and all! *0. ihat unknown'st to me; but I don't know how it was, she was here present, this minule !-But did you I couldn't scold her just then, --so kissed her, and scald yourself?' said the widow to Lord Colambre. Brian the same; and that was what no man ever -Sure, you must have scalded yourself; for you did before.-And she had a mind to be angry with poured the kettle straight over your hand, and it him, but could not, nor ought not, says I; for he's boiling! O decar! to think of so young a gentle | as good as your husband now, Grace; and no man man's hand shaking so like my own. Luckily, to can part yees now, says I, putting their hands to66

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gether.-Well, I never saw her look so pretty; nor followed them. My lady laning on my young lord, there was not a happier boy that minute on God's and Miss Grace Nugent that was, the beautifulles

! earth than my son, nor a happier mother than my. angel that ever you set eyes on, with the finest self; and I thanked God that he had given them to complexion and sweetest of smiles, laning upon me; and down they both fell on their knees for my the old lord's arm, who had his hat off

, bowing to blessing, little worih as it was ; and my heart's all, and noticing the old tenants as he passed by blessing they had, and I laid my hands upon them. name. O, there was great gladness, and lears in the It's the priest you must get to do this for you to midst; for joy I could scarcely keep from myself. morrow, says I.!"-Vol. vi. pp. 205–207.

“ After a turn or two upon the tirrass, my Lord Next morning they go up in high spirits to he come to the edge of the slope, and looked down

Colambre quit his mother's arm for a minute, and the castle, where the villanous agent denies and through all the crowd for some one. Is it the his promise ; and is laughing at their despair, widow O'Neill, my lord?' says I; she's yonder, when Lord Colambre is fortunately identified with the spectacles on her nose, betwixt her son by Mrs. Raffarty, who turns out to be a sister and daughter, as usual.' Then my lord beckoned, of the said agent, and, like a god in epic and they did not know which of the tree would stir

and then he gave tree beckons with his own finger, poetry, turns agony into triumph !

and they all tree came fast enough to the bottom of We can make room for no more now, but the slope, forenent my lord; and he went down the epistle of Larry Brady, the good-natured and helped the widow up, (0, he's the true jantlepostboy, to his brother, giving an account of man,) and brought 'em all tree upon the tirrass, to the return of the family to Clonbrony.

If my lady and Miss Nugent; and I was up close Miss Edgeworth had never written any other after, that I might hear, which wasn't manners

, thing, this one letter must have placed her well know, for I could not get near enough after at the very top of our scale, as an observer of all. But I saw my lady smile very kind, and take character, and a mistress in the simple pa- the widow O'Neill by the hand, and then my Lord thetic. We give the greater part of this ex- Colambre 'troduced Grace to Miss Nugent, and traordinary production.

there was the word namesake, and something about

a check curtains; but whatever it was, ebey was all “My dear brother,-Yours of the 16th, enclo- greatly pleased : then my Lord Colambre turned sing the five pound note for my father, came safe and looked for Brian, who had feli back, and took to hand Monday last ; and, with his ihanks and him with some commendation to my lord his father. blessing to you, he commends it to you herewith And my lord the master said, which I didn't know enclosed back again, on account of his being in no till after, that they should have their house and farm immediate necessity, nor likelihood to want in fuo at the ould rent; and at the surprise, the widow ture, as you shall hear forth with ; but wants you dropped down dead; and there was a cry as for len over, with all speed, and the note will answer for berrings. • Be qu'ite,' says I, 'she's only kilt for ịravelling charges ; for we can't enjoy the luck it joy;' and I went and list her up, for her son had has pleased God to give us, without yees: put the no more strength that minute ihan the child new rest in your pocket, and read it when you've time. born; and Grace trembled like a leaf, as while as

" Now, cock up your ears, Pat! for the great the sheet, but not long, for the mother came to, and news is coming, and the good. The master's come was as well as ever when I brought some water, home-long life to him and family come home which Miss Nugent handed to her with her own yesterday, all entirely! The ould lord and the hand. young lord, (ay there's the man, Paddy!) and my " That was always pretty and good,' said the lady, and Miss Nugent. And I driv Miss Nugent's widow, laying her hand upon Miss Nugent, 'and maid, that maid that was, and another; so I had kind and good to me and mine. That minute there the luck to be in it alone wid' em, and see all, from was music from below. The blind harper, O'Neill, first 10 last. And first, I must tell you, my young with his harp, that struck up .Gracey Nugent ! Lord Colambre remembered and noticed me the And that finished, and my Lord Colambre smiling minute he lit at our inn, and condescended to with the tears standing in his eyes too, and the ould beckon at me out of the yard to him, and axed me lord quite wiping his, I ran to the tirrass brink to *Friend Larry,' says he, did you keep your pro- bid O'Neill play it again ; but as I run, I thought mise ?'- My oath again the whiskey is it?' says I heard a voice call Larry. 1. My Lord, I surely did,' said I; which was “ Who calls Larry ?' says I. 'My Lord Co. true, as all the country knows I never tasted a drop lambre calls you, Larry,' says all at once; and four since. And I'm proud to see your honour, my takes me by the shoulders, and spins me round. lord, as good as your word too, and back again. There's my young lord calling you, Larry-run among us. So then there was a call for the horses ; for your life. So I run back for my life, and walkand no more at that time passed betwix' my young ed respectful, with my hat in my hand, when I got lord and me, but that he pointed me out to the ould near. Put on your hat, my father desires it,' one, as I went off. I noticed and thanked him for says my Lord Colambre. The ould lord made a it in my heart, though I did not know all the good sign to that purpose, but was too full to speak. was to come of it. Well no more of myself, for Where's your father? continues my young lord. the present..

- He's very ould, my lord,' says I.- I didn't ar Ogh, it's I driv 'em well; and we all got to you how ould he was,' says he ; but where is he!' the great gate of the park before sunset, and as - He's behind the crowd below ; on account of fine an evening as ever you see; with the sun his infirmities he couldn't walk so fast as the rest, shining on the tops of the trees, as the ladies no my lord,' says I ; but his heart is with you, if not ticed the leaves changed, but not dropped, though his body.'—' I must have his body 100: so bring so late in the season. I believe the leaves knew him bodily before us; and this shall be your warwhat they were about, and kept on, on purpose to rant for so doing,' said my lord, joking. For he welcome them; and the birds were singing; and I knows the natur of us, Paddy, and how we love a stopped whistling, that they might hear them : but joke in our hearts, as well as if he had lived all his sorrow bit could they hear when they got to the life in Ireland ; and by the same token will, for that park gare, for there was such a crowd, and such a rason, do what he pleases with us, and more may shout, as you never see—and they had the horses be than a man twice as good, that never would off every carriage entirely, and drew 'em home, with smile on us. blessings, through the park. And, God bless 'em, “But I'm telling you of my father. I've a when they got out, they didn't go shut themselves warrant for you, father,' says I and must have up in the great drawing room, but went straight out you bodily before the justice, and my lord chief to the tirrass, to satisfy the eyes and hearts that I justice.' 'So he changed colour a bit at first; but

he saw me smile. "And I've done no sini,' said he ; \ And the drawing-rooms, the butler was telling me,

and, Larry, you may lead ine now, as you led me is new hung; and the chairs, with velvet, as white all my life.'-— And up the slope he went with me, as as snow, and shaded over with natural flowers, by light as fifteen; and when we got up, my Lord Clon. Miss Nugent.-Oh! how I hope what I guess will brony said, 'I am sorry an old renani. and a good come true, and I've rason to believe it will, for I old ienant, as I hear you were, should have been dream't in my bed last night, it did. But keep turned out of your farm.'-' Don't free. it's no great | yourself to yourself-that Miss Nugent (who is no matter, my lord,' said my father. I shall be soon more Miss Nugent, they say, but Miss Reynolds, out of the way; but if you would be so kind to and has a new-fonnd grandfather, and is a big speak a word for my boy here, and that I could af. heiress, which she did not want in my eyes, nor in ford, while the life is in me, to bring my other boy , my young lord's,) I've a notion, will be sometime, back out of banishment

and may be sooner than is expected, my Lady Vis. * * Then,' says my Lord Clonbrony, I'll give , countess Colambre--so haste to the wedding! And you and your sons three lives, or thirty-one years, there's another thing: they say the rich ould grandfrom this day, of your former farm. Return to it father's coming over ;-and another thing, Pat, you when you please.' And,' added my Lord Co. would not be out of the fashion. And you see it's lambre, the flaggers, I hope, will soon be banish- 'growing the fashion, not to be an Absentee!” ed. O, how could I thank him-not a word could I proffer-but I know I clasped my two hands and moved with delight and admiration in the

If there be any of our readers who is not prayed for him inwardly. 'And my father was dropping down on his knees, but the master would perusal of this letter, we must say, that we not let him; and observed, that posture should only have but a poor opinion either of his taste or be for his God! And, sure enough, in that posture, his moral sensibility; and shall think all the when he was out of sight, we did pray for him that better of ourselves, in future, for appearing night, and will all our days. * But before we quit bis presence, he call me

tedious in his eyes. For our own parts, we back, and bid me write to my brother, and bring do not know whether we envy the author you back, if you've no objections to your own most, for the rare talent she has shown in country: -So come, my dear Pat, and make no this description, or for the experience by which delay, for joy's not joy complate till you're in it, its materials have been supplied. She not my father sends his blessing, and Peggy her love: only makes us know and love the Irish nation The family entirely is to settle for good in Ireland; far better than any other writer, but seems to and there was in the castle yard last night a bonfire made by my lord's orders of the ould yellow da. us more qualified ihan most others to promote mask furniture, to plaze my lady, my lord says. ' the knowledge and the love of mankind.

(November, 1811.) Waverly, or 'Tis Sixty Years Since. In three volumes 12mo. pp. 1112. Third Edition.

Edinburgh: 1814.* It is wonderful what genius and adherence written—composed, one half of it, in a dia. to nature will do, in spite of all disadvan- lect unintelligible to four-fifths of the reading tages. Here is a thing obviously very hastily, population of the country-relating to a period and, in many places, somewhat unskilfully too recent to be romantic, and too far gone by

* I have been a good deal at a loss what to do with reviews; and to retain only the general criticism, these famous novels of Sir Walter. On the one and character, or estimate of each performancehand, I could not bring myself to let this collection together with such incidental observations as may go forih, without some notice of works which, for have been suggested by the tenor or success of many years together, had occupied and delighted these wonderful productions. By this course, no me more than any ihing else that ever came under doubi, a sad shrinking will be effected in the primi. my critical survey: While, on the other, I could tive dimensions of the articles which are here renot but feel that it would be absurd, and in some produced; and may probably give to what is re. sense almost dishonest, to fill these pages with long iained something of a naked and jejune appear. citations from books which, for the last twenty-five ance. If it should be so, I can only say that I do years, have been in the hands of at least fifiy iimes not see how I could have helped il : and after all it as many readers as are ever likely to look into this may not be altogether without interest to see, from publication-and are still as familiar to the genera- a contemporary record, what were the first impres. tion which has last come into existence, as to those sions produced by the appearance of this new luwho can yet remember the sensation produced by minary on our horizon; while the secret of the their firsi appearance. In point of fact I was in authorship was yet undivulged, and before the rapid formed, but the other day, by Mr. Caddell, that he accumulation of its glories had forced on the dullest had actually sold not less than sixty thousand spectator a sense of its magnitude and power. I volumes of these extraordinary productions, in the may venture perhaps also to add, that some of the course of the preceding year! and that the demand general speculations of which these reviews sug: for them, instead of slackening—had been for some gested the occasion, may probably be found as well time sensibly on the increase. In these circum- worth preserving as most of ihose which have been stances I think I may safely assume that their con- elsewhere embodied in this experimental, and sometents are still so perfectly known as not to require what hazardous, publication. any citations to introduce such of the remarks orig. Though living in familiar intercourse with Sir inally made on them as I may now wish to repeat. Walter, I need scarcely say that I was not in the And I have therefore come to the determination of secret of his authorship ; and in truth had no omitting almost all the quotations, and most of the assurance of the fact, till the time of its promuldetailed abstracts which appeared in the original | gation.

to be familiar—and published, moreover, in a days of the Heptarchy ;-and when they saw quarter of the island where materials and the array of the West country Whigs, they talents for novel-writing have been supposed might imagine themselves transported to the to be equally wanting: And yet, by the mere age of Cromwell

. The effect, indeed, is alforce and truth and vivacity of its colouring, most as startling at the present moment; and already casting the whole tribe of ordinary no- one great source of the interest which the vels into the shade, and taking its place rather volumes before us undoubtedly possess, is to with the most popular of our modern poems, be sought in the surprise that is excited by than with the rubbish of provincial romances. discovering, that in our own country, and al.

The secret of this success, we take it, is most in our own age, manners and characters merely that the author is a man of Genius; existed, and were conspicuous, which we had and that he has, notwithstanding, had virtue been accustomed to consider as belonging to enough to be true to Nature throughout ; and remote antiquity, or extravagant romance. to content himself, even in the marvellous The way in which they are here represent. parts of his story, with copying from actual ed must satisfy every reader, we think, by an existences, rather than from the phantasms inward tact and conviction, that the delineaof his own imagination. The charm which tion has been made from actual experience this communicates to all works that deal in and observation ;-experience and observation the representation of human actions and char-employed perhaps only on a few surviving acier, is more readily felt than understood; rel cs and specimens of what was familiar a and operates with unfailing efficacy even upon little earlier-but generalised from instances those who have no acquaintance with the sufficiently numerous and complete, to waroriginals from which the picture has been bor- rant all that may have been added to the por. rowed. It requires no ordinary talent, indeed, trait :-And, indeed, the existing records and to choose such realities as may outshine the vestiges of the more extraordinary parts of bright imaginations of the inventive, and so to the representation are still sufficiently abund. combine them as to produce the most advan- ant, to satisfy all who have the means of contageous effect; but when this is once accom- sulting them, as to the perfect accuracy of the plished, the result is sure to be something picture. The great traits of Clannish dependmore firm, impressive, and engaging, than can ence, pride, and fidelity, may still be detected ever be produced by mere fiction.

in many districts of the Highlands, though The object of the work before us, was evi- they do not now adhere to the chieftains when dently to present a faithful and animated pic- they mingle in general society; and the ex. ture of the manners and state of society that isting contentions of Burghers and Antiburghprevailed in this northern part of the island, in ers, and Cameronians, ihough shrunk into the earlier part of last century; and the au- comparative insignificance, and left, indeed, thor has judiciously fixed upon the era of the without protection to the ridicule of the proRebellion in 1745, not only as enriching his fane, may still be referred to, as complete pages with the interest inseparably attached verifications of all that is here stated about to the narration of such occurrences, but as Gifted Gilfillan, or Ebenezer Cruickshank. affording a fair opportunity for bringing out all The traits of Scottish national character in the the contrasted principles and habits which lower ranks, can still less be regarded as an. distinguished the different classes of persons tiquated or traditional; nor is there any thing who then divided the country, and formed in the whole compass of the work which among them the basis of almost all that was gives us a stronger impression of the nice obpeculiar in the national character. That un- servation and graphical talent of the author, fortunate contention brought conspicuously to than the extraordinary fidelity and felicity light, and, for the last time, the fading image with which all the inferior agents in the story of feudal chivalry in the mountains, and vul- are represented. No one who has not lived gar fanaticism in the plains; and startled the extensively among the lower orders of all demore polished parts of the land with the wild scriptions, and made himself familiar with but brilliant picture of the devoted valour, in their various tempers and dialects, can percorruptible fidelity; patriarchal brotherhood, ceive the full merit of those rapid and char. and savage habits of the Celtic Clans, on the acteristic sketches; but it requires only a one hand,—and the dark, intractable, and do- general knowledge of human nature, to feel mineering bigotry of the Covenanters on the that they must be faithful copies from known other. Both aspects of society had indeed originals; and to be aware of the extraordi. been formerly prevalent in other parts of the nary facility and flexibility of hand which has country,—bui had there been so long super- touched, for instance, with such discriminatseded by more peaceable habits, and milder ing shades, the various gradations of the Celtic manners, that their vestiges were almost ef- character, from the savage imperturbability faced, and their very memory nearly extin- of Dugald Mahony, who stalks grimly about guished. The feudal principalities had been with his battle-axe on his shoulder, without destroyed in the South, for near three hundred speaking a word to any one,—10 the lively unyears,—and the dominion of the Puritans from principled activity of Callum Beg.–The coarse the time of the Restoration. When the glens, unreflecting hardihood and heroism of Evan and banded clans, of the central Highlands, Maccombich,--and the pride, gallantry, eletherefore, were opened up to the gaze of the gance, and ambition of Fergus himself. In English, in the course of that insurrection, it the lower class of the Lowland characters, seemed as if they were carried back to the again, the vulgarity of Mrs. Flockhart and of

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Lieutenant Jinker is perfectly distinct and barbarous but captivating characters. This original;—as well as the puritanism of Gilfil chief is Fergus Vich Ian Vohr-a gallant and lan and Cruickshank—the atrocity of Mrs. ambitious youth, zealously attached to the Mucklewrath - and the slow solemnity of cause of the exiled family, and busy, at the Alexander Saunderson. The Baron of Brad- moment, in fomenting the insurrection, by wardine, and Baillie Macwheeble, are carica- which his sanguine spirit never doubted that tures no doubt, after the fashion of the carica- their restoration was to be effected. He has tures in the novels of Smollet,- pictures, at a sister still more enthusiastically devoted to the best, of individuals who must always have the same cause-recently returned from a rebeen unique and extraordinary: but almost sidence at the Court of France, and dazzling all the other personages in the history are fair the romantic imagination of Waverley not less representatives of classes that are still exist by the exaltation of her sentiments, than his ing, or may be remembered at least to have eyes by her elegance and beauty. While he

existed, by many whose recollections do not lingers in this perilous retreat, he is suddenly , extend quite so far back as to the year 1745. deprived of his commission, in consequence

Waverley is the representative of an old and of some misunderstandings and misrepresenopulent Jacobite family in the centre of Eng. tations which it is unnecessary to detail; and land-educated at home in an irregular man in the first heat of his indignation, is almost ner, and living, till the age of majority, mostly tempted to throw himself into the array of in the retirement of his paternal mansion, the Children of Ivor, and join the insurgents, where he reads poetry, feeds his faucy with whose designs are no longer seriously disguisromantic musings, and quires amiable dis. ed from him. He kes, however, the more positions, and something of a contemplative, prudent resolution of returning, in the first passive, and undecided character. All the place, to his family; but is stopped, on the English adherents of the abdicated family borders of the Highlands, by the magistracy, having renounced any serious hopes of their whom rumours of coming events had made cause long before the year 1745, the guardians more than usually suspicious, and forwarded of young Waverley were induced, in that cele- as a prisoner to Stirling. On ihe march he is brated year, to allow him to enter into the rescued by a band of unknown Highlanders, army, as the nation was then engaged in for- who ultimately convey him in safety to Edineign war-and a passion for military glory had burgh, and deposit him in the hands of his always been characteristic of his line. He ob- friend' Fergus Mac-Ivor, who was mounting tains a commission, accordingly, in a regiment guard with his Highlanders at the ancient palof horse, then stationed in Scotland, and ace of Holyrood, where the Royal Adventurer proceeds forth with to head-quarters. Cosmo was then actually holding his court. A comComyne Bradwardine, Esq., of Tully-Veolan bination of temptations far too powerful for in Perthshire, had been an ancient friend of such a temper, now beset Waverley; and, the house of Waverley, and had been enabled, inflamed at once by the ill-usage he ihought by their good offices, to get over a very awk- he had received from the government–ihe ward rencontre with the King's Attorney- recollection of his hereditary predilectionsGeneral soon after the year 1715. The young his friendship and admiration of Fergus-his heir was accordingly furnished with creden- love for his sister-and the graceful condetials 10 this faithful ally; and took an early scension and personal solicitations of the unopportunity of paying his respects at the ani- fortunate Prince:---he rashly vows to unite his cient mansion of Tully-Veolan. The house fortunes with theirs, and enters as a volunteer and its inhabitants, and their way of life, are in the ranks of the Children of Ivor. admirably described. The Baron himself During his attendance at the court of Holyhad been bred a lawyer; and was, by choice, rood, his passion for the magnanimous Flora a diligent reader of the Latin classics. His is gradually abated by her continued indifferprofession, however, was that of arms; and ence, and too entire devotion to the public having served several campaigns on the Con- cause ; and his affections gradually decline tinent, he had superadded, to the pedantry upon Miss Bradwardine, who has leisure for and jargon of his forensic and academical less important concernments. He accomstudies, the technical slang of a German mar- panies the Adventurer's army, and signalises tinet—and a sprinkling of the coxcombryof a himself in the battle of Preston,- where he French mousquetaire. He was, moreover, has the good fortune to save the life of an prodigiously proud of his ancestry; and, with English officer, who turns out to be an intiall his peculiarities, which, to say the truth, mate friend of his family, and remonstrates are rather more than can be decently accur with him with considerable effect on the rash mulated in one character, was a most honour- step he has taken. It is now impossible, able, valiant, and friendly person. He had however, he thinks, to recede with honour; one fair daughter, and no more—who was and he pursues the disastrous career of the gentle, feminine, and affectionate. Waverley, invaders into England - during which he ihough struck at first with the strange man- quarrels with, and is again reconciled to Ferners of this northern baron, is at length do- gus-till he is finally separated from his corps mesticated in the family; and is led, by curi- in the confusion and darkness of the nightosity, to pay a visit to the cave of a famous skirmish at Clifton—and, after lurking for Highland robber or freebooter, from which he some time in concealment, finds his way to is conducted to the castle of a neighbouring London, where he is protected by the gratechieftain, and sees the Highland life in all its ful friend whose life he had saved at Preston,

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