 Volume 1. CHAPTER XII. Beggar. The only freemen of your commonwealth, free above scot-free, that observe no laws, obey no governor, use no religion, but what they draw from their own ancient custom, or constitute themselves. Yet they are no rubbles. Broom. With our reader's permission, we will outstep the slow, though sturdy pace of the antiquary, whose halts, as he turned round to his companion at every moment, to point out something remarkable in a landscape, or to enforce some favorite topic, more emphatically, than the exercise of walking permitted. Delayed their progress considerably. Notwithstanding the fatigues and dangers of the receding evening, Miss Wardour was able to rise at her usual hour, and to apply herself to her usual occupations. After she had first satisfied her anxiety concerning 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 him to keep his bed-chamber. To look back on the events of the preceding day was to Isabella a very pleasing retrospect. She owed her life, and that of her father, to the very person by whom of all others she was least to be obliged, because she could hardly even express common gratitude towards him, without encouraging hopes which might be injurious to them both. Why should it be my fate to receive such benefits, and conferred it so much personal risk, from one whose romantic passion I have so unceasingly labored to discourage? Why should chance have given him this advantage over me? And why, oh why, should a half-subdued feeling in my own bosom, in spite of my sober reason, almost rejoice that he has attained it? While Miss Wardor thus taxed herself with wayward caprice, she beheld advancing down the avenue, not her younger and more dreaded preserver, but the old beggar, who had made such a capital figure in the melodrama of the preceding evening. She rang the bell for her maid-servant, bring the old man upstairs. The servant returned in a minute or two. He will come up at no rate, madam. He says his clouded shoes never were on a carpet in his life, and that, please God, they never shall. Must I take him into the servant's hall? No, stay, I want to speak with him. Where is he? For she had lost sight of him as he approached the house, sitting in the sun on the stone bench in the court beside the window of the flagged parlor. Bid him stay there, I'll come down to the parlor, and speak with him at the window. She came down accordingly and found the mendicant, half seated, half reclining, upon the bench beside the window. Eddie Oakletree, old man and beggar as he was, had apparently some internal consciousness of the favorable impressions connected with his tall form, commanding features and long white beard and hair. It used to be remarked of him that he was seldom seen but an apostra which showed these personal attributes to advantage. At present, as he lay half reclined, with his wrinkled yet ruddy cheek and keen gray eye turned up towards the sky, his staff and bag laid beside him and a cast of homely wisdom and sarcastic irony in the expression of his countenance while he gazed for a moment around the courtyard and then resumed his former look upward. He might have been taken by an artist as the model of an old philosopher of the cynic school, musing upon the frivolity of mortal pursuits and the precarious tenure of human possessions and looking up to the source from which a permanent lagoin can alone be derived. The young lady, as she presented her tall and elegant figure at the open window, but divided from the courtyard by a grating, with which, according to the fashion of ancient times, the lower windows of the castle were secured, gave an interest of a different kind, and might be supposed by a romantic imagination and, in prison damsel, communicated a tale of her, endurance, to a palmer, in order that he might call upon the gallantry of every night whom he should meet in his wanderings, to rescue her from her impressive thralldom. After Miss Warder had offered, in the terms she thought would be most acceptable, those things which the beggar declined, as far beyond his merit, she began to express herself in a manner which she supposed would speak more feelingly to his apprehension. She did not know, she said, what her father intended particularly to do for their preserver, but certainly it would be something that would make him easy for life. If he chose to reside at the castle, she would give orders. The old man smiled and shook his head. I wouldn't be by a grievance and a disgrace to your fine servant's melody. I've never been a disgrace to anybody yet that I can of. Sir Arthur would give strict orders. You're very kind, I doubt now, I doubt now, but there are some things a master can command, and some he can't. I daresay he would gar them keep hands life me, and truth, I think they would hardly venture on that onigate, and he would gar them, gimme my soup-parch, and bit meat. But show ye that Sir Arthur's command could forbid the guy with a tongue, or the blink of the eye, or gar them, gimme my food with the look of kindness, the gar's the digest I will, or that he could make them for bear either sights and taunts, that hurt I in spirit, mar, nor downright miscaine. Besides, I am the eyelist, oid, Carly, that ever lived. I'd only be bound to hours of eating and sleeping, and to speak the honest truth. I would be a very bad example in an only-wheel-regulated family. Well then, Eddie, what do you think of a neat cottage in a garden, and a daily dole, and nothing to do but to dig a little in your garden when you pleased yourself? And how often would that be, try ye, my lady? Maybe nights, a twain, condom as in yule, and if a thing were done to my hand, as if I was Sir Arthur himself, I could never buy the stain, still in any place, and just seeing the same joicing couples abound my head, night after night. And then I have a queer humor on my eye, that sets a stroll in beggar with enough, whose word nobody minds. But ye can, Sir Arthur, as odd sorts of ways, and I would be just an escorting of them, and ye would be angry, and then I would be just fit to hang myself. Oh, ye are a licensed man, said Isabella. We shall give you all reasonable scope, so ye would better be ruled, and remember your age. But I am no that sirefied yet, replied the mendicant. And so I got a wee soup of yestrene, and I was as yod as a kneel. And then what would I the country about do for want, odd ediocaltree, that brings noose and country cracks, fry farm steady into a nether, and gingerbread to the lasses, and helps the lads to mend their fiddles, and the good wives to cut out their pans, and plates, rush wards, and grenadier caps for the weens, and bust the lairs flees, and has skilled like cow-wheels and horse-heels, and kens maraud songs and tales, than I the barony besides, and guards the ill-co-buddy laugh wherever he comes. Truth, my lady, I cannot lay down my vocation. It would be a public loss. Well, edi, if your idea of your importance is so strong as not to be shaken by the prospect of independence, nay, nay, miss, it's because I'm married and depended as I am, answered the old man. I bring no married, only single house, than a meal of meat, or maybe but a mouthfulot. If it's refused at eye-place, I get it to nether, so I cannot be said to depend on any buddy in particular, but just on the country at large. Well, then, only promise me that you will let me know should you ever wish to settle, as you turn old, and more incapable of making your usual rounds. And in the meantime, take this. Nay, nay, my lady, I don't want to take Mokol's Scylla at Ainz. It's against our rule. And though it's made me no civil to be repeating the like or that, they say that Scyllars like to be scarce with Sir Arthur himself, and that he's run himself out of the thought with his honkings and minings for lead and copper yonder. Isabella had some anxious anticipations to the same effect, but was shocked to hear that her father's embarrassments were such public talk, as if scandal ever failed to stoop, upon so acceptable a quarry, as the failings of the good man, the decline of the powerful, or the decay of the prosperous. Miss Warder sighed deeply. Well, Adi, we have enough to pay our debts. Let folks say what they will, and, requiring you as one of the foremost, let me press this sum upon you. That I might be robbed and murdered some night between town and town, or what's his bad, that I might live in constant apprehensionant? I am no. Lowered his voice to a whisper, and looking keenly around him, I'm no that clean, and provided for, neither. And though I should die at the back of a dyke, the finest muck will quilt it in the side-blue gown, as will bury me like a Christian, and guide the lads and lasses of life like wake-two. So there's the gubber-lensies birdo provided for, and I need nighmare. Were the like of me ever to change your note, or the daily, you think, would be sick fools as to guide me charity after that? It would flee through the country like wildfire, that already. So the done, sick and the like thing, and then, I sworent, I might grain my heart out, or anybody would guide me either a bane or a bottle. Is there nothing, then, that I can do for you? Oh, I—all I came for, my almost as usual, and was, I wade be fine, a pickle schnishin. And you might speak to the constable and ground-officer just to overlook me. And maybe you'll guide a good word for me to sandy nether-stains, the miller, that he may chain up with muckledog. I want to have him to hurt the pur-beast, for just does its office embarking at a gubber-lensie like me. And there's I, I think, maybe, mar. But you'll think it's very bide and like a me to speak on't. What is it, Eddie? Who respects you, it shall be done, if it isn't my power. It respects yourself. And it isn't your power. I won't come out with it. You're a boney-young lady, and a goodan, and maybe a well-torturedine, but didn't you sneer away the lad-level as you did a wild-sinsine on the walk between the burry-bank? When I saw you both, then heard you two, though you saw nigh me. You'd be candy with the lad, for he lies you will. And it's to him, and not to anything I could have done for you, that Sir Arthur and you won over your stream. He uttered these words in a low but distinct tone of voice, and without waiting for an answer, walked towards the low door, which led to the apartments of the servants, and so entered the house. Miss Wardour remained for a moment or two, in the situation in which she had heard the old man's last extraordinary speech, leaning, namely, against the bars of the window. Nor could she determine upon saying, even a single word, relative to a subject so delicate, until the beggar was out of sight. It was indeed difficult to determine what to do. That her having had an interview and private conversation with this young and unknown stranger should be a secret possessed by a person of the last class, in which a young lady would seek a confidant, and that the mercy of one who was by profession, gossip general, to the whole neighborhood, gave her acute agony. She had no reason indeed to suppose that the old man would willfully do anything to hurt her feelings, much less to injure her. But the mere freedom of speaking to her upon such a subject showed, as might have been expected, a total absence of delicacy. And what he might take it into his head to do, or say next, that she was pretty sure so professed in admirer of liberty, would not hesitate to do or say, without scruple. This idea, so much hurt and vexed her, that she half-wished the officious assistance of Lovell and Oakletree, had been absent upon the preceding evening. While she was in this agitation of spirits, she suddenly observed Old Buck and Lovell entering the court. She drew instantly, so far back from the window, that she could, without being seen, observe how the antiquary, paused in front of the building, and pointing to the various sketches of its former owners, seemed in the act of bestowing upon Lovell much curious and irudite information. Which, from the absolute look of his auditor, Isabella might truly guess, was entirely thrown away. The necessity that she should take some resolution became instant and pressing. She rang, therefore, for a servant, and ordered him to show the visitors to the drawing-room, while she, by another staircase, gained her own apartment, to consider, ere she made her appearance, what line of conduct were fit as for her to pursue. The guests, agreeably to her instructions, were introduced into the room, where company was usually received. CHAPTER XIII. 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. Mrs. Isabella Warder'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 have come, my fair foe, said the antiquary, greeting her with much kindness, for I have had a most refractory, or at least negligent auditor, in my young friend here, while I endeavored to make him acquainted with the history of knock-win at Castle. I think the danger of last night has maised the poor lad. But you, Mrs. Isabella, why, you look as if flying through the night air had been your natural and most congenial occupation. Your color is even better than when you honored my hospitium yesterday. And, Sir Arthur, how fares my good old friend? Indifferently well, Mr. Oldbuck, but I am afraid not quite able to receive your congratulations, or to pay Mr. Lovell his thanks for his unparalleled exertions. I dare say not. A good down-pillow for his good white-head were more meat than a couch so trillish as Bessie's apron, plague on her. I had no thought of intruding, said Lovell, looking upon the ground, and speaking with hesitation and suppressed emotion, I did not mean to intrude upon Sir Arthur, Miss Wardor, the presence of one who must necessarily be unwelcome, as associate I mean with painful reflections. Do not think my father so unjust and ungrateful, said Miss Wardor. I dare say she continued, participating in Lovell's embarrassment. I dare say I am certain that my father would be happy to show his gratitude in any way that is which Mr. Lovell could consider it is proper to point out. Why the deuce, interrupted Oldbuck, what sort of a qualification is that? On my word it reminds me of our minister, who choosing like a formal old fob as he is to drink to my sister's inclinations, thought it necessary to add the saving clause, provided, madam, they be virtuous. Come, let us have no more of this nonsense. I dare say Sir Arthur will put us welcome on some future day. And what news from the kingdom of some tyrannian darkness and hairy hope? What says the sports spirit of the mine? Has Sir Arthur had any good intelligence of his adventure, lately, in Glenn Withershen's? Miss Wardor shook her head, but in different I-famous Strollbuck, that there lie some specimens which have lately been sent down. Ah! my poor dear hundred pounds, which Sir Arthur persuaded me to give for a share in that hopeful scheme, would have bought a porter's load of mineralogy. But let me see them. And so saying he sat down at the table in the recess, on which the mineral productions were lying, and proceeded to examine them grumbling and shying at each, which she took up and laid aside. In the meantime, Lovell, forced as it were by the secession of Oldbuck, into a sort of tete-a-tete with Miss Wardor, took an opportunity of addressing her in a low and interrupted tone of voice. I trust Miss Wardor will impute, to circumstances almost irresistible, this intrusion of a person who has reason to think himself, so unacceptable a visitor. Mr. Lovell answered Miss Wardor, observing the same tone of caution. I trust you will not, and I am sure you are incapable of abusing the advantages given to you by the services you have rendered us, which, as they affect my father, can never be sufficiently acknowledged or repaid. Could Mr. Lovell see me without his own peace being affected? Could he see me as a friend, as a sister? No man will be, and, from all I have ever heard of Mr. Lovell, ought to be more welcome, but Oldbuck's anathema against the preposition, but, was internally echoed by Lovell. Forgive me if I interrupt you, Miss Wardor. You need not fear my intruding upon a subject where I have been already severely repressed. But do not add to the severity of repelling my sentiments the vigor of obliging me to disavow them. I am much embarrassed, Mr. Lovell, replied the young lady, by your, I will not willingly use a strong word, your romantic and hopeless pertinacity. It is for yourself, I plead, that you would consider the calls which your country has upon your talents, that you will not waste in an idle and fanciful indulgence of an ill-placed predilection, time which, while redeemed by active exertion, should lay the foundation of future distinction. Let me entreat that you would form a manly resolution. It is enough, Miss Wardor. I see plainly that, Mr. Lovell, you are hurt. And believe me, I sympathize in the pain which I inflict. But can I, in justice to myself, in fairness to you, do otherwise? Without my father's consent I never will entertain the addresses of anyone and how totally impossible it is that he should countenance the partiality with which you honor me. You are yourself fully aware. And indeed, no, Miss Wardor, answered Lovell, in a tone of passion and entreaty, do not go farther. Is it not enough to crush every hope in our present relative situation? Do not carry your resolutions farther. Why urge what would be your conduct if Sir Arthur's objections could be removed? It is indeed vain, Mr. Lovell, said Miss Wardor, because their removal is impossible and only wishes your friend, and as one who is obliged to you for her own and her father's life, to entreat you to suppress this unfortunate attachment, to leave a country which affords no scope for your talents, and to resume the honorable line of the profession which you seem to abandon. While, Miss Wardor, your wishes shall be obeyed. Have patience with me one little month, and if, in the course of that space, I cannot show you such reasons for continuing my residence at Fairport, as even you shall approve of. I will bid adieu to its vicinity, and with the same breath, call my hopes of happiness. Not so, Mr. Lovell. Many years of deserved happiness, founded on a more rational basis than your present wishes, are I trust before you. But it is full-time. To finish this conversation, I cannot force you to adopt my advice. I cannot shut the door of my father's house against the preserver of his life and mine. Under Mr. Lovell can teach his mind to submit to the inevitable disappointment of wishes which have been so rashly formed. The more highly he will rise in my esteem, and in the meanwhile, for his sake as well as mine, he must excuse my putting an interdict upon conversation on a subject so painful. A servant at this moment announced that Sir Arthur desired to speak to Mr. Oldbuck in his dressing-room. Let me show you the way, said Miss Wardour, who apparently dreaded a continuation of her tet-a-tet with Lovell, and she conducted the antiquary accordingly to her father's apartment. Sir Arthur, his legs swad and flannel, was stretched on the couch. Welcome, Mr. Oldbuck, he said. I trust you have come better off than I have done from the inclemancy of yesterday evening. Truly, Sir Arthur, I was not so much exposed to it, I kept Tara firma. You fairly committed yourself to the cold night air in the most literal of all senses, but such adventures become a gallant night better than a humble Esquire. To rise on the wings of the night wind, to dive into the bowels of the earth. What news from our subterranean good-hope, the Tara incognita of Glenn Withershen's? Nothing good as yet, said the baronet, turning himself hastily as if stung by a pang of the gout. But Douster Swivel does not despair. Does he not? Quote Oldbuck. I do, though, under his favour. While old Dr. H. told me, when I was in Edinburgh, that we should never find copper enough, judging from the specimens I showed him, to make a pair of six-penny knee-buckles. And I cannot see that those samples on the table below differ much in quality. Reader's note. Probably Dr. Hutton, the celebrated geologist. And Reader's note. The learned doctor is not infallible, I presume. No, but he is one of our first chemists, and this tramping philosopher of yours, this Douster Swivel, is, I have a notion, one of those learned adventures described by Kirchner. Arta happened. Sina Arta. Partem Sina Partem. Porum Medium Estimentiri. Wita Erum. Mendicatum Era. That is to say, Miss Wardour. It is unnecessary to translate, said Miss Wardour. I comprehend your general meaning, but I hope Mr. Douster Swivel will turn out a more trustworthy character. I doubt it not a little, said the antiquary. And we are a foul way out, if we cannot discover this infernal vein, that he has prophesied about these two years. You have no great interest in the matter, Mr. Oldbuck, said the baronet. Too much. Too much, Sir Arthur. And yet for the sake of my fair foe here, I would consent to lose it all, so you had no more on the venture. There was a painful silence of a few moments, for Sir Arthur was too proud to acknowledge the downfall of his golden dreams, though he could no longer disguise to himself that such was likely to be the termination of the adventure. I understand, he at length said, that the young gentleman to whose gallantry and presence of line we were so much indebted last night, has favored me with a visit. I am distressed that I am unable to see him, or indeed anyone, but an old friend like you, Mr. Oldbuck. A declination of the antiquary's stiff backbone acknowledged the preference. You made acquaintance with this young gentleman in Edinburgh, I suppose. Oldbuck told the circumstances of their becoming known to each other. Why, then, my daughter is an older acquaintance of Mr. Leopold than you are, said the baronet. Indeed, I was unaware of that, answered Oldbuck somewhat surprised. I met Mr. Leopold, said Isabella, slightly colouring, when I resided this last spring with my aunt, Mrs. Wilmot, in Yorkshire, and what character did he bear then, or how was he engaged, said Oldbuck, and why do not you recognise him when I introduced you? Isabella answered the least difficult question and passed over the other. He had a commission in the army and, had, I believe, served with reputation. He was much respected, as an amiable and promising young man. And pray, such being the case, replied the antiquary, not disposed to take one reply in answer to two distinct questions. Why did you not speak to the lad at once when you met him at my house? I thought you had less of the paltry pride of woman kind about you, Miss Wardour. There was a reason for it, said Sir Arthur with dignity. You know the opinions, prejudices, perhaps you will call them, of our house concerning purity of birth. This young gentleman is, it seems, the illegitimate son of a man of fortune. My daughter did not choose to renew their acquaintance till she should know whether I approved of her holding in the intercourse with him. If it had been with his mother instead of himself, answered Oldbuck, with his usual dry, causticity of humor. I could see an excellent reason for it. Ah, poor lad! That was the cause, then, that he seemed so absent and confused while explaining to him the reason of the bend of bastardy upon the shield yonder under the corner turret. True, said the Baronet, with complacency. It is the shield of Malcolm the usurper, as he is called. The tower which he built is termed after him, Malcolm's tower, but more frequently, Misticott's tower, which I can see to be a corruption of Miss Begot. He is denominated in the Latin pedigree of our family, Mil Columbus Nothus, and his temporary seizure of our property, and most unjust attempt to establish his own illegitimate line in the estate of Noquinic, gave rise to such family feuds and misfortunes as strongly to found us in that horror and antipathy to defile blood and illegitimacy, which has been handed down to me from my respected ancestry. I know the story, said Old Buck, and I was telling it to level this moment with some of the wise maxims and consequences which it hasn't grafted on your family politics. Poor fellow! He must have been much hurt. I took the wavering of his attention for negligence, and with something peaked at it. And it proves to be only in excess of feeling. I hope, Sir Arthur, you will not think the less of your life, because it has been preserved by such assistance. Nor the less of my assistant, either, said the baronet. My doors and tables shall be equally open to him, as if he had descended of the most unblemished lineage. Come, I am glad of that. He'll know where he can get a dinner then, if he wants one. But what views can he have in this neighbourhood? I must cataclyse him, and if I find he wants it, or indeed, whether he does or not, he shall have my best advice. As the antiquary made this liberal promise, he took his leave of Miss Wardour and her father, eager to commence operations upon Mr. Lovell. He informed him abruptly that Miss Wardour sent her compliments, and remained in attendance on her father. And then, taking him by the arm, he led him out of the castle. Nock-Winnick still preserved much of the external attributes of a baronial castle. It had its drawbridge, though now never drawn up, and its dry moat, the sides of which had been planted with shrubs, chiefly of the evergreen tribes. Above these rose the old building, partly from a foundation of red rock, scarred down to the sea beach, and partly from this deep green verge of the moat. The trees of the avenue have been already mentioned, and many other rows around, of large size, as if to compute the prejudice that timber cannot be raised near to the ocean. Our walkers paused and looked back upon the castle, as they attained the height of a small knoll, over which lay their homeward road. For it is to be supposed they did not temp the risk of the tide by returning along the way. The building flung its broad shadow upon the tufted foliage of the shrubs beneath it, while the front windows sparkled in the sun. They were viewed by the gazers with very different feelings, level with the fond eagerness of that passion which drives its food and nourishment from trifles, as the chameleon is said to live on the air, or upon the invisible insects which it contains, endeavored to be seen. The buildings, the windows, belonged to the apartment now graced by Miss Wardour's presence. The speculations of the antiquary were of a more melancholy cast, and were partly indicated by the ejaculation of Cito Peritura, as he turned away from the prospect. Lovell, roused from his reverie, looked at him as if to inquire the meaning of an exclamation so ominous. The old man shook his head. Yes, my young friend, said he, I doubt greatly, and it brings my heart to say it, this ancient family is going fast to the ground. Indeed, answered Lovell, you surprise me greatly." We hardened ourselves in vain, continued the antiquary, pursuing his own train of thought and feeling. We hardened ourselves in vain to treat with the indifference they deserve, the changes of this trumpery, whirligig we strive ineffectually to be the self-sufficing, invulnerable being, the terrace, atka, rotundus of the poet. The stoical exemption which philosophy affects to give us over the pains and vexations of human life, is as imaginary as the state of mystical quietism and perfection, aimed at by some crazy enthusiasts, and heaven forbid that it should arise, said Lovell, warmly, heaven forbid that any process of philosophy were capable so to see her and indurate our feelings, that nothing should agitate them but what arose instantly and immediately out of our own selfish interests. I would soon wish my hand to be as callous as horn, that it might escape an occasional cutter-scratch, as I would be ambitious of the stoicism like a piece of the nether millstone. The antiquary regarded his youthful companion with a look half pity, half a sympathy, and shrugged up his shoulders as he replied, wait, young man, wait till your bark has been battered by the storm of sixty years of mortal vicissitude, you will learn by that time to reef your sails, that you may obey the helm. Or in the word and to endure, to keep your feelings and sympathies in full exercise, without concerning yourself more in the fate of others, than you cannot possibly avoid. While, Mr. Oldbuck, it may be so, but as yet I resemble you more in your practice than in your theory, for I cannot help being deeply interested in the fate of the family we have just left. And while you may, replied Oldbuck, Sir Arthur's classmates, have of late become so many in so pressing, that I am surprised you have not heard of them, and in his absurd and expensive operations carried on by this high German landloper, doused or swivelled, I think I have seen that person when, by some rare chance, I happened to be in the coffee room at Fairport, a tall, beetle-browed, awkward-built man who entered upon scientific subjects, as it appeared to my ignorance, at least, with more assurance than knowledge, was very arbitrary in laying down and asserting his opinions, and mixed the terms of science with a strange jargon of mysticism. A simple youth whispered me that he was in Illuminae, and carried on an intercourse with the invisible world. Oh, the same, the same. He has enough of practical knowledge to speak plain, wisely, to those of whose intelligence he stands in awe, and to say the truth, this faculty joined to his matchless impudence imposed upon me for some time when I first knew him. But I have since understood that when he is among fools and womankind, he exhibits himself as a perfect charlatan, talks of the magisterium, of sympathies and antipathies, of the cabala, of the divining rod, and all the contemporary with which the executions cheated a darker age, and which to our eternal disgrace has in some degree revived in our own. My friend, Heavy Stern, my friend, Heavy Stern, knew this fellow abroad and unintentionally, for he, you must know, is God Bless the Mark, a sort of believer. Let me into a good deal of his real character. Ah, Raya Caleb for a day. As honest Ebon Hassan wished to be. I would scourge me these jugglers out of the commonwealth with rods of scorpions. They debauched the spirit of the ignorant and credulous with mystical trash, as effectually as if they had besotted their brains with gin, and then picked their pockets with the same facility. And now, as this strolling Blackguard and Montabank, put the finishing blow to the ruin of an ancient and honorable family. But how could he impose upon Sir Arthur to any ruinous extent? Why, don't know. Sir Arthur is a good honorable gentleman, but, as you may see from his loose ideas concerning the Pickish language, he is by no means very strong in the understanding. His estate is strictly entailed, and he has been always an embarrassed man. This robbery promised him mountains of wealth, and English company was found to advance large sums of money. I fear in Sir Arthur's guarantee, some gentleman, I was asked enough to be one, took small shares in the concern, and Sir Arthur himself made great outlay. We were trained on by specious appearances and more specious lies. And now, like John Bunyan, we awake, and behold, it is a dream. I am surprised that you, Mr. Old Buck, should have encouraged Sir Arthur by your example. Why, said Old Buck, dropping his large, grizzled eyebrow, I am something surprised and ashamed at it myself. It was not the lucre of gain. Nobody cares less for money to be a prudent man than I do. But I thought I might risk this small sum. It will be expected, though I am sure I cannot see why, that I should give something to anyone who will be kind enough to rid me of that slip of woman kind, my niece, Mary Mentire. And perhaps it may be thought that I should do something to get that jack-and-apes, her brother, on in the army. In either case, to trouble my venture would have helped me out. And besides, I had some idea that the Phoenicians had in former times wrought copper in that very spot. That cunning scoundrel, doused her swivel, found out my blunt side and brought strange tales, damn him, of appearances of old shafts and misages of mining operations conducted in a manner quite different from those of modern times. And I, in short, I was a fool, and there is an end. My loss is not much worth speaking about, but Sir Arthur's engagements are, I understand, very deep, and my heart aches for him, and the poor young lady who must share it with me. Here the conversation paused until renewed in the next chapter. End Chapter Thirteenth Volume One Chapter Fourteenth of The Antiquary This sleeper-box recording is in the public domain. The Antiquary by Sir Walter Scott Chapter Fourteenth If I may trust the flattering eye of sleep, my bosom's lord sits lightly on his throne, and all this day an unaccustomed spirit lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. Romeo and Juliet The account of Sir Arthur's unhappy adventure had led old Buck, somewhat aside from his purpose of catacysing level concerning the cause of his residence at Fairport. He was now, however, resolved to open the subject. Miss Warder was formally known to you, she tells me, Mr. Lovell. He had had the pleasure, Lovell answered, to see her at Mrs. Wilmots in Yorkshire. Indeed, you never mentioned that to me before and you did not accost her as an old acquaintance. I— I did not know, said Lovell, a good deal embarrassed. It was the same lady till we met, and then it was my duty to wait till she should recognize me. I am aware of your delicacy. The night's a punctilious old fool. But I promise you his daughter is above all nonsensical ceremony and prejudice. And now, since you have found a new set of friends here, may ask you if you intend to leave Fairport as soon as you proposed. What if I should answer your question by another, replied Lovell, and ask you what is your opinion of dreams? You foolish lad! Why, what should I think of them but as the deceptions of imagination, when reason drops the reins? I know no difference betwixt them and the hallucinations of madness. The unguided horses run away with the carriage in both cases, only in the one the coachman is drunk and in the other he slumbers. What says our Marcus Tullius? See in sonorum we see speedes known as tabenda, core creditor, sonentium visis, quimulto etium perturbatoria sunt, non intelligo. Yes, sir, but Cicero also tells us that as he who passes the whole day in darting the javelin must sometimes hit the mark. So, amid the cloud of nightly dreams, some may occur consonant to future events. I, that is to say, you have hit the mark in your own sage opinion. Lord, Lord, how this world is given to folly while I will allow for once the unecritical science I will give faith to the exposition of dreams and say, I, Dan, will hath arisen to interpret them. If you can prove to me that the dream of yours has pointed to a prudent line of conduct, tell me then, answered level, why when I was hesitating whether to abandon an enterprise, which I have perhaps rashly undertaken, I should last night dream I saw your ancestor pointing to a motto which encouraged me to perseverance. Why should I have thought those words which I cannot remember to have heard before, which aren't a language unknown to me and which yet conveyed, when translated, a lesson which I could so plainly apply to my own circumstances. The antiquary burst into a fit of laughing. Excuse me, my young friend, but it is thus we silly mortals deceive ourselves and look out of doors for motives which originate in our own willful will. I think I can help out the cause of your vision. You were so abstracted in your contemplations yesterday after dinner as to pay little attention to the discourse between Sir Arthur and me until we fell upon the controversy concerning the picks which terminated so abruptly. But I remember producing Sir Arthur a book printed by my ancestor and making him observe the motto. Your mind was bent elsewhere but your ear had mechanically received and retained the sounds. And your busy fancy stirred by Grizzle's legend, I presume, had introduced this scrap of German into your dream. As for the waking wisdom which seized on so frivolous a circumstance as an apology for a persevering in some course which you could find no better reason to justify, it is exactly one of those juggling tricks which the sages of us play off now and then to gratify our inclination at the expense of our understanding. I own it, said Lovell, blushing deeply. I believe you are right, Mr. Oldbuck, and I ought to sink in your esteem catching a moment's consequence to such a frivolity. But I was tossed by contradictory wishes and resolutions and you know how slight a line will tow a boat when it float on the billows, though a cable would hardly move her when pulled up on the beach. Right, right, exclaimed the antiquary. Fall, in my opinion. Not a whit. I love thee the better man. Why, we have story for story for each other, and I can think with less shame on having exposed myself about the cursed Priatorium, though I am still convinced a griculous camp must have been somewhere in this neighborhood. At now, Lovell, my good Lord, be sincere with me. What make you from Wittenberg? Why have you left your own country in professional pursuits for an idle residence in such a place as Fairport? A truit in disposition, I fear. Even so, replied Lovell, patiently submitting to an interrogatory which he could not well evade. Yet I am so detached from all the world have so few in whom I am interested or who are interested in me that my very state of destitution gives me independence. He who's good or evil fortune affects himself alone has the best right to pursue it according to his own fancy. Pardon me. Pardon me, young man. Settled Buck. Laying his hand kindly on his shoulder and making a full halt. Suflamina. A little patience, if you please. I will suppose that you have no friends to share or rejoice in your success in life that you cannot look back to those to whom you owe gratitude or forward to those to whom you ought to afford protection, but is no less incumbent on you to move steadily in the path of duty. The conditions are due not only to society, but in humble gratitude to the being who may do a member of it with powers to serve yourself and others. But I am unconscious of possessing such powers, said Lovell, somewhat impatiently. I ask nothing of society, but the permission of walking inoxiously through the path of life without jostling others or permitting myself to be jostled. I owe no man anything. I have the means of maintaining myself with complete independence and so moderate are my wishes in this respect that even these means, however limited, rather exceed than fall short of them. Nathan, said Old Buck, removing his hand and turning again to the road. If you are so true of philosophers to think you have money enough, there is no more to be said. I cannot pretend to be entitled to advise you. You have attained the acme. The summit of perfection. And how came Fairport to be the selected abode of so much self-denying philosophy? It is as if a worshiper of the true religion had set up his staff by choice among the multifarious idolaters of the land of Egypt. There is not a man in Fairport who is not a devoted worshiper of the golden calf, the mammon of unrighteousness. Why even I, man, am so infected by the bad neighborhood that I feel inclined occasionally to become an idolater myself? My principal amusements being literary, answered level, and circumstances which I cannot mention having induced me, for a time at least, to relinquish the military service. I have pitched on Fairport as a place where I might follow my pursuits without any of those temptations to society which a more elegant circle might have presented to me. Ah! replied Old Buck, knowingly. I begin to understand your application of my ancestor's motto. You are a candidate for public favor, though not in the way I first suspected. You are ambitious to shine as a literary character, and you hope to merit favor by labor and perseverance. Level, who was rather closely pressed by the inquisitiveness of the old gentleman, concluded it would be best to let him remain in the error which he had gratuitously adopted. I have been at times foolish enough, he replied, to nourish some thoughts of the kind. Ah! poor fellow! Nothing can be more melancholy. Unless, as young men sometimes do, you would fancy yourself in love with some Trumpery specimen of womankind, which is indeed, as Shakespeare truly says, pressing to death, whipping, and hanging all at once. He then proceeded with inquiries, which he was sometimes kind enough to answer himself, for this good old gentleman had, from his antiquarian researches, acquired a delight in building theories out of premises which were often far from affording sufficient ground for them, and being, as the reader must have remarked, sufficiently opinionative. He did not readily book being corrected, either in matter of fact or judgment, even by those who were principally interested in the subjects on which he speculated. He went on, therefore, chalking out Lovell's literary career for him. And with what do you propose to commence your debut as a man of letters? But, I guess, poetry, poetry, the soft seducer of youth. Yes, there is an acknowledging modesty of confusion in your eye and manner. And where lies your vein? Are you inclined to soar to higher regions of Parnassus or to flutter around the base of the hill? I have hitherto attempted only a few lyrical pieces at Lovell. Just as I supposed, pruning your wing and hopping from spray to spray. But I trust you intend a bolder flight. Observe, I would by no means recommend you persevering in this unprofitable pursuit. But you say you are quite independent of the public caprice. Entirely so, replied Lovell, in that you are determined not to adopt a more active course of life. For the present, such is my resolution, replied the young man. Why then? It only remains for me to give you my best advice and assistance in the object of your pursuit. I have myself published two essays in the Antiquarian Repository and, therefore, am an author of experience. There was my remarks on Hearn's edition of Robert of Gloucester, signed Scrutator and the other signed Indegator upon a passage in Tacitus. I might add I would attract a considerable notice at the time. And that is my paper in the Gentleman's Magazine, upon the inscription of Ilya Lilia, which I subscribed at a piss. So you see, I am not an apprentice of the histories of authorcraft and must necessarily understand the taste and temper of the times. And now, once more, what do you intend to commence with? I have no instant thoughts of publishing. Ah, that will never do. You must have the fear of the public before your eyes and all your undertakings. Let us see now a collection of fugitive pieces, but know your fugitive poetry is out to become stationary with the bookseller. It should be something at once solid and attractive, none of your romances or anomalous novelties. I would have you take high ground at once. Let me see. What think you of a real epic? The grand old fashioned historical poem which moved through twelve or twenty-four books. We'll have it so. I'll supply you with a subject, the battle between the Caledonians and Romans. The Caledoniad or invasion repelled. Let that be the title. It will suit the present taste and you may throw in a touch of the times. But the invasion of a Greekola was not repelled. No, but you are a poet free of the corporation and as little bound down to truth or probability as Virgil himself. You may defeat the Romans of Tacitus and pitch a Grigolo's camp at the time of what you call it, answer level, in defiance of Ediocaltree. No more of that and thou lovest me. And yet I dare say you may unwittingly speak most correct truth in both instances in spite of the toga of the historian and the blue gown of the mendicant. Gallantly counseled well, I will do my best. Your kindness will assist me with local information. Will I not, man? Why, I will write the critical and historical notes on each canto and draw out the plan of the story myself. I pretend to some poetical genius, Mr. Lovell, only I was never able to write verses. It is a pity, sir, that you should have failed in a qualification somewhat essential to the art. Essential? It is the mere mechanical department. A man may be a poet without measuring spondes and dactyls, like the ancients, or clashing the ends of lines into rhyme, like the moderns. As one may be an architect, though unable to labor like a stonemason, does think Palladio or Vitruvius ever carried a hod? In that case, there should be two authors to each poem, one to think and plan, another to execute. Why, it would not be a miss at any rate. We'll make the experiment. Not that I would wish to give my name to the public. Assistance from a learned friend might be acknowledged in the preface after what flourish your nature will. I am a total stranger to authorial vanity. Lovell was much entertained by a declaration not very consistent with the eagerness wherewith his friend seemed to catch at an opportunity of coming before the public, though in a manner which rather resembled stepping up behind a carriage than getting into one. The antiquary was indeed uncommonly delighted for, like many other men who spend their lives in obscure literary research, he had a secret ambition to appear in print, which was checked by cold fits of diffidence, fear of criticism, and habits of indolence and procrastination. But, thought he, I may, like a second chooser, discharge my shafts from behind the shield of my ally, and admit that he should not prove to be a first-rate poet, I am in no shape answerable for his deficiencies, and the good notes may very probably help off an indifferent text. But he is, he must be a good poet, he has the real nasty and abstraction, seldom answers a question till it is twice repeated, drinks his tea scalding, and eats without knowing what he is putting into his mouth. This is the real aistus, the awen of the Walshbards, the duenas of lautus, that transports the poet beyond the limits of sub-lunary things. His visions, too, are very symptomatical of poetic fury. I must recollect to send Caxon to see he puts out his candle tonight. Poets and visionaries are apt to be negligent in that respect. Then, turning to his companion, he expressed himself allowed in continuation. Yes, my dear Lovell, you shall have full notes, and, indeed, think we may introduce the whole of the essay of castrumitation into the appendix, it will give great value to the work. Then we will revive the good old forms so disgracefully neglected in modern times. You shall invoke the muse, and certainly, she ought to be propitious to an author who, in an apostasizing age, adheres with the faith of Abdual to the ancient form of adoration, then we must have a vision in which the genius of Caledonia shall appear to Galgacus and show him a procession of the real Scottish monarchs. And, in the notes, I will have a hit at Boethius. You know, I must not touch that topic, now that Sir Arthur is likely to have fixation enough besides, but I'll annihilate Ocean, McPherson, and McRib. But we must consider the expense of publication, said Lovell, willing to try whether this hint would fall like cold water on the blazing zeal of his self-elected co-hagitor. Expense, said Mr. Oldbuck, pausing, and mechanically fumbling in his pocket. That is true. I would wish to do something, but you would not like to publish by subscription. By no means, answered Lovell. No, no. Gladly acquiesced, the antiquary. It is not respectable. I'll tell you what. I believe I know a bookseller who has a value for my opinion and will risk print in paper, and I will get as many copies sold for you as I can. Oh, I am no mercenary author, answered Lovell, smiling. I only wish to be out of risk of loss. Hush, hush. We'll take care of that. Throw it all on the publishers. I do long to see your labors commenced. You will choose blank verse, doubtless. It is more grand and magnificent for a historical subject. And what concerneth you, my friend? It is I have an idea more easily written. This conversation brought them to Monk Barnes, where the antiquary had to undergo a triding from his sister, who, though no philosopher, was waiting to deliver a lecture to him in the portico. Guidance, Monk Barnes, are things no dear enough already, but you mind re-raising the very fish on us by giving that randy, lucky muckle-backet, just what she likes to ask. I would, somewhat abashed at this unexpected attack, I thought I made a very fair bargain. A fair bargain, when ye guide deliver a fool half of what she seeketh. And ye will be a wife of Carl, and by fish-a-train hands, ye shall never bid muckle-mire than a quarter. And the impudent queen had the assurance to come up and seek a drum. But I tro, Jenny and I sorted her. Truly, said Old Buck, with a sigh of love to his companion, I think our state was gracious that kept us out of hearing of that controversy. Well, well, grizzle, I was wrong for once in my life, ultra crepidom, I fairly admit. But hang expenses, care killed a cat, will eat the fish, cost what it will. And then, level, you must know I pressed you to stay here to-day, the rather because our cheer will be better than usual, yesterday having been a guide-day. I love the perversion of a feast better than the feast itself. I delight in the analecta and colectanae, as I may call them, of the preceding day's dinner, which appear on such occasions. And see, there is Jenny going to ring the dinner-bell. End Chapter Fourteenth Volume One, Chapter Fifteenth of the Antiquary The sleeper-box recording is in the public domain. The Antiquary, by Sir Walter Scott. Chapter Fifteenth Be this letter delivered with haste, haste, post-haste. Ride, villain, ride, for thy life, for thy life, for thy life. Ancient endorseation of letters of importance. Leaving Mr. Old Buck and his friend to enjoy their hard bargain of fish, we beg leave to transport the reader to the back parlor of the master's house at Fairport, where his wife, he himself being absent, was employed in assorting for delivery the letters which had come by the Edinburgh Post. This is very often in country towns the period of the day when gossips find it particularly agreeable to call on the man or woman of letters. In order, from the outside of the epistles, and if they are not belied, occasionally from the inside also, to muse themselves with gleaning information, or forming conjectures about the correspondence and affairs of their neighbors. Two females of this description were, at the time we mention, assisting or impeding Mrs. Maelsetter in her official duty. "'Ech, for servicers,' said the butcher's wife, "'there's ten, eleven, twelve letters to Tennenton Company, which I folk do my business than I the rest of the burg.' "'Hei, but Silas,' answered the baker's lady. "'There's two of them, folded on Coup Square and sealed at the time. I doubt there'll be protested bills in them.' "'Is there any letters come yet for Jenny Coxon?' inquired the woman of joints and giblets. The Tennents been away three weeks. "'Justine on Tuesday was a week,' answered the dame of letters. "'Was to ship-letter,' asked the foreign arena. "'In truth, West, who would be fri' the lieutenant, then,' replied the mistress of the rolls, somewhat disappointed. I never thought he would look it over his shoulder after her. "'Oh, here's another,' quote Mrs. Maelsetter. A ship-letter, postmarked Sunderland, all rushed to seize it. "'Now I know, ladies,' said Mrs. Maelsetter, interfering. I had enough of that work. Can ye that Mr. Maelsetter got an uncouple book fry the secretary at Edinburgh for a complaint that was made about the letter of Eileen Bissets that she opened?' Mrs. Shortcake. "'Me opened,' answered the spouse of the chief-baker of Fairport. "'You can yourself, madam. It just came upon free, but folks would seal with better wax.' "'We'll—' I won't, that's true, too,' said Mrs. Maelsetter, who kept a shop of small wares. "'And we have got some that I can honestly recommend, if ye can, anybody wantin' it. But the short and the languid is. That will lose the place, again there's only minor complaints of the kind. Hort, lass, the provost will take care of that. Now, I never trust a provost nor Bailier,' said the post-mistress. "'But I would, I, be of Ligine and Naverly, and I'm no again you're lookin' at the outside of a letter, neither. See, the seal has an anchor on it. He's done with it. I know his buttons, I'm figgin.' "'Show me, show me,' quote the wives of the chief butcher and chief baker, and threw themselves on the supposed love-letter, like the weird sisters in Macbeth upon the pilot's thumb, with curiosity as eager and scarcely less malignant. Mrs. Hookebane was a tall woman. She held the precious epistle up between her eyes and the window. Mrs. Shortcake, a little squat personage, strained and stood on tiptoe to have her share of the investigation. "'Aye, it's Frye, I'm sure enough,' said the butcher's lady. "'I can read Richard Haferl on the corner, and it's written, like John Thompson's wallet, fry end to end.' "'Hold it lower down, madam,' exclaimed Mrs. Shortcake. In a tone above the prudential whisper, which their occupation required, I did lower down. Do you think nobody can read Hand or Rit by yourself?' "'Wish, wish, sirs, for God's sake,' said Mrs. Malesetter. "'There's somebody in the shop.' Then allowed. Look to the customer's baby.' Baby answered from without tone. "'It's nobody but Jenny Cackson, ma'am, to see if there's any letters to her.' "'Teller,' said the faithful postmistress, winking to her compiers, to come back the morning at ten o'clock, and all letter can. We haven't had time to sort the mail-letter yet. Shine, sick or hurry, as if her letters were a more consequence than the best merchants of the town.' Poor Jenny, a girl of uncommon beauty and modesty, in high disappointment, and returned meekly home, to endure for another night the sickness of the heart occasioned by hope delayed. "'There's something about her needle and a pole,' said Mrs. Shortcake, to whom her tall arrival and gossiping had at length yielded the peep at the subject of their curiosity. "'Now, that's stone-rich shameful,' said Mrs. Hookbane. To score in the poor silly long, and had had his willer. As I make nigh doubt he has.' It's but or muckl to be doubted,' echoed Mrs. Shortcake, to cast up to her that her father's a barber, and has upholded his door, and that she's but a manty-maker herself. How to fight for shame?' "'What to it, ladies?' cried Mrs. Mail-setter. "'You're clean rang.' "'It's a lion at it. I know his sadder sings, that I have heard him sing, about to be intrude like the needle to the pole.' Weird-win, I wish it may be sigh,' said the charitable dame, Hookbane. But it doesn't look weird for Lassie like her to keep up a correspondence with either the king's officers. "'I'm no denying that,' said Mrs. Mail-setter. "'But it's a great advantage to the revenue of the post-office, thy love-letters. See, here's five or six letters to Sir Arthur Wardour. Mice to them, sealed with wax. "'There will be a down-come there, believe me. Aye, there will be business letters, I know fry any of his grand-friends, that seals with their coats of arms, as they call them,' said Mrs. Hookbane. "'Pied will have a fight. He hasn't settled his account with my good man, the deacon, for this twelve month. His butt slink, I doubt. Nor would heist for six months.' "'Echoed, Mrs. Shortcake. He's but a brunt crust.' "'There's a letter.' Interrupted the trusty post-mistress. From his son, the captain, I'm thinking, the seal has the same thing with the look when it carriage. He'll be coming home to see what he can save out of the fire.' The baronet, thus dismissed, they took up the Esquire. "'Twy letters for Monk Barnes. There fry some of his learned-friends now. See, Cyclace,' says the written, down to the very seal, an eye to save sending a double letter. That's just like Monk Barnes himself. When he gets a frank, he feels it up exact to the weight of an ounce, that a carvy seed would sink the scale. But he's nearer a grain-bonnet. Well, I want I would be broken if I were to guy sick-weight to the folk that come to buy our pepper and brimstone and such-like sweet meats.' "'He's a shabby buddy, the learned Monk Barnes,' said Mrs. Hookbane. He'll make his muckle about buying a four-quarter lamb in August as about a back-sire-weef. Let's taste another drop of the cinnamon.' "'Perhaps she meant cinnamon.' "'Waters,' Mrs. May said her, my dear. High lassies. And yet kent his brother as I did. Many a time he would slip in to see me with a brace or wild dukes in his poach. When my first goodman was away at the house, he'd come to see me. He'd come to see me. He'd come to see me. He'd come to see me when I was away at the Fault-a-Curc Trist. We'd win. Would no speaker that's enough.' "'I wouldn't say only ill at this Monk Barnes,' said Mrs. Shortcake. His brother near brought me only wild dukes. And this is a dose on his man. We served a family with bread and he settled with Hoy's ilk week, only he was in an uncrew kippage when we sent him a book instead of the nix-sticks. "'Well, key said way a counter between tradesmen and customers, and sigh they are, and I doubt. But look here, lassies," interrupted Mrs. Malesetter. Here's a sight for Sahrine. What would you guide again, what's inside of this letter? This is New Corn. I hadn't seen the look of this. For William Levelless Squire at Mrs. Houdoway's High Street Fairport by Edinburgh, N.B. This is just the second letter he's had since he was here. Lord sakes, let's see, lass. Lord sakes, let's see. That's him, that the Hale-town can's nothing about, and a weird fair, and that he is. Let's see, let's see. Thus ejaculated the two worthy representatives of Mother Eve. Nine Isers exclaimed Mrs. Malesetter, Houdoway, bite off, I tell you. This is nine of your four pretty cuts that we might make up the value to the post-office among ourselves if only Ms. Chance befell it. The postage is five and twenty shittings, and here's an order by the secretary to forward it to the young gentleman by express. If he is no at home, Nine Isers, bite off, this won't be roughly guided. But just let's look at the outside, old woman. Everything could be gathered from the outside, except remarks on the various properties which philosophers ascribe to matter—length, breadth, depth, and weight. The packet was composed of strong thick paper, impermeable by the curious eyes of the gossips, though they stared as if they would burst from their sockets. The seal was a deep and well-cut impression of arms, which defied all tampering. Houdlas, said Mrs. Shortcake, waning in her hand and wishing doubtless that the two-two solid wax would melt and dissolve itself. I'd like to ken what's in the inside of this, for the level of dings that all that ever set foot on the plain stains of airport, nobody can's what to make of him. Weird, weird, ladies, said the postmistress. We sit down and crack about it. Baby, bring men the tea-water. Muggle obliged you for your cookies, Mrs. Shortcake, and we'll stick the shop in, cry ahead, baby, and take a hand at the carties, till the good man comes home, and then we'll try your bride-and-beel sweetbread, that you're so kind to send me, Mrs. Hookbane. But wouldn't you first send away Mr. Lovell's letter? Said Mrs. Hookbane. Troth I cannot want to send to the good man comes home. Freud Caxon tell me that Mr. Lovell stays eye-the-days at Monk Barns. He's in a high fever, would pull in the Laird and Sir Arthur out of the sea. Silly old-dotted carties, said Mrs. Shortcake, would guard them gang to the dorking in a night like yesteryear. High as given to understand it was I'd eddy that saved them, said Mrs. Hookbane, and the oku-tree, the blue-gan you can, and that he'd pull the high three out of the old fish-pond, for Monk Barns had three pit on them to gang, until they see the work of the Monk's long zine. Hurch less nonsense, answered the post-mistress. I'll tell you Iie about it, as Caxon tell it to me. You see, Sir Arthur and Miss Warder, and Mr. Lovell, sort of dined at Monk Barns. And Mrs. Mail-sitter, again interrupted in Mrs. Hookbane, will you know we for sending away this letter by express? There's a pony in our collet, high gang express, for the officer now, and the pony hasn't a-guying a-bun-thirty mile the day. Jock was sorting him up, as I came over by. Why, Mrs. Hookbane, said the woman of letters, pursing up her mouth, he kind my good men like to ride the express as himself. We mon-guye our iron fish-guts to our iron seamos. It's a red half-kinny to him, every time he moots his mare, and I dare say he'll be in soon. Or I dare to say, it's the same thing, whether the gentleman gets the express this night or early next morning. Only then, Mr. Lovell be in town before the express-guys off, said Mrs. Hookbane. And where are you then, lass? But you can, your iron ways best. When, when, Mr. Hookbane answered Mrs. Malesetter, a little out of humor, and even out of countenance. I'm sure I'm never against being neighborlike, and live in and let live, as they say. And since I have been sick of fooling as to show you the post office order, we, no doubt, am on be obeyed. But I'll no need your accountant, money thanks to you. I'll send little Davey on your pony, and that will be just five and three pence, till I can, I know us, you can. Davey, the lord help ye, the barn's no ten-year-old, and to be plain with ye, our pony, rice-a-bit. And it's doom-sweared o' the road, and nobody can manage him but our drunk. I'm sorry for that, answered the post-mistress, gravely. It's like women wait then till the good man comes home after I'd. For I wouldn't like to be responsible and trust in the letter to sick a countenance, druck. Our Davey belangs in a manner to the office. How ye it a-will, Mrs. Malesetter? I see what ye would be at. But when ye like to risk the barn, I'll risk the beast. Orders were accordingly given. The unwilling pony was brought out of his bed of straw, and again equipped for service. Davey, a leathered post-bag strapped across his shoulders, was perched upon the saddle, with a tear in his eye, and a switch in his hand. Jock, good-naturedly, led the animal out of the town, and by the crack of his whip, and the whoop and halloe of his two well-known voice, compelled it to take the road towards Monk Barns. Meanwhile the gossips, like the sipples after consulting their leaves, arranged and combined the information of the evening, which flew next morning through a hundred channels, and in a hundred varieties, through the world of Fairport. Many strange and inconsistent were the rumors to which their communications and conjectures gave rise. Some sentenant and company were broken, and that all their bills had come back protested. Others that they had got a great contract from government, and letters from the principal merchants at Glasgow, desiring to have shares upon a premium. One report stated that Lieutenant Tafrel had acknowledged a private marriage with Jenny Caxon. Another that he had sent her letter, upgrading her with the low-ness of her birth in education, and bidding her an eternal adieu. It was generally rumored that Sir Arthur Warder's affairs had fallen into irretrievable confusion, and this report was only doubted by the wise, because it was traced to Mrs. Maelzetter's shop. A source more famous for the circulation of news than for their accuracy. But all agreed that a packet from the Secretary of State's office had arrived, directed for Mr. Lovell, and that it had been forwarded by an orderly dragoon, dispatched from the headquarters at Edinburgh, who had galloped through Fairport without stopping, except just to inquire the way to Mark Barnes. The reason such an extraordinary mission, to a very peaceful and retired individual, was variously explained. Some said Lovell was an immigrant noble, some intohead an insurrection that had broken out in Lavendé. Others that he was a spy. Others that he was a general officer who was visiting the coast privately. Others that he was a prince of the blood. Who was travelling incognito? Meanwhile the progress of the packet, which occasioned so much speculation towards its destined owner at Monk Barnes, had been perilous and interrupted. The bearer, Davy Maelzetter, as little resembling a bold dragoon as could well be imagined, was carried onwards towards Monk Barnes by the pony. So long as the animal had, in his recollection, the crack of his usual instrument of chastisement, and the shout of the butcher's boy. But feeling how Davy, whose short legs were unequal to maintain his balance, swung to and fro upon his back, the pony began to disdain for the compliance with the intimations he had received. First then he slackened his pace to a walk. This was no point of quarrel between him and his rider, who had been considerably discomposed by the rapidity of his former motion, and who now took the opportunity of his abated pace to gnaw a piece of gingerbread, which had been thrusted to his hand by his mother in order to reconcile this youthful emissary of the post-office to the discharge of his duty. Lying by, the crafty pony availed himself of this surcease of discipline, to twitch the rain out of Davy's hands, and applied himself to browse on the grass by the side of the lane, sorely astounded by these symptoms of self-willed rebellion, and afraid alike to sit or to fall. Poor Davy lifted up his voice and wept aloud. The pony, hearing this putter over his head, began apparently to think it would be best, both for himself and Davy, to return from once they came, and accordingly commenced a retrograde movement towards Fairport. But as all retreats are apt to end in utter route, so the steed, alarmed by the boy's cries, and by the flapping of the rains, which dangled about his forefeet, finding also his nose turned homeward, began to set off at a rate which, if Davy kept the saddle, a matter extremely dubious, would soon have presented him at Hook Bain's stable door. When at a turn of the road, an intervening auxiliary, in the shape of old eddy oakle-tree, caught hold of the rain, and stopped his father proceeding, was I too callent? What negates that charade? I can to help it, liberate the express. They call me Little Davy. And where are you gone? I'm going to Monk Barnes with a letter. Stirrah, this is no other road to Monk Barnes. But Davy could only answer the expostulation with sighs and tears. Old eddy was easily moved to compassion, where childhood was in the case. How was no going that gate? He thought. But it's the best of my way of life, that I kind of be way a lot on my road. I'll guide me quarters at Monk Barnes readily enough, and I'll even hurble away there with the wean, for it all gets himes out to poor thing, and there's no so muddy to guide the pony. Say a letter, honey. Well, you let me see it. I'm not going to let nobody see the letter, sobbed the boy, till I get to Mr. Lovell, but I'm a faithful servant of the office, if it weren't for the pony. Very right, my little man, said Uncle Tree, turning the reluctant pony's head towards Monk Barnes, but will guide him between us, if he's no way this weir. Upon the very hiative, kin prunes, to which Monk Barnes had invited Lovell after their dinner, the antiquary, again reconciled to the once degraded spot, was expatiating upon the topics the scenery afforded, for a description of Agricola's camp at the dawn of mourning, when his eye was caught by the appearance of the mendicant and his protégé. What the devil? Here comes Old Eddie, bag in baggage, I think. The beggar, explained his errand, and Davey, who insisted upon a literal execution of his commission by going on to Monk Barnes, was with difficulty prevailed upon to surrender the packet to its proper owner, although he met him a mile nearer than the place he had been directed to. But my mini-sid, I won't be sure to get twenty shillings and five shillings for the postage, and ten shillings and six pence for the express. There's the paper. Let me see, let me see, said Old Buck, putting on the spectacles, and examining the complied copy of regulations to which Davey appealed. Express, per man and horse, one day, not to exceed ten shillings and six pence. One day, why, it's not an hour. Man and horse, why, tis a monkey on a starved cat. Father, would I come and serve? said Davey, on the muck or red mirror, and you would I bid in till the morn's night. More and twenty hours after the regular day to delivery. You little cockatrice egg, do you understand the art of imposition so early? What Monk Barnes, didn't it set your wits against a Byron? said the beggar, mined the witter vistas' beast, and a wife her ween. And I am sure ten and six pence is no or muckl. You didn't a gang sign near which to join a howie winne. People who, sitting on the supposed Priatorium, had glanced over the contents of the packet, now put an end to the altercation by paying Davey's demand, and then turning to Mr. Oldbuck, with a look of much agitation. He excused himself from returning with him to Monk Barnes that evening. I must instantly go to Fairport, and perhaps leave it on a moment's notice. Your kindness, Mr. Oldbuck, I can never forget. No bad news, I hope, said the antiquary. Of a very checkered complexion, answered his friend, farewell, in a good or bad fortune I will not forget your regard. Nay, nay, stop a moment, if making an effort. If there be any pecuniary inconvenience, I have fifty, or a hundred guineas at your service till Woodson Day, or indeed as long as you please. I am much obliged, Mr. Oldbuck, but I am amply provided, said his mysterious young friend. Excuse me, I really cannot sustain further conversation at present. I will write or see you before I leave Fairport, that is, if I find myself obliged to go. So saying, he shook the antiquary's hand warmly, turned from him, and walked rapidly towards the town. Staying no longer questioned. Very extraordinary indeed, said Oldbuck, but there is something about this lad I can never fathom, and yet I cannot for my heart think ill of him, neither. I must go home and take off the fire in the green room, for none of my womankind will venture into it after twilight. And how am I to win him, blubbered the disconsolent express. Hits a fine night, said the blue gown, looking up to the skies. I hide as good-guiding back to the town, and take care of the wean. Do so, do so, Eddie. Enromagine for some time in his huge waistcoat pocket, till he found the object of his search. The antiquary added, There's six pins to you, to buy a snitcheon. Bakers note, note E, nicksticks, a sort of tally generally used by bakers of the olden time in settling with their customers. Each family had its own nickstick, and for each loaf, as delivered, a notch was made on the stick. Accounts in X checker, kept by the same kind of check, may have occasioned the antiquary's partiality. In priors time the English bakers had the same sort of reckoning. Have you not seen a baker's maid, between two equal panniers suede? Her tally's useless, lie and idle, if placed exactly in the middle. End author's note, End Chapter Fifteenth. Volume One, Chapter Sixteenth of the Antiquary. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Antiquary by Sir Walter Scott. Chapter Sixteenth. I am bewitched, with the Rose Company, if the Rascal's 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 Antiquary, at the veteran Caxon. Whether he had heard what Mr. Lovell was about, and his regular were Caxon's answers, that the town could learn nithing about him whatever, except that he had received a nethermuckel letter, or twi, from the south, and that he was never seen on the plain stains at all. How does he live, Caxon? Oi, Mrs. Hadaway just dresses him a beefsteak, or mutton chop, or makes him some fryer's chicken, or just what she likes herself, and eats it in the little red parlour off his bedroom. She kind of gives him a say that he likes i-thing better than another, and she makes him tea in the morning, and he settles on her blade with her every week. But as he never stirs abroad, he has cleaned up walking, and he sits i-day in his room reading a rite-in. I had the letters he has written, but he wouldn't have put them into our post-house, though Mrs. Hadaway offered to carry them herself, but sent them i-yonder, i-cover to the sheriff. And it's Mrs. Malesetter's belief that the sheriff sent his groom to put them into the post-office, at Tannenberg. It's my poor thought that he jealous they're lookin' into his letters at Fairport, and weird-head he need, for my poor daughter Jenny, toot, don't play me with your womankind, Caxon. About this poor young lad, does he write nothing but letters? Why, how his sheets are either things, Mrs. Hadaway says. She wishes Muckley could be gotten to take a walk. She thinks he's but lookin' very pearly, and his appetite's clean guine, but to know here again and over the door-stein. Him that used to walk sigh Muckle, too. That's wrong. I have a guess what he's busy about, but he must not work too hard, neither. I'll go and see him this very day. He's deep doubtless in the Caledonia. Having formed this manful resolution, Mr. Oldbuck equipped himself for the expedition, with his thick walking shoes and gold-headed cane, muttering the while the words of Falstaff, which we have chosen for the motto of this chapter. For the antiquary was himself rather surprised at the degree of attachment which he could not but acknowledge, be entertained for this stranger. The riddle was notwithstanding easily solved. Lebel had many attractive qualities, but he won our antiquary's heart by being on most occasions an excellent listener. A walk to Fairport had become somewhat of an adventure with Mr. Oldbuck, and one which he did not often care to undertake. He hated greetings in the marketplace, and there were generally loiterers in the streets to persecute him, either about the news of the day or about some petty pieces of business. So on this occasion, he had no sooner entered the streets of Fairport than it was. Good morrow, Mr. Oldbuck, a sight to use good for Sarine. What do you think of the news in this one day? They say the great attempt will be made in a fortnight. I wish to the Lord it were made and over, that I might hear no more about it. Mr. Oldbuck, said the town clerk, a more impoverished man, said the nursery and seedsman. I hope the plant's sky's satisfaction, and if you wanted only flower roots fresh for highland, or this in a lower key, an Igaratwaya kolongin, I know our briggs came in yestering. Thank ye, thank ye, no occasion at present, Mr. Crabtree, said the antiquary, pushing resolutely onward. Mr. Oldbuck, said the town clerk, a more important person, who came in front and ventured to stop the old gentleman. The provost, understanding you were in town, begs on no account that you'll quit it without seeing him. He wants to speak to you about bringing the water a-fry at the farewell spring, through a part of your lands. What the deuce? Have they nobody's land but mine to cut and carve on? I won't consent, tell them. And the provost, said the clerk going on, without noticing the rubuff, had the council would be agreeable that you should hide the old stones at Dungo Guild's Chapel. That she was wussin' to hide. Huh? What? Oh, that's another story. Well, well, I'll call upon the provost, and we'll talk about it. But you must speak your mind on forthwith, Monk Barnes, if you want the stones. For Deacon Harlow was, thinks the carved thru steins might be put with advantage on the front of the new council-house, that is, the twye cross-legged figures that the callants used to kite robin and bobin, Ina Ilkudor cheek, and the other stein that they cied aile-de-de, a bonedor. It would be very tasteful, the Deacon says, and just in the style of modern gothic. Or deliver me from this gothic generation, exclaim the antiquary, a monument of a night Templar on each side of a Grecian porch, and a Madonna on the top of it. Oh, Criminie! Well, tell the provost I wish to have the stones, and will not differ about the water-course. It's lucky I happened to come this way to-day. They parted, mutually satisfied, but the wily clerk had most reason to exalt in the dexterity he had displayed, since the whole proposal of an exchange between the monuments, which the council had determined to remove as a nuisance, because they encroached three feet upon the public road, and the privilege of conveying the water to the burg through the estate of Monk Barnes, was an ideal which had originated with himself upon the pressure of the moment. Through these various entanglements, Monk Barnes, to use the phrase by which he was distinguished in the country, made his way at length to Mrs. Hadaway's. This good woman was the widow of a late clergyman at Fairport, who had been reduced by her husband's untimely death, to that state of straightened and embarrassed circumstances, in which the widows of the Scotch clergy are too often found. The tenement which she occupied, and the furniture of which she possessed, gave for the means of letting a part of her house, and his level had been a quiet, regular and profitable lodger, and had qualified the necessary intercourse which they had together, with a great deal of gentleness and courtesy. Mrs. Hadaway, not perhaps much used to such kindly treatment, had become greatly attached to her lodger, and was profuse in every sort of personal attention which circumstances permitted her to render him. To cook a dish somewhat better than ordinary, for the poor young gentleman's dinner, to exert her interest with those who remembered her husband, or loved her for her own sake and his, in order to procure scarce vegetables, or something which her simplicity supposed might tempt her lodger's appetite, was the labor in which she delighted, although she anxiously concealed it from the person who was its object. She did not adopt the secrecy of benevolence, to avoid the laugh of those who might suppose that an oval face in dark eyes, with a clear brown complexion, though belonging to a woman of five and forty, and enclosed within a widow's close-drawn pinners, might possibly still aim at making conquests. For to say truth, such a ridiculous suspicion, having never entered her own head, she could not anticipate its having birth in that of any one else. But she concealed her attentions solely out of delicacy to her guest, whose power of her pain then she doubted as much as she believed in his inclination to do so, and in his being likely to feel extreme pain at leaving any of her civilities unrequited. She now opened the door to Mr. Oldbuck, and her surprise at seeing him brought tears into her eyes, which she could hardly restrain. "'I'm glad to see you, sir. I'm very glad to see you. My poor gentleman is—I'm afraid very unwell,' an old Mr. Oldbuck. He'll see neither doctor, nor minister, nor writer, and think what it would be if, as my poor Mr. Hadaway used to say, a man was to die without advice of the three learned faculties.' "'Greatly better than with him,' grumbled the cynical antiquary. "'I tell you, Mrs. Hadaway, the clergy live by our sins, the medical faculty by our diseases, and the lodge entry by our misfortunes. "'Oh, if five monks burns, to hear the like of that fry you, but you'll walk up and see the poor young lad. Eh, sirs? Say, young and weird-favored, and day by day he has eat less and less, and now he hardly touches anything, only just puts a bit on the plate to make fashion. At his poor cheek his turn every day thinner and paler, so that he now really looks as high as me, that it might be his mother. Not that I might be just that neither, but something very near it.' "'Why does he not take some exercise?' said Oldbuck. "'I think we have persuaded him to do that, for he has bought a horse from Gibby go lightly, the galloping groom. A good judge, a horse-flesh, Gibby, toyed our last that he was, for offered him a beast he thought would answer him well enough, as he was a bookish man, but Mr. Lovell wouldn't a look at it, and Bottine might serve the master of Morphe. They keep it at the Grammy's arms over the street, and he rode out yesterday morning and this morning before breakfast. But when you walk up to his room, presently, presently, but has he no visitors? Oh, dear Mr. Lovell, not Hine, if you want to receive them when he was weirdly surprised, what chance is there of anybody in Fairport looking in upon him now?' "'I, I, very true. I should have been surprised had he been otherwise. Come, show me upstairs, Mrs. Hadaway. Lest I make a blunder, and go where I should not.' The good landlady, shown Mr. Oldbuck up her narrow staircase, warning him of every turn, and lamenting all the while that he was laid under the necessity of mounting up so high. At length she gently tapped at the door of her guest parlor. "'Come in,' said Lovell, and Mrs. Hadaway ushered in the laird of Mock Barnes. The apartment was neat and clean, and decently furnished, ornamented too by such relics of her youthful arts of semestership, as Mrs. Hadaway had retained. But it was closed, overheated, and as it appeared to Oldbuck, an unwholesome situation for a young person in delicate health. An observation which ripened his resolution, touching a project that had already occurred to him in Lovell's behalf. With the writing-table before him, on which lay a quantity of books and papers, Lovell was seated on a couch, in his nightgown and slippers. Oldbuck was shocked at the change which had taken place in his personal appearance. His cheek and brow had assumed a ghastly white, except where a round bright spot of hectic red formed a strong and painful contrast. Totally different from the general cast of hail and hearty complexion which had formally overspread and somewhat embrowned his countenance. Oldbuck observed that the dress he wore belonged to a deep morning suit, and a coat of the same color hung on a chair near to him. As the antiquary entered, Lovell arose and came forward to welcome him. "'This is very kind,' he said, shaking him by the hand and thanking him warmly for his visit. "'This is very kind and has anticipated a visit, with which I intended to trouble you. You must know I have become a horseman lately.' "'I understand as much from Mrs. Hadaway. I only hope, my good-earned friend, you have been fortunate in a quiet horse. I myself inadvertently bought one from this head, give you go lightly. Which brute ran two miles on end, with me after a pack of hounds, with which I had no more to do than the last year's snow. And after affording infinite amusement, I suppose, to the whole hunting field, he was so good as to deposit me in a dry ditch. I hope yours is a more peaceful beast. I hope at least we shall make our excursions on a better plan of mutual understanding. That is to say, you think yourself a good horseman.' "'I would not willingly,' answered Lovell, confess myself a very bad one. "'No. All you young fellows think that would be equal to calling yourselves tailors at once.' "'But have you had experience?' For Creda experto. A horse and a passion is no joker. "'Why, I should be sorry to boast myself as a great horseman, but when I acted as Ed Decomp to serve in the Calvary action at, last year I saw many better Cavaliers than myself dismounted. Ah! You have looked in the face of the grisly god of arms, then. You are acquainted with the frowns of Mars, are mipotent. That experience fills up the measure of your qualifications for the Epopea. The Britons, however, you will remember, fought in chariots. Coenari is the phrase of Tacitus. You recollect the fine description of their dashing among the Roman infantry, although the historian tells us how ill the rugged face of the ground was, calculated for equestrian combat. And truly, upon the whole, what sort of chariots could be driven in Scotland anywhere but on turnpike roads, has been to me always a matter of amazement? And well, now, has the muse visited you? Have you got anything to show me? My time, said Lovell, with a glance at his black dress, has been less pleasantly employed. The death of a friend, said the antiquary. Yes, Mr. Oldbuck, of almost the only friend I could ever boast of possessing. Indeed, well, young man, replied his visitor, in a tone of seriousness, very different from his effect of gravity. Be comforted. To have lost a friend by death while your mutual regard was warm and unchilled, while the tear can drop unabittered by any painful recollection of coldness, or distrust, or treachery, is perhaps an escape from a more heavy dispensation. Look round you. How few do you see grow old in the infections of those with whom their early friendships are formed. Our sources of common pleasure gradually dry up as we journey on through the veil of Bacha, and we hew out to ourselves other reservoirs from which the first companions of our pilgrimage are excluded. Jealousies, rivalries, envy, intervene to separate others from our side, until none remain but those who are connected with us, rather by habit, than predilection, or who allied more in blood than in disposition, only keep the old man company in his life that they may not be forgotten at his death. Hac dato poina, di you we went of us. Ah, Mr. Lovell, if it be your lot to reach the chill, cloudy and comfortless evening of life, you will remember the sorrows of your youth as the light shadowy clouds that intercepted for a moment the beams of the sun when it was rising. But I crammed these words into your ears against the stomach of your sense. I am sensible of your kindness, answered the youth, but the wound that is of recent infliction must always smart severely, and I should be little comforted under my present calamity. Forgive me for saying so. By the conviction that life had nothing in reserve for me but a train of successive sorrows. And permit me to add, you, Mr. Oldbuck, have least reason of many men to take so gloomy of you of life. You have a competent and easy fortune, are generally respected, may, in your own phrase, wakare mousses. Indulge yourself in the researches to which your taste addicts you. You may form your own society without doors, and within you have the affectionate and sedulous attention of the nearest relatives. Why, yes, the womankind, for womankind are, thanks to my training, very civil and tractable. Do not disturb me in my morning studies creep across the floor with the stealthy pace of a cat when it suits me to take a nap in my easy chair after dinner or tea. All this is very well, but I want something to exchange ideas with, something to talk to. Then why do you not invite your nephew, Captain Mintyre, who is mentioned by everyone as a fine-spirited young fellow, to become a member of your family? Who? exclaim on Barnes, my nephew Hector, the Hotspur of the North. Why, heaven love you, I would as soon invite a fire-brand into my state-yard. He is an El-Manzor, a shaman, has a Highland pedigree as long as his Claymore, and a Claymore as long as a high-streeted fairport, which he achieved upon the surgeon the last time he was at Fairport. I expect him here one of these days, but I will keep him at staff's end, I promise you. He an inmate of my house, to make my very chairs and tables tremble at his brawls. No, no, on none of Hector Mintyre. But Harkie-level, you are a quiet, dental-tempered lad, and not you better set up your staff at Monk Barnes for a month or two, since I conclude you do not immediately intend to leave this country. I'll have a door opened out to the garden. It will cost but a trifle. There's the space for an old one, which was condemned long ago. By which said door, you may pass and repass into the green chamber at pleasure, so you will not interfere with the old man, nor he with you. As for your fair, Mrs. Hattaway tells me you are, as she terms it, very moderate of your mouth, so you will not quarrel with my humble table. You're washing. Hold my dear Mr. Old Buck, in her pose-level, unable to repress a smile, and before your hospitality settles all my incombinations, let me thank you most sincerely for so kind an offer. It is not at present in my power to accept of it. But very likely, before I bid adieu to Scotland, I shall find an opportunity to pay you a visit of some length. Mr. Old Buck's countenance fell. Why, I thought I'd hit on the very arrangement that would suit us both, and who knows what might happen in the long run and whether we might ever part. Why, I am a master of my acre's man. There is the advantage of being descended from a man of more sense than pride. They cannot oblige me to transmit my good shadows and heritages, anyway but as I please. No string of substitute errors of entail, as empty and unsubstantial, as the morsels of paper strung to the train of a boy's kite, to cover my flights of inclination and my humors of predilection. Well, I see you won't be tempted at present. But Caledonia goes on, I hope. Oh, certainly, said Lovell, I cannot think of relinquishing a plan so hopeful. It is indeed, said the antiquary, looking gravely upward, for those shrewd and acute enough in estimating the variety of plans formed by others. He had a very natural, though rather disproportioned, good opinion of the importance of those which originated with himself. It is indeed one of those undertakings which, if achieved the spirit equal to that which dictates its conception, may redeem from the charger frivolity, the literature of the present generation. Here he was interrupted by a knock at the room door, which introduced a letter for Mr. Lovell. The servant waited, Mrs. Hadaway said, for an answer. You're concerned in this matter, Mr. Oldbuck, said Lovell, after glancing over the billet and handing it to the antiquary as he spoke. It was a letter from Sir Arthur Wardor, couched in extremely civil language, regretting that a fit of the gout had prevented his hitherto showing Mr. Lovell the attentions to which his conduct, during a late, perilous occasion, had so well entitled him. Apologizing for not paying his respects in person, but hoping Mr. Lovell would dispense with that ceremony, and be a member of a small party, which proposed to visit the ruins of St. Ruth's Priory on the following day, and afterwards to dine and spend the evening at Knock-Winnock Castle, Sir Arthur concluded with saying that he had sent to request the Monk Barn's family to join the party of pleasure which he thus proposed. The place of rendezvous was fixed at a turnpike-gate, which was about an equal distance from all the points from which the company were to assemble. Which shall we do? Said Lovell, looking at the antiquary, but pretty certain of the part he would take. Go, men! We'll go, by all means. Let me see. It will cost a post-chase, though, which will hold you and me, and marry him entire. Very well. And the other woman kind may go to the Mons. And you can come out in the chaise to Monk Barn's, as I will take it for the day. Why, I rather think I had better ride. True, true, I forget your Busephalus. You are foolish lad, by the by, for purchasing the brewed outright. You should stick to eighteen pence aside if you will trust any creature's legs in preference to your own. Why, as the horses have the advantage of moving considerably faster, and are besides two pair to one, I own I incline. Enough said, enough said. Do as you please. Well then, I'll bring either Grizzle or the minister, for I'd love to have my full penny-worth out of post-horses. And we meet at Turlingin Turnpike on Friday, at twelve o'clock precisely. And with this agreement, the friends separated. End Chapter Sixteenth