บทที่ บทที่ 66 · DULCE DOMUM

. DULCE DOMUM

The impression of horror with which Waverley left Carlisle softened by

degrees into melancholy, a gradation which was accelerated by the

painful yet soothing task of writing to Rose; and, while he could not

suppress his own feelings of the calamity, he endeavoured to place it

in a light which might grieve her without shocking her imagination. The

picture which he drew for her benefit he gradually familiarised to his

own mind, and his next letters were more cheerful, and referred to the

prospects of peace and happiness which lay before them. Yet, though his

first horrible sensations had sunk into melancholy, Edward had reached

his native country before he could, as usual on former occasions, look

round for enjoyment upon the face of nature.

He then, for the first time since leaving Edinburgh, began to

experience that pleasure which almost all feel who return to a verdant,

populous, and highly cultivated country from scenes of waste desolation

or of solitary and melancholy grandeur. But how were those feelings

enhanced when he entered on the domain so long possessed by his

forefathers; recognised the old oaks of Waverley-Chace; thought with

what delight he should introduce Rose to all his favourite haunts;

beheld at length the towers of the venerable hall arise above the woods

which embowered it, and finally threw himself into the arms of the

venerable relations to whom he owed so much duty and affection!

The happiness of their meeting was not tarnished by a single word of

reproach. On the contrary, whatever pain Sir Everard and Mrs. Rachel

had felt during Waverley’s perilous engagement with the young

Chevalier, it assorted too well with the principles in which they had

been brought up to incur reprobation, or even censure. Colonel Talbot

also had smoothed the way with great address for Edward’s favourable

reception by dwelling upon his gallant behaviour in the military

character, particularly his bravery and generosity at Preston; until,

warmed at the idea of their nephew’s engaging in single combat, making

prisoner, and saving from slaughter so distinguished an officer as the

Colonel himself, the imagination of the Baronet and his sister ranked

the exploits of Edward with those of Wilibert, Hildebrand, and Nigel,

the vaunted heroes of their line.

The appearance of Waverley, embrowned by exercise and dignified by the

habits of military discipline, had acquired an athletic and hardy

character, which not only verified the Colonel’s narration, but

surprised and delighted all the inhabitants of Waverley-Honour. They

crowded to see, to hear him, and to sing his praises. Mr. Pembroke, who

secretly extolled his spirit and courage in embracing the genuine cause

of the Church of England, censured his pupil gently, nevertheless, for

being so careless of his manuscripts, which indeed, he said, had

occasioned him some personal inconvenience, as, upon the Baronet’s

being arrested by a king’s messenger, he had deemed it prudent to

retire to a concealment called “The Priest’s Hole,” from the use it had

been put to in former days; where, he assured our hero, the butler had

thought it safe to venture with food only once in the day, so that he

had been repeatedly compelled to dine upon victuals either absolutely

cold or, what was worse, only half warm, not to mention that sometimes

his bed had not been arranged for two days together. Waverley’s mind

involuntarily turned to the Patmos of the Baron of Bradwardine, who was

well pleased with Janet’s fare and a few bunches of straw stowed in a

cleft in the front of a sand-cliff; but he made no remarks upon a

contrast which could only mortify his worthy tutor.

All was now in a bustle to prepare for the nuptials of Edward, an event

to which the good old Baronet and Mrs. Rachel looked forward as if to

the renewal of their own youth. The match, as Colonel Talbot had

intimated, had seemed to them in the highest degree eligible, having

every recommendation but wealth, of which they themselves had more than

enough. Mr. Clippurse was therefore summoned to Waverley-Honour, under

better auspices than at the commencement of our story. But Mr.

Clippurse came not alone; for, being now stricken in years, he had

associated with him a nephew, a younger vulture (as our English

Juvenal, who tells the tale of Swallow the attorney, might have called

him), and they now carried on business as Messrs. Clippurse and Hookem.

These worthy gentlemen had directions to make the necessary settlements

on the most splendid scale of liberality, as if Edward were to wed a

peeress in her own right, with her paternal estate tacked to the fringe

of her ermine.

But before entering upon a subject of proverbial delay, I must remind

my reader of the progress of a stone rolled downhill by an idle truant

boy (a pastime at which I was myself expert in my more juvenile years),

it moves at first slowly, avoiding by inflection every obstacle of the

least importance; but when it has attained its full impulse, and draws

near the conclusion of its career, it smokes and thunders down, taking

a rood at every spring, clearing hedge and ditch like a Yorkshire

huntsman, and becoming most furiously rapid in its course when it is

nearest to being consigned to rest for ever. Even such is the course of

a narrative like that which you are perusing. The earlier events are

studiously dwelt upon, that you, kind reader, may be introduced to the

character rather by narrative than by the duller medium of direct

description; but when the story draws near its close, we hurry over the

circumstances, however important, which your imagination must have

forestalled, and leave you to suppose those things which it would be

abusing your patience to relate at length.

We are, therefore, so far from attempting to trace the dull progress of

Messrs. Clippurse and Hookem, or that of their worthy official brethren

who had the charge of suing out the pardons of Edward Waverley and his

intended father-in-law, that we can but touch upon matters more

attractive. The mutual epistles, for example, which were exchanged

between Sir Everard and the Baron upon this occasion, though matchless

specimens of eloquence in their way, must be consigned to merciless

oblivion. Nor can I tell you at length how worthy Aunt Rachel, not

without a delicate and affectionate allusion to the circumstances which

had transferred Rose’s maternal diamonds to the hands of Donald Bean

Lean, stocked her casket with a set of jewels that a duchess might have

envied. Moreover, the reader will have the goodness to imagine that Job

Houghton and his dame were suitably provided for, although they could

never be persuaded that their son fell otherwise than fighting by the

young squire’s side; so that Alick, who, as a lover of truth, had made

many needless attempts to expound the real circumstances to them, was

finally ordered to say not a word more upon the subject. He indemnified

himself, however, by the liberal allowance of desperate battles, grisly

executions, and raw-head and bloody-bone stories with which he

astonished the servants’ hall.

But although these important matters may be briefly told in narrative,

like a newspaper report of a Chancery suit, yet, with all the urgency

which Waverley could use, the real time which the law proceedings

occupied, joined to the delay occasioned by the mode of travelling at

that period, rendered it considerably more than two months ere

Waverley, having left England, alighted once more at the mansion of the

Laird of Duchran to claim the hand of his plighted bride.

The day of his marriage was fixed for the sixth after his arrival. The

Baron of Bradwardine, with whom bridals, christenings, and funerals

were festivals of high and solemn import, felt a little hurt that,

including the family of the Duchran and all the immediate vicinity who

had title to be present on such an occasion, there could not be above

thirty persons collected. “When he was married,” he observed, “three

hundred horse of gentlemen born, besides servants, and some score or

two of Highland lairds, who never got on horseback, were present on the

occasion.”

But his pride found some consolation in reflecting that, he and his

son-in-law having been so lately in arms against government, it might

give matter of reasonable fear and offence to the ruling powers if they

were to collect together the kith, kin, and allies of their houses,

arrayed in effeir of war, as was the ancient custom of Scotland on

these occasions—“And, without dubitation,” he concluded with a sigh,

“many of those who would have rejoiced most freely upon these joyful

espousals are either gone to a better place or are now exiles from

their native land.”

The marriage took place on the appointed day. The Reverend Mr. Rubrick,

kinsman to the proprietor of the hospitable mansion where it was

solemnised, and chaplain to the Baron of Bradwardine, had the

satisfaction to unite their hands; and Frank Stanley acted as

bridesman, having joined Edward with that view soon after his arrival.

Lady Emily and Colonel Talbot had proposed being present; but Lady

Emily’s health, when the day approached, was found inadequate to the

journey. In amends it was arranged that Edward Waverley and his lady,

who, with the Baron, proposed an immediate journey to Waverley-Honour,

should in their way spend a few days at an estate which Colonel Talbot

had been tempted to purchase in Scotland as a very great bargain, and

at which he proposed to reside for some time.

CHAPTER XLII

This is no mine ain house, I ken by the bigging o’t.

_Old Song_.

The nuptial party travelled in great style. There was a coach and six

after the newest pattern, which Sir Everard had presented to his

nephew, that dazzled with its splendour the eyes of one half of

Scotland; there was the family coach of Mr. Rubrick;—both these were

crowded with ladies,—and there were gentlemen on horseback, with their

servants, to the number of a round score. Nevertheless, without having

the fear of famine before his eyes, Bailie Macwheeble met them in the

road to entreat that they would pass by his house at Little Veolan. The

Baron stared, and said his son and he would certainly ride by Little

Veolan and pay their compliments to the Bailie, but could not think of

bringing with them the “haill _comitatus nuptialis_, or matrimonial

procession.” He added, “that, as he understood that the barony had been

sold by its unworthy possessor, he was glad to see his old friend

Duncan had regained his situation under the new _dominus_, or

proprietor.” The Bailie ducked, bowed, and fidgeted, and then again

insisted upon his invitation; until the Baron, though rather piqued at

the pertinacity of his instances, could not nevertheless refuse to

consent without making evident sensations which he was anxious to

conceal.

He fell into a deep study as they approached the top of the avenue, and

was only startled from it by observing that the battlements were

replaced, the ruins cleared away, and (most wonderful of all) that the

two great stone bears, those mutilated Dagons of his idolatry, had

resumed their posts over the gateway. “Now this new proprietor,” said

he to Edward, “has shown mair _gusto_, as the Italians call it, in the

short time he has had this domain, than that hound Malcolm, though I

bred him here mysell, has acquired _vita adhuc durante_. And now I talk

of hounds, is not yon Ban and Buscar who come scouping up the avenue

with Davie Gellatley?”

“I vote we should go to meet them, sir,” said Waverley, “for I believe

the present master of the house is Colonel Talbot, who will expect to

see us. We hesitated to mention to you at first that he had purchased

your ancient patrimonial property, and even yet, if you do not incline

to visit him, we can pass on to the Bailie’s.”

The Baron had occasion for all his magnanimity. However, he drew a long

breath, took a long snuff, and observed, since they had brought him so

far, he could not pass the Colonel’s gate, and he would be happy to see

the new master of his old tenants. He alighted accordingly, as did the

other gentlemen and ladies; he gave his arm to his daughter, and as

they descended the avenue pointed out to her how speedily the _Diva

Pecunia_ of the Southron—their tutelary deity, he might call her—had

removed the marks of spoliation.

In truth, not only had the felled trees been removed, but, their stumps

being grubbed up and the earth round them levelled and sown with grass,

every mark of devastation, unless to an eye intimately acquainted with

the spot, was already totally obliterated. There was a similar

reformation in the outward man of Davie Gellatley, who met them, every

now and then stopping to admire the new suit which graced his person,

in the same colours as formerly, but bedizened fine enough to have

served Touchstone himself. He danced up with his usual ungainly

frolics, first to the Baron and then to Rose, passing his hands over

his clothes, crying, “Bra’, bra’ Davie,” and scarce able to sing a bar

to an end of his thousand-and-one songs for the breathless extravagance

of his joy. The dogs also acknowledged their old master with a thousand

gambols. “Upon my conscience, Rose,” ejaculated the Baron, “the

gratitude o’ thae dumb brutes and of that puir innocent brings the

tears into my auld een, while that schellum Malcolm—but I’m obliged to

Colonel Talbot for putting my hounds into such good condition, and

likewise for puir Davie. But, Rose, my dear, we must not permit them to

be a life-rent burden upon the estate.”

As he spoke, Lady Emily, leaning upon the arm of her husband, met the

party at the lower gate with a thousand welcomes. After the ceremony of

introduction had been gone through, much abridged by the ease and

excellent breeding of Lady Emily, she apologised for having used a

little art to wile them back to a place which might awaken some painful

reflections—“But as it was to change masters, we were very desirous

that the Baron—”

“Mr. Bradwardine, madam, if you please,” said the old gentleman.

“—Mr. Bradwardine, then, and Mr. Waverley should see what we have done

towards restoring the mansion of your fathers to its former state.”

The Baron answered with a low bow. Indeed, when he entered the court,

excepting that the heavy stables, which had been burnt down, were

replaced by buildings of a lighter and more picturesque appearance, all

seemed as much as possible restored to the state in which he had left

it when he assumed arms some months before. The pigeon-house was

replenished; the fountain played with its usual activity, and not only

the bear who predominated over its basin, but all the other bears

whatsoever, were replaced on their several stations, and renewed or

repaired with so much care that they bore no tokens of the violence

which had so lately descended upon them. While these _minutiæ_ had been

so needfully attended to, it is scarce necessary to add that the house

itself had been thoroughly repaired, as well as the gardens, with the

strictest attention to maintain the original character of both, and to

remove as far as possible all appearance of the ravage they had

sustained. The Baron gazed in silent wonder; at length he addressed

Colonel Talbot—

“While I acknowledge my obligation to you, sir, for the restoration of

the badge of our family, I cannot but marvel that you have nowhere

established your own crest, whilk is, I believe, a mastiff, anciently

called a talbot; as the poet has it,

“‘A talbot strong,—a sturdy tyke.’

At least such a dog is the crest of the martial and renowned Earls of

Shrewsbury, to whom your family are probably blood-relations.”

“I believe,” said the Colonel, smiling, “our dogs are whelps of the

same litter; for my part, if crests were to dispute precedence, I

should be apt to let them, as the proverb says, ‘fight dog, fight

bear.’”

As he made this speech, at which the Baron took another long pinch of

snuff, they had entered the house, that is, the Baron, Rose, and Lady

Emily, with young Stanley and the Bailie, for Edward and the rest of

the party remained on the terrace to examine a new greenhouse stocked

with the finest plants. The Baron resumed his favourite topic—“However

it may please you to derogate from the honour of your burgonet, Colonel

Talbot, which is doubtless your humour, as I have seen in other

gentlemen of birth and honour in your country, I must again repeat it

as a most ancient and distinguished bearing, as well as that of my

young friend Francis Stanley, which is the eagle and child.”

“The bird and bantling they call it in Derbyshire, sir,” said Stanley.

“Ye’re a daft callant, sir,” said the Baron, who had a great liking to

this young man, perhaps because he sometimes teased him—“Ye’re a daft

callant, and I must correct you some of these days,” shaking his great

brown fist at him. “But what I meant to say, Colonel Talbot, is, that

yours is an ancient _prosapia_, or descent, and since you have lawfully

and justly acquired the estate for you and yours which I have lost for

me and mine, I wish it may remain in your name as many centuries as it

has done in that of the late proprietor’s.”

“That,” answered the Colonel, “is very handsome, Mr. Bradwardine,

indeed.”

“And yet, sir, I cannot but marvel that you, Colonel, whom I noted to

have so much of the _amor patritæ_, when we met in Edinburgh as even to

vilipend other countries, should have chosen to establish your Lares,

or household gods, _procul a patriæ finibus_, and in a manner to

expatriate yourself.”

“Why really, Baron, I do not see why, to keep the secret of these

foolish boys, Waverley and Stanley, and of my wife, who is no wiser,

one old soldier should continue to impose upon another. You must know,

then, that I have so much of that same prejudice in favour of my native

country, that the sum of money which I advanced to the seller of this

extensive barony has only purchased for me a box in ——shire, called

Brerewood Lodge, with about two hundred and fifty acres of land, the

chief merit of which is, that it is within a very few miles of

Waverley-Honour.”

“And who, then, in the name of Heaven, has bought this property?”

“That,” said the Colonel, “it is this gentleman’s profession to

explain.”

The Bailie, whom this reference regarded, and who had all this while

shifted from one foot to another with great impatience, “like a hen,”

as he afterwards said, “upon a het girdle”; and chuckling, he might

have added, like the said hen in all the glory of laying an egg, now

pushed forward. “That I can, that I can, your Honour,” drawing from his

pocket a budget of papers, and untying the red tape with a hand

trembling with eagerness. “Here is the disposition and assignation by

Malcolm Bradwardine of Inch-Grabbit, regularly signed and tested in

terms of the statute, whereby, for a certain sum of sterling money

presently contented and paid to him, he has disponed, alienated, and

conveyed the whole estate and barony of Bradwardine, Tully-Veolan, and

others, with the fortalice and manor-place—”

“For God’s sake, to the point, sir; I have all that by heart,” said the

Colonel.

“—To Cosmo Comyne Bradwardine, Esq.,” pursued the Bailie, “his heirs and

assignees, simply and irredeemably, to be held either _a me vel de

me_—”

“Pray read short, sir.”

“On the conscience of an honest man, Colonel, I read as short as is

consistent with style—under the burden and reservation always—”

“Mr. Macwheeble, this would outlast a Russian winter; give me leave. In

short, Mr. Bradwardine, your family estate is your own once more in

full property, and at your absolute disposal, but only burdened with

the sum advanced to re-purchase it, which I understand is utterly

disproportioned to its value.”

“An auld sang—an auld sang, if it please your Honours,” cried the

Bailie, rubbing his hands; “look at the rental book.”

“—Which sum being advanced, by Mr. Edward Waverley, chiefly from the

price of his father’s property which I bought from him, is secured to

his lady your daughter and her family by this marriage.”

“It is a catholic security,” shouted the Bailie, “to Rose Comyne

Bradwardine, _alias_ Wauverley, in life-rent, and the children of the

said marriage in fee; and I made up a wee bit minute of an antenuptial

contract, _intuitu matrimonij_, so it cannot be subject to reduction

hereafter, as a donation _inter virum et uxorem_.”

It is difficult to say whether the worthy Baron was most delighted with

the restitution of his family property or with the delicacy and

generosity that left him unfettered to pursue his purpose in disposing

of it after his death, and which avoided as much as possible even the

appearance of laying him under pecuniary obligation. When his first

pause of joy and astonishment was over, his thoughts turned to the

unworthy heir-male, who, he pronounced, had sold his birthright, like

Esau, for a mess o’ pottage.

“But wha cookit the parritch for him?” exclaimed the Bailie; “I wad

like to ken that;—wha but your Honour’s to command, Duncan Macwheeble?

His Honour, young Mr. Wauverley, put it a’ into my hand frae the

beginning—frae the first calling o’ the summons, as I may say. I

circumvented them—I played at bogle about the bush wi’ them—I cajolled

them; and if I havena gien Inch-Grabbit and Jamie Howie a bonnie

begunk, they ken themselves. Him a writer! I didna gae slapdash to them

wi’ our young bra’ bridegroom, to gar them baud up the market. Na, na;

I scared them wi’ our wild tenantry, and the Mac-Ivors, that are but

ill settled yet, till they durstna on ony errand whatsoever gang ower

the doorstane after gloaming, for fear John Heatherblutter, or some

siccan dare-the-deil, should tak a baff at them; then, on the other

hand, I beflummed them wi’ Colonel Talbot; wad they offer to keep up

the price again’ the Duke’s friend? did they na ken wha was master? had

they na seen eneugh, by the sad example of mony a puir misguided

unhappy body—”

“Who went to Derby, for example, Mr. Macwheeble?” said the Colonel to

him aside.

“O whisht, Colonel, for the love o’ God! let that flee stick i’ the

wa’. There were mony good folk at Derby; and it’s ill speaking of

halters”—with a sly cast of his eye toward the Baron, who was in a deep

reverie.

Starting out of it at once, he took Macwheeble by the button and led

him into one of the deep window recesses, whence only fragments of

their conversation reached the rest of the party. It certainly related

to stamp-paper and parchment; for no other subject, even from the mouth

of his patron, and he once more an efficient one, could have arrested

so deeply the Bailie’s reverent and absorbed attention.

“I understand your Honour perfectly; it can be dune as easy as taking

out a decreet in absence.”

“To her and him, after my demise, and to their heirs-male, but

preferring the second son, if God shall bless them with two, who is to

carry the name and arms of Bradwardine of that ilk, without any other

name or armorial bearings whatsoever.”

“Tut, your Honour!” whispered the Bailie, “I’ll mak a slight jotting

the morn; it will cost but a charter of resignation _in favorem;_ and

I’ll hae it ready for the next term in Exchequer.”

Their private conversation ended, the Baron was now summoned to do the

honours of Tully-Veolan to new guests. These were Major Melville of

Cairnvreckan and the Reverend Mr. Morton, followed by two or three

others of the Baron’s acquaintances, who had been made privy to his

having again acquired the estate of his fathers. The shouts of the

villagers were also heard beneath in the courtyard; for Saunders

Saunderson, who had kept the secret for several days with laudable

prudence, had unloosed his tongue upon beholding the arrival of the

carriages.

But, while Edward received Major Melville with politeness and the

clergyman with the most affectionate and grateful kindness, his

father-in-law looked a little awkward, as uncertain how he should

answer the necessary claims of hospitality to his guests, and forward

the festivity of his tenants. Lady Emily relieved him by intimating

that, though she must be an indifferent representative of Mrs. Edward

Waverley in many respects, she hoped the Baron would approve of the

entertainment she had ordered in expectation of so many guests; and

that they would find such other accommodations provided as might in

some degree support the ancient hospitality of Tully-Veolan. It is

impossible to describe the pleasure which this assurance gave the

Baron, who, with an air of gallantry half appertaining to the stiff

Scottish laird and half to the officer in the French service, offered

his arm to the fair speaker, and led the way, in something between a

stride and a minuet step, into the large dining parlour, followed by

all the rest of the good company.

By dint of Saunderson’s directions and exertions, all here, as well as

in the other apartments, had been disposed as much as possible

according to the old arrangement; and where new movables had been

necessary, they had been selected in the same character with the old

furniture. There was one addition to this fine old apartment, however,

which drew tears into the Baron’s eyes. It was a large and spirited

painting, representing Fergus Mac-Ivor and Waverley in their Highland

dress, the scene a wild, rocky, and mountainous pass, down which the

clan were descending in the background. It was taken from a spirited

sketch, drawn while they were in Edinburgh by a young man of high

genius, and had been painted on a full-length scale by an eminent

London artist. Raeburn himself (whose “Highland Chiefs” do all but walk

out of the canvas) could not have done more justice to the subject; and

the ardent, fiery, and impetuous character of the unfortunate Chief of

Glennaquoich was finely contrasted with the contemplative, fanciful,

and enthusiastic expression of his happier friend. Beside this painting

hung the arms which Waverley had borne in the unfortunate civil war.

The whole piece was beheld with admiration and deeper feelings.

Men must, however, eat, in spite both of sentiment and _vertu;_ and the

Baron, while he assumed the lower end of the table, insisted that Lady

Emily should do the honours of the head, that they might, he said, set

a meet example to the _young folk_. After a pause of deliberation,

employed in adjusting in his own brain the precedence between the

Presbyterian kirk and Episcopal church of Scotland, he requested Mr.

Morton, as the stranger, would crave a blessing, observing that Mr.

Rubrick, who was at _home_, would return thanks for the distinguished

mercies it had been his lot to experience. The dinner was excellent.

Saunderson attended in full costume, with all the former domestics, who

had been collected, excepting one or two, that had not been heard of

since the affair of Culloden. The cellars were stocked with wine which

was pronounced to be superb, and it had been contrived that the Bear of

the Fountain, in the courtyard, should (for that night only) play

excellent brandy punch for the benefit of the lower orders.

When the dinner was over the Baron, about to propose a toast, cast a

somewhat sorrowful look upon the sideboard, which, however, exhibited

much of his plate, that had either been secreted or purchased by

neighbouring gentlemen from the soldiery, and by them gladly restored

to the original owner.

“In the late times,” he said, “those must be thankful who have saved

life and land; yet when I am about to pronounce this toast, I cannot

but regret an old heirloom, Lady Emily, a _poculum potatorium_, Colonel

Talbot—”

Here the Baron’s elbow was gently touched by his major-domo, and,

turning round, he beheld in the hands of Alexander ab Alexandro the

celebrated cup of Saint Duthac, the Blessed Bear of Bradwardine! I

question if the recovery of his estate afforded him more rapture. “By

my honour,” he said, “one might almost believe in brownies and fairies,

Lady Emily, when your ladyship is in presence!”

“I am truly happy,” said Colonel Talbot, “that, by the recovery of this

piece of family antiquity, it has fallen within my power to give you

some token of my deep interest in all that concerns my young friend

Edward. But that you may not suspect Lady Emily for a sorceress, or me

for a conjuror, which is no joke in Scotland, I must tell you that

Frank Stanley, your friend, who has been seized with a tartan fever

ever since he heard Edward’s tales of old Scottish manners, happened to

describe to us at second-hand this remarkable cup. My servant,

Spontoon, who, like a true old soldier, observes everything and says

little, gave me afterwards to understand that he thought he had seen

the piece of plate Mr. Stanley mentioned in the possession of a certain

Mrs. Nosebag, who, having been originally the helpmate of a pawnbroker,

had found opportunity during the late unpleasant scenes in Scotland to

trade a little in her old line, and so became the depositary of the

more valuable part of the spoil of half the army. You may believe the

cup was speedily recovered; and it will give me very great pleasure if

you allow me to suppose that its value is not diminished by having been

restored through my means.”

A tear mingled with the wine which the Baron filled, as he proposed a

cup of gratitude to Colonel Talbot, and “The Prosperity of the united

Houses of Waverley-Honour and Bradwardine!”

It only remains for me to say that, as no wish was ever uttered with

more affectionate sincerity, there are few which, allowing for the

necessary mutability of human events, have been upon the whole more

happily fulfilled.