Waverley; Or, 'Tis Sixty Years Since by Walter Scott (books to read for self improvement .txt) 📕

“Amen with all my heart,” said Waverley; “but now, Mr. Macwheeble, let us proceed to business.” This word had somewhat a sedative effect, but the Bailie’s head, as he expressed himself, was still “in the bees.” He mended his pen, however, marked half a dozen sheets of paper with an ample marginal fold, whipped down Dallas of St. Martin’s “Styles” from a shelf, where that venerable work roosted with Stair’s “Institutions,” Dirleton’s “Doubts,” Balfour’s “Practiques,” and a parcel of old account-books, opened the volume at the article Contract of Marriage, and prepared to make what he called a’sma’ minute to prevent parties frae resiling.”

With some difficulty Waverley made him comprehend that he was going a little too fast. He explained to him that he should want his assistance, in the first place, to make his residence safe for the time, by writing to the officer at Tully-Veolan that Mr. Stanley, an English gentleman nearly related to Colonel Talbot, was upon a visit of business at Mr. Macwheeble’s, and, knowing the state of the country, had sent his passport for Captain Foster’s inspection. This produced a polite answer from the officer, with an invitation to Mr. Stanley to dine with him, which was declined (as may easily be supposed) under pretence of business.

Waverley’s next request was, that Mr. Macwheeble would despatch a man and horse to——, the post-town at which Colonel Talbot was to address him, with directions to wait there until the post should bring a letter for Mr. Stanley, and then to forward it to Little Veolan with all speed. In a moment the Bailie was in search of his apprentice (or servitor, as he was called Sixty Years Since), Jock Scriever, and in not much greater space of time Jock was on the back of the white pony. “Tak care ye guide him weel, sir, for he’s aye been short in the wind since—ahem—Lord be gude to me! (in a low voice), I was gaun to come out wi’—since I rode whip and spur to fetch the Chevalier to redd Mr. Wauverley and Vich Ian Vohr; and an uncanny coup I gat for my pains. Lord forgie your honour! I might hae broken my neck; but troth it was in a venture, mae ways nor ane; but this maks amends for a’. Lady Wauverley! ten thousand a year! Lord be gude unto me!”

“But you forget, Mr. Macwheeble, we want the Baron’s consent—the lady’s—”

“Never fear, I’se be caution for them; I’se gie you my personal warrandice. Ten thousand a year! it dings Balmawhapple out and out—a year’s rent’s worth a’ Balmawhapple, fee and life-rent! Lord make us thankful!”

To turn the current of his feelings, Edward inquired if he had heard anything lately of the Chieftain of Glennaquoich.

“Not one word,” answered Macwheeble, “but that he was still in Carlisle Castle, and was soon to be panelled for his life. I dinna wish the young gentleman ill,” he said, “but I hope that they that hae got him will keep him, and no let him back to this Hieland border to plague us wi’ black-mail and a’ manner o’ violent, wrongous, and masterfu’ oppression and spoliation, both by himself and others of his causing, sending, and hounding out; and he couldna tak care o’ the siller when he had gotten it neither, but flung it a’ into yon idle quean’s lap at Edinburgh; but light come light gane. For my part, I never wish to see a kilt in the country again, nor a red-coat, nor a gun, for that matter, unless it were to shoot a paitrick; they’re a’ tarr’d wi’ ae stick. And when they have done ye wrang, even when ye hae gotten decreet of spuilzie, oppression, and violent profits against them, what better are ye? They hae na a plack to pay ye; ye need never extract it.”

With such discourse, and the intervening topics of business, the time passed until dinner, Macwheeble meanwhile promising to devise some mode of introducing Edward at the Duchran, where Rose at present resided, without risk of danger or suspicion; which seemed no very easy task, since the laird was a very zealous friend to government. The poultry-yard had been laid under requisition, and cockyleeky and Scotch collops soon reeked in the Bailie’s little parlour. The landlord’s cork-screw was just introduced into the muzzle of a pint bottle of claret (cribbed possibly from the cellars of Tully-Veolan), when the sight of the grey pony passing the window at full trot induced the Bailie, but with due precaution, to place it aside for the moment. Enter Jock Scriever with a packet for Mr. Stanley; it is Colonel Talbot’s seal, and Edward’s ringers tremble as he undoes it. Two official papers, folded, signed, and sealed in all formality, drop out. They were hastily picked up by the Bailie, who had a natural respect for everything resembling a deed, and, glancing slily on their titles, his eyes, or rather spectacles, are greeted with “Protection by his Royal Highness to the person of Cosmo Comyne Bradwardine, Esq., of that ilk, commonly called Baron of Bradwardine, forfeited for his accession to the late rebellion.” The other proves to be a protection of the same tenor in favour of Edward Waverley, Esq. Colonel Talbot’s letter was in these words:—

MY DEAR EDWARD,—I am just arrived here, and yet I have finished my business; it has cost me some trouble though, as you shall hear. I waited upon his Royal Highness immediately on my arrival, and found him in no very good humour for my purpose. Three or four Scotch gentlemen were just leaving his levee. After he had expressed himself to me very courteously; “Would you think it,” he said, “Talbot, here have been half a dozen of the most respectable gentlemen and best friends to government north of the Forth, Major Melville of Cairnvreckan, Rubrick of Duchran, and others, who have fairly wrung from me, by their downright importunity, a present protection and the promise of a future pardon for that stubborn old rebel whom they call Baron of Bradwardine. They allege that his high personal character, and the clemency which he showed to such of our people as fell into the rebels’ hands, should weigh in his favour, especially as the loss of his estate is likely to be a severe enough punishment. Rubrick has undertaken to keep him at his own house till things are settled in the country; but it’s a little hard to be forced in a manner to pardon such a mortal enemy to the House of Brunswick.” This was no favourable moment for opening my business; however, I said I was rejoiced to learn that his Royal Highness was in the course of granting such requests, as it emboldened me to present one of the like nature in my own name. He was very angry, but I persisted; I mentioned the uniform support of our three votes in, the house, touched modestly on services abroad, though valuable only in his Royal Highness’s having been pleased kindly to accept them, and founded pretty strongly on his own expressions of friendship and good-will. He was embarrassed, but obstinate. I hinted the policy of detaching, on all future occasions, the heir of such a fortune as your uncle’s from the machinations of the disaffected. But I made no impression. I mentioned the obligations which I lay under to Sir Everard and to you personally, and claimed, as the sole reward of my services, that he would be pleased to afford me the means of evincing my gratitude. I perceived that he still meditated a refusal, and, taking my commission from my pocket, I said (as a last resource) that, as his Royal Highness did not, under these pressing circumstances, think me worthy of a favour which he had not scrupled to grant to other gentlemen whose services I could hardly judge more important than my own, I must beg leave to deposit, with all humility, my commission in his Royal Highness’s hands, and to retire from the service. He was not prepared for this; he told me to take up my commission, said some handsome things of my services, and granted my request. You are therefore once more a free man, and I have