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

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 Brere-wood 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 Bradwardme, 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