The weather-tinted rock and tower,
Each drooping tree, each fairy flower,
So true, so soft, the mirror gave,
As if there lay beneath the wave,
Secure from trouble, toil, and care,
A world than earthly world more fair.

But distant winds began to wake,
"And roused the Genius of the Lake!
He heard the groaning of the oak,
And donn'd at once his sable cloak,
As warrior, at the battle-cry,
Invests him with his panoply;
Then, as the whirlwind nearer press'd,
He 'gan to shake his foamy crest
O'er furrow'd brow and blacken'd cheek,
And bade his surge in thunder speak.
In wild and broken eddies whirl❜d,
Flitted that fond ideal world,
And to the shore in tumult tost,
The realms of fairy bliss were lost.

Yet, with a stern delight and strange,

I saw the spirit-stirring change.

As warr'd the wind with wave and wood, Upon the ruin'd tower I stood,

And felt my heart more strongly bound, Responsive to the lofty sound, While, joying in the mighty roar, *I mourn'd that tranquil scene no more. So, on the idle dreams of youth Breaks the loud trumpet-call of Truth, Bids each fair vision pass away, Like landscape on the lake that lay, As fair, as flitting, and as frail,

As that which fled the Autumn gale

For ever dead to fancy's eye,

Be each gay form that glided by,
While dreams of love and lady's charms
Give place to honour and to arms!

In sober prose, as perhaps these verses intimate less decidedly, the transient idea of Miss Cæcilia Stubbs passed from Captain Waverley's heart amid the turmoil which his new destinies excited. She appeared indeed in full splendour in her father's pew upon the Sunday when he attended service for the last time at the old parish church, upon which occasion, at the request of his uncle and Aunt Rachael, he was induced (nothing loth, if the truth must be told) to present himself in full uniform.

There is no better antidote against entertaining too high an opinion of others, than having an excellent one of ourselves at the very same time. Miss Stubbs had indeed summoned up every assistance which art could afford to beauty; but, alas! hoop, patches, frizzled locks, and a new mantua of genuine French silk, were lost upon a young officer of dragoons, who wore for the first time his gold-laced hat, boots, and broad sword. I know not whether, like the champion of an old ballad,

His heart was all on honour bent,

He could not stoop to love;
No lady in the land had power

His frozen heart to move ;

Or whether the deep and flaming bars of embroidered gold, which now fenced his breast, defied the artillery of Cæcilia's eyes, but every arrow was launched at him in vain.

Yet did I mark where Cupid's shaft did light:

It lighted not on little western flower,

But on a yeoman, flower of all the west,

Hight Jonas Culbertfield, the steward's son.

Craving pardon for my heroics, (which I am unable in certain cases to resist giving way to) it is a melancholy fact, that my history must here take leave of the fair Cæcilia, who, like many a daughter of Eve, after the departure of Edward, and the dissipation of certain idle visions which she had adopted, quietly contented herself with a pis-aller, and gave her hand, at the distance of six months, to the aforesaid Jonas, son of the baronet's steward, an heir (no unfertile prospect) to a steward's fortune; besides the snug probability of succeeding to his father's office. All these advantages moved squire Stubbs, as much as the ruddy brow and manly form of the suitor influenced his daughter, to abate somewhat in the article of their gentry, and so the match was concluded. None seemed more gratified than Aunt Rachael, who had hitherto looked rather askaunce upon the presumptuous damsel, (as much so peradventure as her nature would permit) but who, on the first appearance of the new-married pair at church, honoured the bride with a smile and a profound courtesy, in presence of the rector, the curate, the clerk, and the whole congregation of the united parishes of Waverley cum Beverley.

I beg pardon, once and for all, of those readers who take up novels merely for amusement, for plaguing them so long with old fashioned politics, and Whig and Tory, and Hanoverians and Jacobites. The truth is, I cannot promise them that this story shall be intelligible, not to say probable, without it. My plan requires that I should explain the motives on which its action proceeded; and these motives necessarily arose from the feelings, prejudices, and parties, of the times. I do not invite my fair readers, whose sex and impa4*

VOL. I.

tience give them the greatest right to complain of these circumstances, into a flying chariot drawn by hyppogriffs, or moved by enchantment. Mine is a humble English post-chaise, drawn upon four wheels, and keeping his majesty's highway. Those who dislike the vehicle may leave it at the next halt, and wait for the conveyance of Prince Hussein's tapestry, or Malek the Weaver's flying sentry-box. Those who are contented to remain with me will be occasionally exposed to the dulness inseparable from heavy roads, steep hills, sloughs, and other terrestrial retardations; but, with tolerable horses, and a civil driver, (as the advertisements have it) I also engage to get as soon as possible into a more picturesque and romantic country, if my passengers incline to have some patience with me during my first stages.

CHAPTER VI.

THE ADIEUS OF WAVERLEY.

Ir was upon the evening of this memorable Sunday that Sir Everard entered the library, where he narrowly missed surprising our young hero as he went through the guards of the broadsword with the ancient brand of old Sir Hildebrand, which, being preserved as an heir-loom, usually hung over the chimney in the library, beneath a picture of the knight and his horse, where the features were almost entirely hidden

- by the knight's profusion of curled hair, and the Bucephalus which he bestrode concealed by the voluminous robes of the Bath with which he was decorated. Sir Everard entered, and after a glance at the picture and another at his nephew, began a little speech, which, however, soon dropt into the natural simplicity of his common manner, agitated upon the present occasion by no common feeling. Nephew,' he said; and then, as mending his phrase, My dear Edward, it is God's will, and also the will of your father, whom, under God, it is your duty to obey, that you should leave us, to take up the profession of arms, in which so many of your ancestors have been distinguished. I have made such arrangements as will enable you to take the field as their descendant, and as the probable heir of the house of Waverley; and, sir, in the field of battle you will remember what name you bear. And, Edward, my dear boy, remember also that you are the last of that race, and the only hope of its revival depends upon you; therefore, as far as duty and honour will permit, avoid danger-I mean unnecessary danger and keep no company with rakes, gamblers, and whigs, of whom, it is to be feared, there are but too many in the service into which you are going. Your colonel, as I am informed, is an excellent man-for a presbyterian ; but you will remember your duty to God, the church of England, and the (this breach ought to have been supplied, according to the rubric, with the word king; but as, unfortunately, that word conveyed a double and embarrassing sense, one meaning de facto, and the other de jure, the knight filled up the blank otherwise) the church of England, and all consti

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