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THE KING'S

MOST GRACIOUS MAJESTY.

SIRE,

The Author of this Collection of Works of Fiction would not have presumed to solicit for them Your Majesty's August Patronage, were it not that the perusal has been supposed, in some instances, to have succeeded in amusing hours of relaxation, or relieving those of languor, pain, or anxiety; and therefore must have so far aided the warmest wish of Your Majesty's heart, by contributing, in however small a degree, to the happiness of your people.

They are therefore humbly dedicated to Your Majesty, agreeably to your gracious permission, by

ABBOTSFORD,

YOUR MAJESTY'S

Dutiful Subject,

WALTER SCOTT.

1st January 1829.

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INTRODUCTION-(1829.)

THE plan of this Edition leads me to insert in this place some account of the incidents on which the Novel of WAVERLEY is founded. They have been already given to the public, by my late lamented friend, William Erskine, Esq. (afterwards Lord Kinneder), when reviewing the Tales of My Landlord for the Quarterly Review, in 1817. The particulars were derived by the Critic from the Author's information. Afterwards they were published in the Preface to the Chronicles of the Canongate. They are now inserted in their proper place.

The mutual protection afforded by Waverley and Talbot to each other, upon which the whole plot depends, is founded upon one of those anecdotes which soften the features even of civil war; and as it is equally honourable to the memory of both parties, we have no hesitation to give their names at length. When the Highlanders, on the morning of the battle of Preston, 1745, made their memorable attack on Sir John Cope's army, a battery of four field-pieces was stormed and carried by the Camerons and the Stewarts of Appine. The late Alexander Stewart of Invernahyle was one of the foremost in the charge, and observing an officer of the King's forces, who, scorning to join the flight of all around, remained with his sword in his hand, as if determined to the very last to defend the post assigned to him, the Highland gentleman commanded him to surrender, and received for reply a thrust, which he caught in his target. The officer was now defenceless, and the battle-axe of a gigantic Highlander (the miller of Invernahyle's mill) was uplifted to dash his brains out, when Mr Stewart with difficulty prevailed on him to yield. He took charge of his enemy's property, protected his per

son, and finally obtained him liberty on his parole. The officer proved to be Colonel Whitefoord, an Ayrshire gentleman of high character and influence, and warmly attached to the House of Hanover; yet such was the confidence existing between these two honourable men, though of different political principles, that while the civil war was raging, and straggling officers from the Highland army were executed without mercy, Invernahyle hesitated not to pay his late captive a visit, as he returned to the Highlands to raise fresh recruits, on which occasion he spent a day or two in Ayrshire among Colonel Whitefoord's Whig friends, as pleasantly and as good-humouredly as if all had been at peace around

him.

After the battle of Culloden had ruined the hopes of Charles Edward, and dispersed his proscribed adherents, it was Colonel Whitefoord's turn to strain every nerve to obtain Mr Stewart's pardon. He went to the Lord Justice-Clerk, to the Lord Advocate, and to all the officers of state, and each application was answered by the production of a list, in which Invernahyle (as the good old gentleman was wont to express it) appeared "marked with the sign of the beast!" as a subject unfit for favour or pardon.

At length Colonel Whitefoord applied to the Duke of Cumberland in person. From him, also, he received a positive refusal. He then limited his request, for the present, to a protection for Stewart's house, wife, children, and property. This was also refused by the Duke; on which Colonel Whitefoord, taking his commission from his bosom, laid it on the table before his Royal Highness with much emotion, and asked permission to retire from the service of a sovereign who did not know how to spare a vanquished enemy. The Duke was struck,

and even affected. He bade the Colonel take up his commission, and granted the protection he required. It was issued just in time to save the house, corn, and cattle at Invernahyle, from the troops who were engaged in laying waste what it was the fashion to call "the country of the enemy." A small encampment of soldiers was formed on Invernahyle's property, which they spared while plun- | dering the country around, and searching in every direction for the leaders of the insurrection, and for Stewart in particular. He was much nearer them than they suspected; for, hidden in a cave (like the Baron of Bradwardine), he lay for many days so near the English sentinels, that he could hear their muster-roll called. His food was brought to him by one of his daughters, a child of eight years old, whom Mrs Stewart was under the necessity of intrusting with this commission; for her own motions, and those of all her elder inmates, were closely watched. With ingenuity beyond her years, the child used to stray about among the soldiers, who were rather kind to her, and thus seize the moment when she was unobserved, and steal into the thicket, when she deposited whatever small store of provisions she had in charge at some marked spot, where her father might find it. Invernalıyle supported life for several weeks by means of these precarious supplies; and as he had been wounded in the battle of Culloden, the hardships which he endured were aggravated by great bodily pain. After the soldiers had removed their quarters, he had another remarkable escape.

As he now ventured to his own house at night, and left it in the morning, he was espied during the dawn by a party of the enemy, who fired at and pursued him. The fugitive being fortunate enough to escape their search, they returned to the house, and charged the family with harbouring one of the proscribed traitors. An old woman had presence of mind enough to maintain that the man they had seen was the shepherd. "Why did he not stop when we called to him?" said the soldier." He is as deaf, poor man, as a peat-stack," answered the ready-witted domestic." Let him be sent for directly." The real shepherd accordingly was brought from the hill, and as there was time to tutor him by the way, he was as deaf when he made his appearance, as was necessary to sustain his character. Invernahyle was afterwards pardoned under the Act of Indemnity.

The Author knew him well, and has often heard these circumstances from his own mouth. He was a noble specimen of the old Highlander, far descended, gallant, courteous, and brave, even to chivalry. He had been out, I believe, in 1715 and 1745, was an active partaker in all the stirring scenes which passed in the Highlands betwixt these memorable eras; and, I have heard, was remarkable, among other exploits, for having fought a duel with the broadsword with the celebrated Rob Roy MacGregor, at the Clachan of Balguidder.

Invernahyle chanced to be in Edinburgh when Paul Jones came into the Frith of Forth, and though then an old man, I saw him in arms, and heard him exult (to use his own words) in the prospect of "drawing his claymore once more before he died." In fact, on that memorable occasion, when the capital of Scotland was menaced by three trifling sloops or brigs, scarce fit to have sacked a fishing village, he was the only man who seemed to propose a plan of resistance. He offered to the magistrates, if broadswords and dirks could be obtained, to find as many Highlanders among the lower classes, as would cut off any boat's crew who might be sent into a town full of narrow and winding passages, in which they were like to disperse in quest of plunder. I know not if his plan was attended to; I rather think it seemed too hazardous to the constituted authorities, who might not, even at that time, desire to see arms in Highland hands. A steady and powerful west wind settled the matter, by sweeping Paul Jones and his vessels out of the Frith.

If there is something degrading in this recollection, it is not unpleasant to compare it with those of the last war, when Edinburgh, besides regular forces and militia, furnished a volunteer brigade of cavalry, infantry, and artillery, to the amount of six thousand men and upwards, which was in readiness to meet and repel a force of a far more formidable description than was commanded by the adventurous American. Time and circumstances change the character of nations and the fate of cities; and it is some pride to a Scotchman to reflect, that the independent and manly character of a country willing to intrust its own protection to the arms of its children, after having been obscured for half a century, has, during the course of his own lifetime, recovered its lustre.

Other illustrations of Waverley will be found in the Notes at the foot of the pages to which they belong. Those which appeared too long to be so placed, are given at the end of the Novel.

PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION(OCT. 1814.)

To this slight attempt at a sketch of ancient Scottish manners, the public have been more favourable than the Author durst have hoped or expected. He has heard, with a mixture of satisfaction and humility, his work ascribed to more than one respectable name. Considerations, which seem weighty in his particular situation, prevent his releasing those gentlenen from suspicion by placing his own name in the title-page; so that, for the present at least, it must remain uncertain, whether WAVERLEY be the work of a poet or a critic, a lawyer or a clergyman, or whether the writer, to use Mrs Malaprop's phrase, be, “like Cerberus-three gentlemen at

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once." The Author, as he is unconscious of any thing could be farther from his wish or intention thing in the work itself (except perhaps its frivolity) The character of Callum Beg is that of a spirit which prevents its finding an acknowledged father, naturally turned to daring evil, and determined, by leaves it to the candour of the public to choose the circumstances of his situation, to a particular among the many circumstances peculiar to different species of mischief. Those who have perused the situations in life, such as may induce him to sup- curious Letters from the Highlands, published about press his name on the present occasion. He may 1726, will find instances of such atrocious characbe a writer new to publication, and unwilling to ters which fell under the writer's own observation, avow a character to which he is unaccustomed; or though it would be most unjust to consider such he may be a hackneyed author, who is ashamed of villains as representatives of the Highlanders of too frequent appearance, and employs this mystery, that period, any more than the murderers of Marr as the heroine of the old comedy used her mask, to and Williamson can be supposed to represent the attract the attention of those to whom her face had English of the present day. As for the plunder become too familiar. He may be a man of a grave supposed to have been picked up by some of the profession, to whom the reputation of being a novel- insurgents in 1745, it must be remembered that, writer might be prejudicial; or he may be a man of although the way of that unfortunate little army fashion, to whom writing of any kind might appear was neither marked by devastation nor bloodshed, pedantic. He may be too young to assume the but, on the contrary, was orderly and quiet in a most character of an author, or so old as to make it ad- wonderful degree, yet no army marches through visable to lay it aside. a country in a hostile manner without committing some depredations; and several, to the extent, and of the nature, jocularly imputed to them by the Baron, were really laid to the charge of the Highland insurgents; for which many traditions, and particularly one respecting the Knight of the Mirror, may be quoted as good evidence.1

The Author of Waverley has heard it objected to this novel, that, in the character of Callum Beg, and in the account given by the Baron of Bradwardine of the petty trespasses of the Highlanders upou trifling articles of property, he has borne hard, and unjustly so, upon their national character. No

1 A homely metrical narrative of the events of the period, which contains some striking particulars, and is still a great favourite with the lower classes, gives a very correct statement of the behaviour of the mountaineers respecting this same military licence; and as the verses are little known, and contain some good sense, we venture to insert them.

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I've seen the men call'd Highland Rogues,
With Lowland men make shangs a brogs,
Sup kail and brose, and fling the cogs
Out at the door,

Take cocks, hens, sheep, and hogs,
And pay nought for.

saw a Highlander, 'twas right drole,
With a string of puddings hung on a pole,
Whip'd o'er his shoulder, skipped like a fole,
Caus'd Maggy baun,

Lap o'er the midden and midden-hole,
And aff he ran.

When check'd for this, they'd often tell yo-
Indeed her nainsell's a tume belly;

You'll no gie't wanting bought, nor sell me;
Hersell will hae't;

Go tell King Shorge, and Shordy's Willie,
I'll hae a meat.

I saw the soldiers at Linton-brig,
Because the man was not a Whig,
Of meat and drink leave not a skig,
Within his door;

They burnt his very hat and wig,

And thump'd him sore.

And through the Highlands they were so rude,
As leave them neither clothes nor food,
Then burnt their houses to conclude:
'Twas tit for tat.

How can her nainsell e'er be good,
To think on that?

And after all, O shame and grief!

To use some worse than murd'ring thief,
Their very gentleman and chief,

Unhumanly!
Like Popish tortures, I believe,
Such cruelty.

Ev'n what was act on open stage
At Carlisle, in the hottest rage,
When mercy was clapt in a cage,
And pity dead,
Such cruelty approv'd by every age,
I shook my head.

So many to curse, so few to pray,
And some aloud huzza did cry,
They cursed the rebel Scots that day,
As they'd been nowt
Brought up for slaughter, as that way
Too many rowt.

Therefore, alas! dear countrymen,
O never do the like again,

To thirst for vengeance, never ben
Your gun nor pa',

But with the English e'en borrow and len',
Let anger fa'.

Their boasts and bullying, not worth a louso
As our King's the best about the house.
'Tis aye good to be sober and douce,
To live in peace;

For many, I see, for being o'er crouse,
Gets broken face.

Waverley.

CHAPTER I.

Introductory.

roine with a profusion of auburn hair, and a harp, the soft solace of her solitary hours, which she fortunately finds always the means of transporting from castle to cottage, although she herself be sometimes obliged to jump out of a two-pair-of-stairs window, and is more than once bewildered on her journey, alone and on foot, without any guide but a blowzy peasant girl, whose jargon she hardly can understand? Or again, if my Waverley had been entitled "A Tale of the Times," wouldst thou not, gentle reader, have demanded from me a dashing sketch of the fashionable world, a few anecdotes of private scandal thinly veiled, and if lusciously painted, so much the better? a heroine from Grosvenor Square, and a hero from the Barouche Club or the Four-in-Hand, with a set of subordinate characters from the elegantes of Queen Anne Street East, or the dashing heroes of the Bow-Street Office? I could proceed in proving the importance of a titlepage, and displaying at the same time my own intimate knowledge of the particular ingredients necessary to the composition of romances and novels of various descriptions: But it is enough, and I scorn to tyrannize longer over the impatience of my reader, who is doubtless already anxious to know the choice made by an author so profoundly versed in the different branches of his art.

THE title of this work has not been chosen without the grave and solid deliberation, which matters of importance demand from the prudent. Even its first, or general denomination, was the result of no common research or selection, although, according to the example of my predecessors, I had only to seize upon the most sounding and euphonic surname that English history or topography affords, and elect it at once as the title of my work, and the name of my hero. But, alas! what could my readers have expected from the chivalrous epithets of Howard, Mordaunt, Mortimer, or Stanley, or from the softer and more sentimental sounds of Belmour, Belville, Belfield, and Belgrave, but pages of inanity, similar to those which have been so christened for half a century past? I must modestly admit I am too diffident of my own merit to place it in unnecessary opposition to preconceived associations; I have, therefore, like a maiden knight with his white shield, assumed for my hero, WAVERLEY, an uncontaminated name, bearing with its sound little of good or evil, excepting what the reader shall hereafter be pleased to affix to it. But my second or supplemental title was a matter of much more difficult election, since that, short as it is, may be held as pledging By fixing, then, the date of my story Sixty Years the author to some special mode of laying his scene, before the present 1st November 1805, I would have drawing his characters, and managing his adven- my readers understand, that they will meet in the tures. Had I, for example, announced in my fron- following pages neither a romance of chivalry, nor tispiece, "Waverley, a Tale of other Days," must a tale of modern manners; that my hero will neither not every novel reader have anticipated a castle have iron on his shoulders, as of yore, nor on the scarce less than that of Udolpho, of which the east- heels of his boots, as is the present fashion of Bond ern wing had long been uninhabited, and the keys Street; and that my damsels will neither be clothed either lost, or consigned to the care of some aged" in purple and in pall," like the Lady Alice of an butler or housekeeper, whose trembling steps, about old ballad, nor reduced to the primitive nakedness the middle of the second volume, were doomed to of a modern fashionable at a rout. From this my guide the hero, or heroine, to the ruinous precincts? choice of an era the understanding critic may farther Would not the owl have shrieked and the cricket presage, that the object of my tale is more a descripcried in my very title-page? and could it have been tion of men than manners. A tale of manners, to possible for me, with a moderate attention to deco- be interesting, must either refer to antiquity so great rum, to introduce any scene more lively than might as to have become venerable, or it must bear a vivid be produced by the jocularity of a clownish but faith- reflection of those scenes which are passing daily beful valet, or the garrulous narrative of the heroine's fore our eyes, and are interesting from their novelty fille-de-chambre, when rehearsing the stories of Thus the coat-of-mail of our ancestors, and the triple blood and horror which she had heard in the ser- furred pelisse of our modern beaux, may, though for vants' hall? Again, had my title borne" Waverley, very different reasons, be equally fit for the array a Romance from the German," what head so obtuse of a fictitious character; but who, meaning the cosas not to image forth a profligate abbot, an oppres- tume of his hero to be impressive, would willingly sive duke, a secret and mysterious association of attire him in the court dress of George the Second's Rosycrucians and Illuminati, with all their proper- reign, with its no collar, large sleeves, and low pocketties of black cowls, caverns, daggers, electrical ma- holes? The same may be urged, with equal truth, chines, trap-doors, and dark-lanterns? Or if I had of the Gothic hall, which, with its darkened and rather chosen to call my work a "Sentimental Tale," tinted windows, its elevated and gloomy roof, and would it not have been a sufficient presage of a he- massive oaken table garnished with boars-head and

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