The Waverley novels, by Sir Walter Scott, complete in 12 vol., printed from the latest English ed., embracing the author's last corrections, prefaces & notes.

TILE ANTIQUARY. 183
years auld, and there wasna the like o' him drew a net betwixt this and
uchan-ness. - They say folks maun submit- I will try."
And he had been silent from that moment until compelled to answer the
necessary questions we have already noticed. Such was the disconsolate
state of the father.
In another corner of the cottage, her face covered by her apron, which
was flung over it, sat the mother -the nature of her grief sufficiently indicated by the wringing of her hands, and the convulsive agitation of the
bosom, which, the covering could not conceal. Two of her gossips, officiously whispering into her ear the common-place topic of resignation under
irremediable misfortune, seemed as if they were endeavouring to stun the
grief which they could not console.
The sorrow of the children was mingled with wonder at the preparations
they beheld around them, and at the unusual display of wheaten bread and
wine, which the poorest peasant, or fisher, offers to the guests on these
mournful occasions; and thus their grief for their brother's death was
almost already lost in admiration of the splendour of his funeral.
But the figure of the old grandmother was the most remarkable of the
sorrowing group. Seated on her accustomed chair, with her usual air of
apathy, and want of interest in what surrounded her, she seemed every
now and then mechanically to resume the motion of twirling her spindle;
then to look towards her bosom for the distaff, although both had been laid
aside. She would then cast her eyes about, as if surprised at missing the
usual implements of her industry, and appear struck by the black colour
of the gown in which they had dressed her, and embarrassed by the number
of persons by whom she was surrounded. Then, finally, she would raise
her head with a ghastly look, and fix her eyes upon the bed which contained
the coffin of her grandson, as if she had at once, and for the first time,
acquired sense to comprehend her inexpressible calamity. These alternate
feelings of embarrassment, wonder, and grief, seemed to succeed each other
more than once upon her torpid features. But she spoke not a wordneither had she shed a tear -nor did one of the family understand, either
from look or expression, to what extent she comprehended the uncommon
bustle around her. Thus she sat among the funeral assembly like a connecting link between the surviving mourners and the dead corpse which
they bewailed-a being in whom the light of existence was already obscured
by the encroaching shadows of death.
When Oldbuck entered this house of mourning, he was received by a
general and silent inclination of the head, and, according to the fashion of
Scotland on such occasions, wine and spirits and bread were offered round
to the guests. Elspeth, as these refreshments were presented, surprised and
startled the whole company by motioning to the person who bore them to
stop; then, taking a glass in her hand, she rose up, and, as the smile of
dotage played upon her shrivelled features, she pronounced, with a hollow
and tremulous voice, " Wishing a' your healths, sirs, and often may we hae
such merry meetings!"
All shrunk from the ominous pledge, and set down the untasted liquor
with a degree of shuddering horror, which will not surprise those who know
how many superstitions are still common on such occasions among the
Scottish vulgar. But as' the old woman tasted'the liquor, she suddenly
exclaimed with a sort of shriek, "What's this?-this is wine-how should
there be wine in my son's house? -Ay," she continued with a suppressed
groan, " I mind the sorrowful cause now," and dropping the glass from her
hand, she stood a moment gazing fixedly on the bed in which the coffin of
her grandson was deposited, and then sinking gradually into her seat, she
covered her eyes and forehead with her withered and pallid hand.
At this moment the clergyman entered the cottage. Mr. Blattergowl,
though a dreadful proser, particularly on the subject of augmentations,