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.

PEVERIL OF THE PEAK, 347
(which was not the less esteemed by the hearers that none of them understood it,) Sir Jasper exhorted the company to wet their appetites to the
dinner by a brimming cup to his lajesty's health, filled as high and as
deep as their goblets would permit. In a moment all was bustle, with the
clang of wine-cups and of flagons. In another moment the guests were on
their feet like so many statues, all hushed as death, but with eyes glancing
with expectation, and hands outstretched, which displayed their loyal brimmers. The voice of Sir Jasper, clear, sonorous, and emphatic, as the sound
of his war-trumpet, announced the health of the restored Monarch, hastily
echoed back by the assemblage, impatient to render it due homage. Another
brief pause was filled by the draining of their cups, and the mustering
breath to join in a shout so loud, that not only the rafters of the old hall
trembled while they echoed it back, but the garlands of oaken boughs and
flowers with which they were decorated, waved wildly, and rustled as if
agitated by a sudden whirlwind. This rite observed, the company proceeded to assail the good cheer with which the table groaned, animated as
they were to the attack both by mirth and melody, for they were attended
by all the minstrels of the district, who, like the Episcopal clergy, had been
put to silence during the reign of the self-entitled saints of the Commonwealth. The social occupation of good eating and drinking, the exchange
of pledges betwixt old -neighbours who had been fellow-soldiers in the
moment of resistance —fellow-sufferers in the time of depression and subjugation, and were now partners in the same general subject of congratulation,
soon wiped from their memory the trifling cause of complaint, which in the
minds of some had darkened the festivity of the day; so that when the
Lady Peveril walked into the hall, accompanied as before with the children
and her female attendants, she was welcomed with the acclamations due to
the mistress of the banquet and of the Castle-the dame of the noble Knight,
who had led most of them to battle with an undaunted and persevering
valour, which was worthy of better success.
Her address to them was brief and matronly, yet spoken with so much
feeling as found its way to every bosom. She apologized for the lateness of
her personal welcome, by reminding them that there were then present in
Martindale Castle that day, persons whom recent happy events had converted from enemies into friends, but on whom the latter character was so
recently imposed, that she dared not neglect with them any point of ceremonial. But those whom she now addressed, were the best, the dearest,
the most faithful friends of her husband's house, to whom and to their valour
Peveril had not only owed those successes, which had given them and him
fame during the late unhappy times, but to whose courage she in particular
had owed the preservation of their leader's life, even when it could not avert
defeat. A word or two of heartfelt congratulation on the happy restoration
of the royal line and authority, completed all which she had boldness to
add, and, bowing gracefully round her, she lifted a cup to her Hips as if to
welcome her guests.
There still remained, and especially amongst the old Cavaliers of the period,
some glimmering of that spirit which inspired Froissart, when he declares
that a knight hath double couri'age at need, when animated by the looks and
words of a beautiful and virtuous woman. It was not until the reign which
was commencing at the moment we are treating of, that the unbounded
license of the age, introducing a general course of profligacy, degraded the
female sex into mere servants of pleasure, and, in so doing, deprived society
of that noble tone of feeling towards the sex, which, considered as a spur to
"raise the clear spirit," is superior to every other impulse, save those of
religion and of patriotism. The beams of the andient hall of Martindale
Castle instantly rang with a shout louder and shriller than that at which
they had so lately trembled, and the names of the Knight of the Peak and