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.

594 WAVYERLEY NOVELS.
proceeded; but the aperture was so narrow, and so closely grated, that
nothing was visible save a white female hand, which grasped one of those
rusty barricadoes, as if for supporting the person within, while another
streamed a white handkerchief, and then let it fall. The casement was
instantly deserted.
" Give it me," said Julian to the officer who lifted the handkerchief; "it
is perhaps a mother's last gift."
The old warder lifted the napkin, and looked at it with the jealous minuteness of one who is accustomed to detect secret correspondence in the most
trifling acts of intercourse.'*
" There may be writing on it with invisible ink," said one of his comrades.
" It is wetted, but I think it is only with tears," answered the senior. "I
cannot keep it from the poor young gentleman."
"Ach, Master Coleby," said his comrade, in a gentle tone of reproach,
" you would have been wearing a better coat than a yeoman's to-day, had
it not been for your tender heart."
"It signifies little," said old Coleby, "while my heart is true to my King,
what I feel in discharging my duty, or what coat keeps my old bosom from
the cold weather."
Peveril, meanwhile, folded in his breast the token of his mother's affection which chance had favoured him with; and when placed in the small
and solitary chamber which he was told to consider as his own during his
residence in the Tower, he was soothed even to weeping by this trifling
circumstance, which he could not help considering as an omen, that his
unfortunate house was not entirely deserted by Providence.
But the thoughts and occurrences of a prison are too uniform for a narrative, and we must now convey our readers into a more bustling scene.
Henceforth'tis done-Fortune and I are friends;
And I must live, for Buckingham commends.
POPE.
THE spacious mansion of the Duke of Buckingham, with the demesne
belonging to it, originally bore the name of York House, and occupied a
large portion of the ground adjacent to the Savoy.
This had been laid out by the munificence of his father, the favourite of
Charles the First, in a most splendid manner, so as almost to rival White
hall itself. But during the increasing rage for building new streets, and
the creating of almost an additional town, in order to connect London and
Westminster, this ground had become of very great value; and the second
Duke of Buckingham, who was at once fond of scheming, and needy of
money, had agreed to a plan laid before him by some adventurous architect,
for converting the extensive grounds around his palace into those streets,
lanes, and courts, which still perpetuate his name and titles; though those
who live in Buckingham Street, Duke Street, Villiers Street, or in Of-alley,
(for even that connecting particle is locally commemorated,) probably think
seldom of the memory of the witty, eccentric, and licentious George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, whose titles are preserved in the names of their
residence and its neighbourhood.
This building-plan the Duke had entered upon with all the eagerness
which he usually attached to novelty. His gardens were destroyed - his