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.

12 WAVERLEY NOVELS.
the umbrella, the little bundle in his hand, the hat pulled over his resolved
brows, the determined importance of his pace, his brief answers to the salutations of lounging acquaintances, are all marks by which the experienced
traveller in mail-coach or diligence can distinguish, at a distance, the companion of his future journey, as he pushes onward to the place of rendezvous. It is then that, with worldly wisdom, the first comer hastens to
secure the best berth in the coach for himself, and to make the most convenient arrangement for his baggage before the arrival of his competitors.
Our youth, who was gifted with little prudence of any sort, and who was,
moreover, by the absence of the coach, deprived of the power of availing
himself of his priority of choice, amused himself, instead, by speculating
upon the occupation and character of the personage who was now come to
the coach office.
I-e was a good-looking man of the age of sixty, perhaps older, - but his
hale complexion and firm step announced that years had not impaired his
strength or health. His countenance was of the true Scottish cast, strongly
marked, and rather harsh in features, with a shrewd and penetrating eye,
and a countenance in which habitual gravity was enlivened by a cast of
ironical humour. IHisdress was uniform, and of a colour becoming his age
and gravity; a wig, well dressed and powdered, surmounted by a slouched
hat, had something of a professional air. He might be a clergyman, yet
his appearance was more that of a man of the world than usually belongs
to the kirk of Scotland, and his first ejaculation put the matter beyond
question.
He arrived with a hurried pace, and, casting an alarmed glance towards
the dial-plate of the church, then looking at the place where the coach
should have been, exclaimed, " Deil's in it —I am too late after all!"
The young man relieved his anxiety, by telling him the coach had not
yet appeared. The old gentleman, apparently conscious of his own want
of punctuality, did not at first feel courageous enough to censure that of
the coachman. Ile took a parcel, containing apparently a large folio, from
a little boy who followed him, and, patting him on the head, bid him go
back and tell Mr. B, that if he had known he was to have had so much
time he would have put another word or two to their bargain, —then told
the boy to mind his business, and he would be as thriving a lad as ever
dusted a duodecimo. The boy lingered, perhaps in hopes of a penny to
buy marbles; but none was forthcoming. Our senior leaned his little
bundle upon one of the posts at the head of the staircase, and, facing the
traveller who had first arrived, waited in silence for about five minutes the
arrival of the expected diligence.
At length, after one or two impatient glances at the progress of the
minute-hand of the clock, having compared it with his own watch, a huge
and antique gold repeater, and having twitched about his features to give
due emphasis to one or two peevish pshaws, he hailed the old lady of the
cavern.
" Good woman,-but what the d-1 is her name?-Mrs. Macleuchar!"
MIrs. Macleuchar, aware that she had a defensive part to sustain in the
encounter which was to follow, was in no hurry to hasten the discussion by
returning a ready answer.
"Mrs. Macleuchar —Good woman," (with an elevated voice)-then apart,
"Old doited hag, she's as deaf as a post-I say, Mrs. Macleuchar!"
"I am just serving a customer. -Indeed, hinny, it will no be a bodle
cheaper than I tell ye."
"Woman," reiterated the traveller, " do you think we can stand here all
day till you have cheated that poor servant wench out of her half-year's fee
and bountith?"
"Cheated!" retorted Mrs. Macleuchar, eager to take up the quarrel
upon a defensible ground-" I scorn your words, sir; you are an uncivil