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.

THE ANTIQUARY. 245
"' We must go then," said the Antiquary.
"To jail," said the Baronet, sighing involuntarily. "And what of that?"
he resumed, in a tone affectedly cheerful —" it is only a house we can't get
out of, after all-Suppose a fit of the gout, and Knockwinnock would be
the same-Ay, ay, Monkbarns-we'll call it a fit of the gout without the
d-d pain."
But his eyes swelled with tears as he spoke, and his faltering accent
marked how much this assumed gaiety cost him. The Antiquary wrung
his hand, and, like the Indian Banians, who drive the real terms of an important bargain by signs, while they are apparently talking of indifferent
matters, the hand of Sir Arthur, by its convulsive return of the grasp, expressed his sense of gratitude to his friend, and the real state of his internal
agony. - They stepped slowly down the magnificent staircase-every wellknown object seeming to the unfortunate father and daughter to assume a
more prominent and distinct appearance than usual, as if to press themselves
on their notice for the last time.
At the first landing-place, Sir Arthur made an agonized pause; and as he
observed the Antiquary look at him anxiously, he said with assumed dignity
— " Yes, Mr. Oldbuck, the descendant of an ancient line -the representative of Richard Redhand and Gamelyn de Guardover, may be pardoned a
sigh when he leaves the castle of his fathers thus poorly escorted. When I
was sent to the Tower with my late father, in the year 1745, it was upon a
charge becoming our birth - upon an accusation of high treason, Mr. Oldbuck; -we were escorted from I-ighgate by a troop of life-guards, and
committed upon a secretary of state's warrant; and now, here I am, in my
old age, dragged from my household by a miserable creature like that"
(pointing to the messenger), " and for a paltry concern of pounds, shillings,
and pence."
"At least," said Oldbuck, "you have now the company of a dutiful
daughter, and a sincere friend, if you will permit me to say so, and that
may be some consolation, even without the certainty that there can be no
hanging, drawing, or quartering, on the present occasion. But I hear that
choleric boy as loud as ever. I hope to God he has got into no new broil!
- it was an accursed chance that brought him here at all."
In fact, a sudden clamour, in which the loud voice and somewhat northern accent of Hector was again pre-eminently distinguished, broke off this
conversation. The cause we must refer to the next chapter.
61Jqttr tle fnrtrl-Wtrd
Fortune, you say, flies from us - She but circles,
Like the fleet sea-hird round the fowler's skiff, -
Lost in the mist one moment, and the next
Brushing the white sail with her whiter wing,
As if to court the aim. - Experience watches,
And has her on the wheel. --
OLD PLAY.
THE shout of triumph in Hector's warlike tones was not easily distinguished from that of battle. But as he rushed up stairs with a packet in
his hand, exclaiming, "Long life to an old soldier. here comes Edie with a
whole budget of good news!" it became obvious that his present cause of
clamour was of an agreeable nature. He delivered the letter to Oldbuck,
shook Sir Arthur heartily by the hand, and wished Miss Wardour joy, with
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