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.

ROB ROY. 55
sides of the account-Think what you are going to lose-a noble fortune,
sir-one of the finest houses in the City, even under the old firm of Tresham
and Trent, and now Osbaldistone and Tresham-You might roll in gold,
Mr. Francis-And, my dear young Mr. Frank, if there was any particular
thing in the business of the house which you disliked, I would" (sinking
his voice to a whisper) "put it in order for you termly, or weekly, or daily,
if you will -Do, my dear Mr. Francis, think of the honour due to your
father, that your days may be long in the land."
"I am much obliged to you, Mr. Owen," said I, -"very much obliged
indeed; but my father is best judge how to bestow his money. He talks
of one of my cousins: let him dispose of his wealth as he pleases - I will
never sell my liberty for gold."
" Gold, sir?-I wish you saw the balance-sheet of profits at last term —It
was in five figures-five figures to each partner's sum total, Mr. FrankAnd all this is to go to a Papist, and a north-country booby, and a disaffected person besides-It will break my heart, Mr. Francis, that have been
toiling more like a dog than a man, and all for love of the firm. Think how
it will sound, Osbaldistone, Tresham, and Osbaldistone- or perhaps, who
knows" (again lowering his voice), "Osbaldistone, Osbaldistone, and Tresham, for our Mr. Osbaldistone can buy them all out."
"But, Mr. Owen, my cousin's name being also Osbaldistone, the name of
the company will sound every bit as well in your ears."
" O fie upon you, Mr. Francis, when you know how well I love youYour cousin, indeed!-a Papist, no doubt, like his father, and a disaffected
person to the Protestant succession-that's another item, doubtless."
" There are many very good men Catholics, Mr. Owen," rejoined I.
As Owen was about to answer with unusual animation, my father re-entered the apartment.
" You were right," he said, "Owen, and I was wrong; we will take more
time to think over this matter.-Young man, you will prepare to give me
an answer on this important subject this day month."
I bowed in silence, sufficiently glad bf a reprieve, and trusting it might
indicate'some relaxation in my father's determination.
-The time of probation passed slowly, unmarked by any accident whatever.
I went and came, and disposed of my time as I pleased, without question
or criticism on the part of my father. Indeed, I rarely saw him, save at
meal times, when he studiously avoided a discussion which you may well
suppose I was in no hurry to press onward. Our conversation was of the
news of the day, or on such general topics as strangers discourse upon to
each other; nor could any one have guessed, from its tenor, that there remained undecided betwixt us a dispute of such importance. It haunted
me, however, more than once, like the nightmare. Was it possible he would
keep his word, and disinherit his only son in favour of a nephew whose very
existence he was not perhaps quite certain of? My grandfather's conduct,
in similar circumstances, boded me no good, had I considered the matter
rightly. But I had formed an erroneous idea of my father's character, from
the importance which I recollected I maintained with him and his whole
family before I went to France. I was not aware that there are men who
indulge their children at an early age, because to do so interests and amuses
them, and who can yet be sufficiently severe when the same children cross
their expectations at a more advanced period. On the contrary, I persuaded
myself, that all I had to apprehend, was some temporary alienation of affection-perhaps a rustication of a few weeks, which I thought would rather
please me than otherwise, since it would give me an opportunity of setting
about my unfinished version of Orlando Furioso, a poem which I longed to
render into English verse. I suffered this belief to get such absolute pos-.
session of my mind, that I had resumed my blotted papers, and was busy
in meditation on the oft-recurring rhymes of the Spenserian stanza, when I