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.

178 WAVERLEY NOVELS.
the last, because they said he kept a nunnery in his house, like old lady
Foljzambe; but Master George is well loved among the'prentices, and we
got so many brisk boys of us together as should have rabbled the rabble,
had they had but the heart to rise."
"Well, let that pass," said Ursula; "and now, tell me how you will
manage to be absent fiom shop a day or two, for you must think that this
matter wrill not be ended sooner."
"Why, as to that, I can say nothing," said Jenkin, " I have always served
duly and truly; I have no heart to play truant, and cheat my master of
his time as well as his money."
"Nay, but the point is to get back his money for him," said Ursula,
"which he is not likely to see on other conditions. Could you not ask leave
to go down to your uncle in Essex for two or three days? I-le may be ill,
you know."
"Why, if I must, I must," said Jenkin, with a heavy sigh; "but I will
not be lightly caught treading these dark and crooked paths again."
" Hush thee, then," said the dame, " and get leave for this very evening;
and come back hither, and I will introduce you to another implement, who
must be employed in the matter. - Stay, stay! -the lad is mazed- you
would not go into your master's shop in that guise, surely? Your trunk is
in the matted chalmber with your'prentice things - go and put them on as
fast as you can."
" I think I am bewitched," said Jenkin, giving a glance towards his dress,
" or that these fool's trappings have made as great an ass of me as of many
I have seen wear them; but let me be once rid of the harness, and if you
catch me putting it on again, I will give you leave to sell me to a gipsy, to
carry pots, pans, and beggar's bantlings, all the rest of my life."
So saying, he retired to change his apparel.:Chance will not do the-work-Chance sends the breeze;:But if-the pilot slunmber at the helm,
The very wind that wafts us towards the port
May dash us on the shelves. —The steersman's part is vigilance,
Blow it or rough or smooth.
OLD PLAY.
%WE left Nigel, whose fortunes we are bound to trace, by the engagement
contracted in our title-page, sad and solitary in the mansion of Trapbois
the usurer, having just received a letter instead of a visit from his friend
the Templar, stating reasons why he could not at that time come to see him
in Alsatia. So that it appeared his intercourse with the better and more
respectable class of society was, for the present, entirely cut off. This was
a mnelancholy and, to a proud mind like that of Nigel, a degrading reflection.
He went to the window of his apartment, and found the street enveloped
in one of those thick, dingy, yellow-coloured fogs, which often invest the
lower part of London and Westminster. Amid the- darkness, dense and
palpable, were seen to wander, like phantoms, a reveller or two, whom the
morning had surprised where the evening left them; and who now, with
tottering steps, and by an instinct which intoxication could not wholly
overcome, were groping their way to their own homes, to convert day into
night, for the purpose of sleeping off the debauch which had turned night
into day. Although it was broad day in the other parts of the city, it Nwas
scarce dawn yet in Alsatia; and none of the sounds of industry or occupation were there heard, which had long before aroused the slumberers in