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 FORTUNES OF NIGEL,. 185
The door of the chamber opened wide, and in strutted the portly bulk of
the military hero whom Nigel had on the preceding evening in vain endeavoured to recognize.
Swash-Buckler. Bilboe's the word —
Pierrot. It hath been spoke too often,
The spell hath lost its charm-I tell thee, friend,
The meamest cur that trots the street, will turn
And snarl against your proffer'd bastinado.
Swaseh-Buckcler.'Tis art shall do it, then —I will dose the mongrels01, in plain terms, I'11 use the private knie'Stead of the brandislh'd fatcheion.
OLD PLAY.
THE noble Captain Colepepper or Peppercull, for he was known by both
these names, and some others besides, had a martial and a swashing exterior, which, on the present occasion, was rendered yet more peculiar, by a
patch covering his left eye and a part of the cheek. The sleeves of his
thickest velvet jerkin were polished and shone with grease-his buff gloves
had huge tops, which reached almost to the elbow; his sword-belt, of the
same malterials, extended its breadth from his haunch-bone to his small-ribs,
and supported on the one side his large black-hilted back-sword, on the
other a dagger of like proportions. lie paid his compliments to Nigel with
that air of predetermined effrontery, which announces that it will not be
repelled by any coldness of reception, asked Trapbois how he did, by the
familiar title of old Peter Pillory, and then, seizing upon the black-jack,
emptied it off at a draught, to the health of the last and youngest freeman
of Alsatia, the noble and loving Master Nigel Grahame.
When he had set down the empty pitcher and drawn his breath, he began
to criticise the liquor which it had lately contained..-" Sufficient single
beer, old Pillory-and, as I take it, brewed at the rate of a nutshell of malt
to a butt of Thames-as dead as a corpse, too, and yet it went hissing down
my throat-bubbling, by Jove, like water upon hot iron.-You left us early,
noble Master Grahame, but, good faith, we had a carouse to your honourwe heard butt ring hollow ere we parted; we were as loving as inkle-weavers
-we fought, too, to finish off the gawdy. I bear some marks of the parson
about me, you see — a note of the sermon or so, which should have been
addressed to my ear, but missed its mark, and reached my left eye. The
man of God bears my sign-manual too, but the Duke made us fiiends again,
and it cost me more sack than I could carry, and all the Rhenish to boot,
to pledge the seer in the way of love and reconciliation-But, Caracco!'tis
a vile old canting slave for all that, whom I will one day beat out of his
devil's livery into all the colours of the rainbow.-Basta!-Said I well, old
Trapbois? Where is thy daughter, man?-what says she to my suit?-'tis
an honest one- wilt have a soldier for thy son-in-law, old Pillory, to mingle
the soul of martial honour with thy thieving, miching, petty-larceny blood,
as men put bold brandy into muddy ale?"
" My daughter receives not company so early, noble Captain," said the
usurer, and concluded his speech with a dry, emphatical " ugh, ugh."
"What, upon no con-si-de-ra-ti-on?" said the captain; "and wherefore
not, old Truepenny? she has not much time to lose in driving her bargain,
methinks."
02