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. 261
advice, and studied patience before ye need it-venienti occurite mzorbo-mix
the medicament when the disease is coming on."
"May it please your Majesty," answered Lord Htuntinglen, "I am more
of an old soldier than a scholar-and if my own rough nature will not bear
me out in any calamity, I hope I shall have grace to try a text of Scripture
to boot."
" Ay, man, are you there with your bears?" said the King; "the Bible,
man," (touching his cap,) " is indeed prilncpi unz etfons-but it is pity your
lordship cannot peruse it in the original. For although we did ourselves
promote that work of translation, -since ye may read, at the beginning of
every Bible, that when some palpable clouds of darkness were thought like
to have overshadowed the land, after the setting of that bright occidental
star, Queen Elizabeth; yet our appearance, like that of the sun in his
strength, instantly dispelled these surmised mists, —I say, that although, as
therein mentioned, we countenanced the preaching of the gospel, and especially the translation of the Scriptures out of the original sacred tongues;
yet, nevertheless, we ourselves confess to have found a comfort in consulting
them in the original Ilebrew, whilk we do not perceive even in the Latin
version of the Septuagint, much less in the English traduction."
" Please your Majesty," said Lord Huntinglen, "if your Majesty delays
communicating the bad news with which your honoured letter threatens
me, until I am capable to read Hebrew like your Majesty, I fear I shall die
in ignorance of the misfortune which hath befallen, or is about to befall,
my house."
"You will learn it but too soon, my lord," replied the King; " I grieve
to say it, but your son Dalgarno, whom I thought a very saint, as he was
so much with Steenie and Baby Charles, hath turned out a very villain."
" Villain!" repeated Lord Huntinglen; and though he instantly checked
himself, and added, " but it is your Majesty speaks the word," the effect of
his first tone made the King step back as if he had received a blow. Ile
also recovered himself again, and said, in the pettish way which usually
indicated his displeasure-" Yes, my lord, it was we that said it —non surdo
canis-we are not deaf-we pray you not to raise your voice in speech with
us-there is the bonny memorial-read, and judge for yourself."
The King then thrust into the old nobleman's hand a paper, containing
the story of the Lady Hermione, with the evidence by which it was supported, detailed so briefly and clearly, that the infamy of Lord Dalgarno,
the lover by whom she had been so shamefully deceived, seemed undeniable. But a father yields not up so easily the cause of his son.
"May it please your Majesty," he said, " why was this tale not sooner
told? This woman hath been here for years - wherefore was the claim on
my son not made the instant she touched English ground?"
"Tell him how that came about, Geordie," said the King, addressing
Heriot.
"I grieve to distress my Lord Huntinglen," said Heriot; "but I must
speak the truth. For a long time the Lady Iermione could not brook the
idea of making her situation public; and when her mind became changed
in that particular, it was necessary to recover the evidence of the false marriage, and letters and papers connected with it, which, when she came to
Paris, and just before I saw her, she had deposited with a correspondent of
her father in that city. He became afterwards bankrupt, and in consequence of that misfortune the lady's papers passed into other hands, and it
was only a few days since I traced and recovered them. Without these
documents of evidence, it would have been imprudent for her to have preferred her complaint, favoured as Lord Dalgarno is by powerful friends."
" Ye are saucy to say sae," said the King; "I ken what ye mean weel
eneugh -ye think Steenie wad hae putten the weight of his foot into the
ea sles of justice, and garr'd them whomle the bucket - ye forget, Geordie,