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.

PREFATORY LETTER. 319
cud of sweet and bitter fancy, in a state betwixt sleeping and waking, which
I consider as so highly favourable to philosophy, that I have no doubt some
of its most distinguished systems have been composed under its influence.
My servant is, therefore, instructed to tread as if upon down - my doorhinges are carefully oiled-and all appliances used to prevent me from
being prematurely and harshly called back to the broad waking-day of a
laborious world. My custom, in this particular, is so well known. that the
very schoolboys cross the alley on tiptoe, betwixt the hours of four and five.
My cell is the very dwelling of Morpheus. There is indeed a bawling knave
of a broom-man, qutenL ego - But this is matter for the Quarter-Sessions.
As my head sunk back upon the easy-chair in the philosophical mood
which I have just described, and the eyes of my body began to close, in
order, doubtless, that those of my understanding might be more widely
opened, I was startled by a knock at the door, of a kind more authoritatively boisterous than is given at that hour by any visiter acquainted with
my habits. I started up in my seat, and heard the step of my servant hurrying along the passage, followed by a very heavy and measured pace, which
shook the long oak-floored gallery in such a manner, as forcibly to arrest
my attention. "A stranger, sir, just arrived from Edinburgh by the North
Mail, desires to speak with your Reverence." Such were the words with
which Jacob threw the door to the wall; and the startled tone in which he
pronounced them, although there was nothing particular in the annunciation
itself, prepared me for the approach of a visiter of uncommon dignity and
importance.
The Author of Waverley entered, a bulky and tall man, in a travelling
great-coat, which covered a suit of snuff-brown, cut in imitation of that worn
by the great Rambler. His flapped hat —for he disdained the modern
frivolities of a travelling-cap -was bound over his head with a large silk
handkerchief, so as to protect his ears from cold at once, and from the babble
of his pleasant companions in the public coach from which he had just
alighted. There was somewhat of a sarcastic shrewdness and sense, which
sat on the heavy penthouse of his shaggy gray eyebrow - his features were
in other respects largely shaped, and rather heavy, than promising wit or
genius; but he had a notable projection of the nose, similar to that line of
the Latin poet, —
" —'immodicum surgit pro cuspide rostrum."
A stout walking-stick stayed his hand — a double Barcelona protected his
neck - his belly was something prominent, "but that's not much," - his
breeches were substantial thickset —and a pair of top-boots, which were
slipped down to ease his sturdy calves, did not conceal his comfortable travelling stockings of lamb's wool, wrought, not on the loom, but on wires, and
after the venerable ancient fashion, known in Scotland by the name of ridgeand-futrrow.'His age seemed to be considerably above fifty, but could not
amount to three-score, which I observed with pleasure, trusting there may
be a good deal of work had out of him yet; especially as a general haleness
of appearance - the compass and strength of his voice - the steadiness of
his step - the rotundity of his calf — the depth of his hem, and the sonorous
emphasis of his sneeze, were all signs of a constitution built for permanence.
It struck me forcibly, as I gazed 6n this portly person, that he realized,
in my imagination, the Stout Gentleman in No. II. who afforded such subject for varying speculation to our most amusing and elegant Utopian
traveller, Master Geoffrey Crayon. Indeed, but for one little trait in the
conduct of the said Stout Gentleman — I mean the gallantry towards his
landlady, a thing which would greatly derogate from our Senior's character
- I should be disposed to conclude that Master Crayon had, on that memorable occasion, actually passed his time in the vicinity of the Author of
Waverley. But our worthy patriarch, be it spoken to his praise, far from