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.

492 WAVERLEY NOVELS.
the Peveril Arms, from which a broad light shone, and several voices were
heard in rude festivity.
Before the door of this inn, the jaded palfrey, guided by the instinct or
experience which makes a hackney well acquainted with the outside of a
house of entertainment, made so sudden and determined a pause, that, notwithstanding his haste, the rider thought it best to dismount, expecting to
be readily supplied vwith a fresh horse by Roger Raine, the landlord, the
ancient dependant of his famtily. IIe also wished to relieve his anxiety, by
inquiring concerning the state of things at the Castle, when he was surprised to hear, bursting from the tap-room of the loyal old host, a wellknown song of the Commonwealth time, which some puritanical wag had
written in reprehension of the Cavaliers, and their dissolute courses, and in
which his father came in for a lash of the satirist.
" Ye thought in the world there was no power to tame ye,
So you tippled and drabb'd till the saints overcamltle ye' Forsooth,' and'Ne'er stir,' sir, hate vanrqlish'd G- d-n me,
Which nobody can deny.
"There was bluff old Sir Geoffrey loved brlandy and mum well,
And to see a beer-glass turned over the thlulb vell;
But lie fled like the wind, before Fairflx alnd Cronlwell,
Which nobody can deny."
Some strange revolution, Julian was aware, must have taken place, both
in the village and in the Castle, ere these sounds of unseemly insult could
have been poured forth in the very inn which was decorated with the
armorial bearings of his family; and not knowing how far it might be
advisable to intrude on these unfriendly revellers, without the power of
repelling or chastising their insolence, he led his horse to a back-door,
which, as he recollected, communicated with the landlord's apartment, having determined to make private inquiry of him concerning the state of
matters at the Castle. He knocked repeatedly, and as often called on Roger
Raine with an earnest but stifled voice. At length a female voice replied,
by the usual inquiry, " Who is there?"
" It is I, Dame Raine - I, Julian Peveril —tell your husband to come to
me presently."
" Alack, and a well-a-day, Master Julian, if it be really you-you are to
know my poor goodman has gone where he can come to no one; but, doubtless, we shall all go to him, as Matthew Chamberlain says."'
" He is dead, then?" said Julian. "I am extremely sorry. "
" Dead six months and more, Master Julian: and let me tell you, it is a
long time for a lone woman, as Matt Chamberlain says."
"Well, do you or your chamberlain undo the door. I want a fresh horse;
and I want to know how things are at the Castle."
"The Castle-lack-a-day!-Chamberlain —Matthew Chamberlain-I say,
Matt!"
Matt Chamberlain apparently was at no great distance, for he presently
answered her call; and Peveril, as he stood close to the door, could hear
them whispering to each other, and distinguish in a great measure what
they said. And here it may be noticed, that Dame Raine, accustomed to submit to the authority of old Roger, who vindicated as well the husband's domestic prerogative, as that of the monarch in the state, had, when left a buxom
widow, been so far incomnioded by the exercise of her newly acquired independence, that she had recourse, upon all occasions, to the advice of Mlatt
Chamberlain; and as Matt began no longer to go slipshod, and in a red
nightcap, but wore Spanish shoes, and a high-crowned beaver, (at least of
a Sunday,) and moreover was called Master Matthew by his fellow-servants,
the neighbours in the village argued a speedy change of the name on the
sign-post; nay, perhaps, of the very sign itself, for Matthew was a bit of a
Puritan, and no friend to Peveril of the Peak.
" Now counsel me, an you be a man, Matt Chamberlain," said Widow
Raine; "for never stir, if here be not Master Julian's own self, and he