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visible. The ballustrade was broken down, the walls destroyed, the borders over-grown with weeds, and the fruit-trees cut down or grubbed up. In one

compartment of this old-fashioned garden were two immense horse-chesnut trees, of whose size the baron was particularly vain: too lazy, perhaps, to cut them down, the spoilers, with malevolent ingenuity, had mined them, and placed a quantity of gunpowder in the cavity. One had been shivered to pieces by the explosion, and the wreck lay scattered around, encumbering the ground it had so long shadowed. The other mine had been more partial in its effect. About one fourth of the trunk of the tree was torn from the mass, which mutilated and defaced on the one side, still spread on the other its ample and undiminished boughs.

Amid these general marks of ravage, there were some which more particularly addressed the feelings of Waverley. Viewing the front of the building, thus wasted and defaced, his eyes naturally sought the little balcony which more properly belonged to Rose's apartment-her troisième, or rather cinquième ètage. It was easily discovered, for beneath it lay the stage-flowers and shrubs with which it was her pride to decorate it, and which had been hurled from the bartizan: several of her books were mingled with broken flower-pots and other remnants. Among these Waverley distinguished one of his own, a small copy of Ariosto, and gathered it as a treasure, though wasted by the wind and rain. While plunged in the sad reflections which the scene excited, he was looking around for some one who might explain the fate of the inhabitants, he heard a voice from the interior of the building, singing in well remembered accents, an old Scottish song:

"They came upon us in the night,

And brake my bower and slew my knight,
My servants a' for life did flee,

And left us in extremitie.

They slew my knight, to me sa dear;
They slew my knight and drave his gear;
The moon may set, the sun may rise,

But a deadly sleep has closed his eyes."

"Alas," thought Edward," is it thou? Poor helpless being, art thou alone left, to gibber and moan, and fill with thy wild and unconnected scraps of minstrelsy the halls that protected thee?" He then called first low and then louder, " Davie-Davie Gellatly."

The poor simpleton showed himself from among the ruins of a sort of green-house, that once terminated what was called the terracee-walk, but at first sight of a stranger retreated as if in terror. Waverley remembering his habits, began to whistle a tune to which he was partial, which Davie had expressed great pleasure in listening to, and had picked up from him by the ear. Our hero's minstrelsy no more equalled that of Bondel, than poor Davie resembled Cœur de Lion; but the melody had the same effect of producing recognition. Davie again stole from his lurking place, but timidly, while Waverley, afraid of frightening him, stood making the most encouraging signals he could devise-"It's his ghaist," muttered Davie; yet, coming nearer, he seemed to acknowledge his living acquaintance. The poor fool himself seemed the ghost of what he was. The sort of peculiar dress in which he had been dressed in better days, showed only miserable rags of its whimsical finery, the lack of which was oddly supplied by the remnants of tapestried hangings, window curtains, and shreds of pictures, with which he had bedizened his tatters. His face, too, had lost its vacant and careless air, and the poor creature looked hollow-eyed, meager, half-starved, and nervous to a pitiable degree. After long hesitation, he at length approached Waverley with some confidence, looked him sadly in the face, and said, "A' dead and gane --a' dead and gane.'

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"Who are dead?" said Waverley, forgetting the incapacity of Davie to hold a connected discourse. "Baron-and Baillie-and Saunders Saunderson -and Lady Rose, that sang sae sweet-A' dead and gane-dead and gane.

But follow, follow me

While glow-worms light the lea,

I'll show ye where the dead should be-
Each in his shroud,

While winds pipe loud,

And red moon peeps dim through the cloud.

Follow, follow me;

Brave should he be

That treads by the night the dead man's lea."

With these words, chanted in a wild and earnest tone, he made a sign to Waverley to follow him, and walked rapidly, towards the bottom of the gar den, tracing the bank of the stream, which it may be remembered, was its eastern boundary: Edward, over whom an involuntary shuddering stole at the import of his words, followed him in some hope of an explanation. As the house was evidently deserted, he could hope to find among the ruins no more rational informer.

Davie, walking very fast, soon reached the extremity of the garden and scrambled over the ruins of the wall which once had divided it from the wooded glen in which the old tower of Tully-Veolan was situated. He then jumped down into the bed of the stream, and followed by Waverley, proceeded at a great pace, climbing over some fragments of rock, and turning with difficulty round others. They passed beneath the ruins of the castle; Waverley followed, keeping up with his guide with difficulty, for the twilight began to fall. Following the descent of the stream a little lower, he totally lost him, but a twinkling twilight which he now discovered among the tangled copse-wood and bushes, seemed a surer guide. He soon pursued a very uncouth path; and

by its guidance at length reached the door of a wretched hut. A fierce barking of dogs was at first heard, but it stilled at his approach. A voice sounded from within, and he held it most prudent to listen before he advanced..

"Wha hast thou brought here, thou unsonsy villain, thou?" said an old woman, apparently in great indignation. He heard Davie Gellatly, in answer, whistle a part of the tune by which he had recalled himself to the simpleton's memory, and had now no hesitation to knock at the door. There was a dead silence instantly within, except the deep growling of the dogs; and he next heard the mistress of the hut approach the door, not probably for the sake of undoing a latch, but of fastening a bolt. To prevent this, Waverley lifted the latch himself.

In front was an old wretched looking woman, exclaiming, "Wha comes into folks' houses in this gait, at this time o' the night? On one side, two grim and half starved deer grayhounds laid aside their ferocity at his appearance, and seemed to recognise him. On the other side, half-concealed by the open door, yet apparently seeking that concealment reluctantly, with a cocked pistol in his right hand, and his left in the act of drawing another from his belt, stood a tall bony gaunt figure in the remnants of a faded uniform, and a beard of three weeks growth.

It was the Baron of Bradwardine.—It is unneces← sary to add that he threw aside his weapon, and greeted Waverley with a hearty embrace.

16*

CHAPTER XXVI.

Comparing of Notes.

THE baron's story was short, when divested of the adages and common places, Latin, English, and Scotch, with which his erudition garnished it. He insisted much upon his grief at the loss of Edward and of Glennaquoich, fought the fields of Falkirk and Culloden, and related how, after all was lost in the last battle, he had returned home under the idea of more easily finding shelter among his own tenants, and on his own estate, than elsewhere. A party of soldiers had been sent to lay waste his property, for clemency was not the order of the day. Their Their proceedings, however, were checked by an order from the civil court. The estate, it was found, might not be forfeited to the crown, to the prejudice of Malcolm Bradwardine of Inch-Grabbit, the heir-male, whose claim could not be prejudiced by the baron's attainder, as deriving no right, through him, and who, therefore, like other heirs of entail in the same situation, entered upon possession. But unlike many in similar circumstances, the new laird speedily showed that he intended utterly to exclude his predecessor from all benefit or advantage in the estate, and that it was his purpose to avail himself of the old baron's evil fortune to the full extent. This was the more ungenerous, as it was generally known, that, from a romantic idea of not prejudicing this young man's right as heir-male, the baron had refrained from settling his estate on his daughter. In the baron's own words, "The matter did not coincide with the feelings of the commons of Bradwardine, Mr. Waverley; and the tenants were slack and repugnant in payment of their mails and duties; and

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