Historical fiction; Jacobite Rebellion, 1745-1746 -- Fiction; Scotland -- History -- 18th century -- Fiction
'He is an innocent, sir,' said the butler; 'there is one such in almost
every town in the country, but ours is brought far ben. He used to work
a day's turn weel eneugh; but he help'd Miss Rose when she was flemit
with the Laird of Killancureit's new English bull, and since that time
we ca' him Davie Do-little indeed we might ca' him Davie Do-naething,
for since he got that gay clothing, to please his honour and my young
mistress (great folks will have their fancies), he has done naething but
dance up and down about the TOUN, without doing a single turn, unless
trimming the laird's fishing-wand or busking his flies, or maybe
catching a dish of trouts at an orra-time. But here comes Miss Rose,
who, I take burden upon me for her, will be especially glad to see one
of the house of Waverley at her father's mansion at Tully-Veolan.'
But Rose Bradwardine deserves better of her unworthy historian, than to
be introduced at the end of a chapter.
In the meanwhile it may be noticed, that Waverley learned two things
from this colloquy; that in Scotland a single house was called a TOWN,
and a natural fool an INNOCENT. [6]
CHAPTER X
ROSE BRADWARDINE AND HER FATHER
Miss Bradwardine was but seventeen; yet, at the last races of the county
town of--, upon her health being proposed among a round of beauties,
the Laird of Bumperquaigh, permanent feast-master and croupier of the
Bautherwhillery Club, not only said MORE to the pledge in a pint bumper
of Bourdeaux, but, ere pouring forth the libation, denominated the
divinity to whom it was dedicated, 'the Rose of Tully-Veolan;' upon
which festive occasion, three cheers were given by all the sitting
members of that respectable society, whose throats the wine had left
capable of such exertion. Nay, I am well assured, that the sleeping
partners of the company snorted applause, and that although strong
bumpers and weak brains had consigned two or three to the floor, yet
even these, fallen as they were from their high estate, and weltering--I
will carry the parody no further--uttered divers inarticulate sounds,
intimating their assent to the motion.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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