Historical fiction; Jacobite Rebellion, 1745-1746 -- Fiction; Scotland -- History -- 18th century -- Fiction
The ministry of George the First’s time were prudently anxious to
diminish the phalanx of opposition. The Tory nobility, depending for
their reflected lustre upon the sunshine of a court, had for some time
been gradually reconciling themselves to the new dynasty. But the
wealthy country gentlemen of England, a rank which retained, with much
of ancient manners and primitive integrity, a great proportion of
obstinate and unyielding prejudice, stood aloof in haughty and sullen
opposition, and cast many a look of mingled regret and hope to Bois le
Due, Avignon, and Italy.[*] The accession of the near relation of one
of those steady and inflexible opponents was considered as a means of
bringing over more converts, and therefore Richard Waverley met with a
share of ministerial favour more than proportioned to his talents or
his political importance. It was, however, discovered that he had
respectable talents for public business, and the first admittance to
the minister’s levee being negotiated, his success became rapid. Sir
Everard learned from the public News-Letter, first that Richard
Waverley, Esquire, was returned for the ministerial borough of
Barterfaith; next, that Richard Waverley, Esquire, had taken a
distinguished part in the debate upon the Excise Bill in the support of
government; and, lastly, that Richard Waverley, Esquire, had been
honoured with a seat at one of those boards where the pleasure of
serving the country is combined with other important gratifications,
which, to render them the more acceptable, occur regularly once a
quarter.
[* Where the Chevalier St. George, or, as he was termed, the Old
Pretender, held his exiled court, as his situation compelled him to
shift his place of residence.]
Although these events followed each other so closely that the sagacity
of the editor of a modern newspaper would have presaged the two last
even while he announced the first, yet they came upon Sir Everard
gradually, and drop by drop, as it were, distilled through the cool and
procrastinating alembic of “Dyer’s Weekly Letter.”[1] For it may be
observed in passing, that instead of those mail-coaches, by means of
which every mechanic at his six-penny club, may nightly learn from
twenty contradictory channels the yesterday’s news of the capital, a
weekly post brought, in those days, to Waverley-Honour, a Weekly
Intelligencer, which, after it had gratified Sir Everard’s curiosity,
his sister’s, and that of his aged butler, was regularly transferred
from the Hall to the Rectory, from the Rectory to Squire Stubbs’s at
the Grange, from the Squire to the Baronet’s steward at his neat white
house on the heath, from the steward to the bailiff, and from him
through a huge circle of honest dames and gaffers, by whose hard and
horny hands it was generally worn to pieces in about a month after its
arrival.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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