Waverley; or, 'Tis sixty years since — Volume 1Scott, Walter
History
Waverley; or, 'Tis sixty years since — Volume 1
Scott, Walter
Historical fiction; Jacobite Rebellion, 1745-1746 -- Fiction; Scotland -- History -- 18th century -- Fiction
Such unanimous applause could not be extorted but by acknowledged
merit; and Rose Bradwardine not only deserved it, but also the
approbation of much more rational persons than the Bautherwhillery
Club could have mustered, even before discussion of the first
magnum. She was indeed a very pretty girl of the Scotch cast of
beauty, that is, with a profusion of hair of paley gold, and a
skin like the snow of her own mountains in whiteness. Yet she had
not a pallid or pensive cast of countenance; her features, as well
as her temper, had a lively expression; her complexion, though not
florid, was so pure as to seem transparent, and the slightest
emotion sent her whole blood at once to her face and neck. Her
form, though under the common size, was remarkably elegant, and
her motions light, easy, and unembarrassed. She came from another
part of the garden to receive Captain Waverley, with a manner that
hovered between bashfulness and courtesy.
The first greetings past, Edward learned from her that the dark
hag, which had somewhat puzzled him in the butler's account of his
master's avocations, had nothing to do either with a black cat or
a broomstick, but was simply a portion of oak copse which was to
be felled that day. She offered, with diffident civility, to show
the stranger the way to the spot, which, it seems, was not far
distant; but they were prevented by the appearance of the Baron of
Bradwardine in person, who, summoned by David Gellatley, now
appeared, 'on hospitable thoughts intent,' clearing the ground at
a prodigious rate with swift and long strides, which reminded
Waverley of the seven-league boots of the nursery fable. He was a
tall, thin, athletic figure, old indeed and grey-haired, but with
every muscle rendered as tough as whip-cord by constant exercise.
He was dressed carelessly, and more like a Frenchman than an
Englishman of the period, while, from his hard features and
perpendicular rigidity of stature, he bore some resemblance to a
Swiss officer of the guards, who had resided some time at Paris,
and caught the costume, but not the ease or manner, of its
inhabitants. The truth was, that his language and habits were as
heterogeneous as his external appearance.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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