tion, and understand perfectly faire la meilleure chere."

"And wha the deil doubts it," quoth the Baron, laughing, "when ye bring only the cookery, and the gude toun must furnish the materials ?-Weel, I have some business in the toun too: But I'll join you at three, if the vivers can tarry so long." So saying he took leave of his friends, and went to look after the charge which had been assigned him,

CHAPTER XIX.

A Soldier's Dinner.

JAMES OF THE NEEDLE was a man of his word, when whiskey was no party to the contract; and upon this occasion Callum Beg, who still thought himself in Waverley's debt, since he had declined accepting compensation at the expence of mine Host of the Candlestick's person, took this opportunity of discharging the obligation, by mounting guard over the hereditary tailor of Slioch nan Ivor; and, as he expressed himself, " targed him tightly" till the finishing of the job. To rid himself of this restraint, Shemus's needle flew through the tartan like lightning; and as the artist kept chaunting some dreadful skirmish of Fin Macoul, he accomplished

at least three stitches to the death of every hero. The dress was, therefore, soon ready, for the short coat fitted the wearer, and the rest of the apparel required little adjustment.

When our hero fairly assumed the "garb of old Gaul," which was well calculated to give an appearance of strength to a figure, which, though tall and well-made, was rather elegant than robust, I hope my fair readers will excuse him if he looked at himself in the mirror more than once, and could not help acknowledging that the reflection seemed that of a very handsome young fellow. In fact, there was no disguising it. His light-brown hair,-for he wore no periwig, notwithstanding the uni versal fashion of the time,—became the bonnet which surmounted it. His person promised firmness and agility, to which the ample folds of the tartan added an air of dignity. His blue eye seemed of that kind,

"Which melted in love, and which kindled in war."

And an air of bashfulness, which was in reality the effect of want of habitual intercourse with the world, gave interest to his features, without injuring their grace or intelligence. "He's a pratty man; a very pratty man," said Evan Dhu (now Ensign Maccombich) to Fergus's buxom landlady.

"He's vera weel," said the Widow Flockhart, "but no naething sae weel-far'd as your colonel, ensign."

"I was na comparing them," quoth Evan, "nor was I speaking about his being well-favoured; but only that Mr Waverley looks clean-made and deliver, and like a proper lad o' his quarters, that will not cry barley in a brulzie. And, indeed, he's gleg aneuch at the broadsword and target, I hae played wi' him mysel at Glennaquoich, and sae has Vich Ian Vohr, often of a Sunday afternoon."

"Lord forgie ye, Ensign Maccombich, I'm sure the colonel wad never do the like o' that!"

"Hout! hout! Mrs Flockhart, we're

young blude, ye ken; and young saints,

auld deils."

"But will ye fight wi' Sir John Cope, the morn, Ensign Maccombich ?"

"Troth I'se ensure him, an he'll bide us, Mrs Flockhart."

"And will ye face thae tearing chields, the dragoons, Ensign Maccombich ?"

"Claw for claw, as Conan said to Satan, Mrs Flockhart, and the deevil tak the shortest nails."

"And will the Colonel venture on the bagganets himsell ?"

"Ye may swear it, Mrs Flockhart; the very first man will he be, by Saint Phedar."

"Merciful goodness! and if he's killed amang the red coats!"

"Troth, if it should sae befall, Mrs Flockhart, I ken ane that will no be living to weep for him. But we maun a' live the day, and have our dinner; and there's Vich Ian Vohr has packed his dorlach, and Mr Waverley's wearied wi' majoring yon

VOL. II.

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