WAVERLEY CONTINUES AT GLENNAQUOICH.
As Flora concluded her song, Fergus stood before them.``Iknew I should find you here, even without the assistance of my friend Bran.A ****** and unsublimed taste now, like my own, would prefer a jet d'eau at Versailles to this cascade with all its accompaniments of rock and roar; but this is Flora's Parnassus, Captain Waverley, and that fountain her Helicon.It would be greatly for the benefit of my cellar if she could teach her coadjutor, Mac-Murrough, the value of its influence: he has just drunk a pint of usquebaugh to correct, he said, the coldness of the claret---Let me try its virtues.'' He sipped a little water in the hollow of his hand, and immediately commenced, with a theatrical air,---O Lady of the desert, hail!
That lov'st the harping of the Gael, Through fair and fertile regions borne, Where never yet grew grass or corn.
But English poetry will never succeed under the influence of a Highland Helicon.---_Allons courage!_---O vous, qui buvez, <a`> tasse pleine, A cette heureuse fontaine, O<u`> on ne voit, sur le rivage, Que quelques vilains troupeaux, Suivis de nymphes de village, Qui les escortent sans sabots''------``A truce, dear Fergus! spare us those most tedious and insipid persons of all Arcadia, Do not, for heaven's sake, bring down Corridon and Lindor upon us.''
``Nay, if you cannot relish _la houlette et le chalumeau,_ have with you in heroic strains.''
``Dear Fergus, you have certainly partaken of the inspiration of Mac-Murrough's cup rather than of mine.''
``I disclaim it, _ma belle demoiselle,_ although I protest it would be the more congenial of the two.Which of your crack-brained Italian romancers is it that says, Io d'Elicona niente Mi curo, in fe di Dio, che'l bere d'acque (Bea chi ber ne vuol) sempre me spiacque!<*>
*Good sooth, I reck not of your Helicon;
*Drink water whoso will, in faith I will drink none.
But if you prefer the Gaelic, Captain Waverley, here is little Cathleen shall sing you Drimmindhu.---Come, Cathleen, _astore_(_i.e._ my dear), begin; no apologies to the _Ceankinn<e'>._''
Cathleen sung with much liveliness a little Gaelic song, the burlesque elegy of a countryman on the loss of his cow, the comic tones of which, though he did not understand the language, made Waverley laugh more than once.<*>
* This ancient Gaelic ditty is still well known, both in the Highlands * and in Ireland.It was translated into English, and published, if I mistake * not, under the auspices of the facetious Tom D'Urfey, by the title of * ``Colley, my Cow.''
``Admirable, Cathleen!'' cried the Chieftain; ``I must find you a handsome husband among the clansmen one of these days.''
Cathleen laughed, blushed, and sheltered herself behind her companion.
In the progress of their return to the castle, the Chieftain warmly pressed Waverley to remain for a week or two, in order to see a grand hunting party, in which he and some other Highland gentlemen proposed to join.The charms of melody and beauty were too strongly impressed in Edward's breast to permit his declining an invitation so pleasing.It was agreed, therefore, that he should write a note to the Baron of Bradwardine, expressing his intention to stay a fortnight at Glennaquoich, and requesting him to forward by the bearer (a _gilly_ of the Chieftain's) any letters which might have arrived for him.
This turned the discourse upon the Baron, whom Fergus highly extolled as a gentleman and soldier.His character was touched with yet more discrimination by Flora, who observed that he was the very model of the old Scottish cavalier, with all his excellences and peculiarities.``It is a character, Captain Waverley, which is fast disappearing; for its best point was a self-respect, which was never lost sight of till now.But in the present time the gentlemen whose principles do not permit them to pay court to the existing government are neglected and degraded, and many conduct themselves accordingly; and, like some of the persons you have seen at Tully-Veolan, adopt habits and companions inconsistent with their birth and breeding.The ruthless proscription of party seems to degrade the victims whom it brands, however unjustly.But let us hope that a brighter day is approaching, when a Scottish country-gentleman may be a scholar without the pedantry of our friend the Baron; a sportsman without the low habits of Mr.Falconer; and a judicious improver of his property, without becoming a boorish two-legged steer like Killancureit.''
Thus did Flora prophesy a revolution, which time indeed has produced, but in a manner very different from what she had in her mind.
