The Antiquary — Complete

of Agricola's camp at the dawn of morning, when his eye was caught by the appearance of the mendicant and his protegee. 'What the devil!—here comes Old Edie, bag and baggage, I think.'

The beggar explained his errand, and Davie, who insisted upon a literal execution of his commission by going on to Monkbarns, was with difficulty prevailed upon to surrender the packet to its proper owner, although he met him a mile nearer than the place he had been directed to. 'But my minnie said, I maun be sure to get twenty shillings and five shillings for the postage, and ten shillings and sixpence for the express—there's the paper.'

'Let me see—let me see,' said Oldbuck, putting on his spectacles, and examining the crumpled copy of regulations to which Davie appealed. 'Express, per man and horse, one day, not to exceed ten shillings and sixpence. One day? why, it's not an hour—Man and horse? why, 'tis a monkey on a starved cat!'

'Father wad hae come himsell,' said Davie, 'on the muckle red mear, an ye wad hae bidden till the morn's night.'

'Four-and-twenty hours after the regular date of delivery! You little cockatrice egg, do you understand the art of imposition so early?'

'Hout Monkbarns! dinna set your wit against a bairn,' said the beggar; 'mind the butcher risked his beast, and the wife her wean, and I am sure ten and sixpence isna ower muckle. Ye didna gang sae near wi' Johnnie Howie, when'—

Lovel, who, sitting on the supposed Praetorium, had glanced over the contents of the packet, now put an end to the altercation by paying Davies demand; and then turning to Mr. Oldbuck, with a look of much agitation, he excused himself from returning with him to Monkbarns' that evening.—'I must instantly go to Fairport, and perhaps leave it on a moment's notice;—your kindness, Mr. Oldbuck, I can never forget.'

'No bad news, I hope?' said the Antiquary.

'Of a very chequered complexion,' answered his friend. 'Farewell—in good or bad fortune I will not forget your regard.'

'Nay, nay—stop a moment. If—if—' (making an effort)—'if there be any pecuniary inconvenience—I have fifty—or a hundred guineas at your service—till—till Whitsunday—or indeed as long as you please.'

'I am much obliged, Mr. Oldbuck, but I am amply provided,' said his mysterious young friend. 'Excuse me—I really cannot sustain further conversation at present. I will write or see you, before I leave Fairport—that is, if I find myself obliged to go.'

So saying, he shook the Antiquary's hand warmly, turned from him, and walked rapidly towards the town, 'staying no longer question.'

'Very extraordinary indeed!' said Oldbuck;—'but there's something about this lad I can never fathom; and yet I cannot for my heart think ill of him neither. I must go home and take off the fire in the Green Room, for none of my womankind will venture into it after twilight.'

'And how am I to win hame?' blubbered the disconsolate express.

'It's a fine night,' said the Blue-Gown, looking up to the skies; 'I had as gude gang back to the town, and take care o' the wean.'

'Do so, do so, Edie;' and rummaging for some time in his huge waistcoat pocket till he found the object of his search, the Antiquary added, 'there's sixpence to ye to buy sneeshin.'

CHAPTER SIXTEENTH.

'I am bewitched with the rogue's company. If the rascal has not given me medicines to make me love him, I'll be hanged; it could not be else. I have drunk medicines.'

Second Part of Henry IV.

Regular for a fortnight were the inquiries of the Antiquary at the veteran Caxon, whether he had heard what Mr. Lovel was about; and as regular were Caxon's answers, 'that the town could learn naething about him whatever, except that he had received anither muckle letter or twa frae the south, and that he was never seen on the plainstanes at a'.'

'How does he live, Caxon?'

'Ou, Mrs. Hadoway just dresses him a beefsteak or a muttonchop, or makes him some Friar's chicken, or just what she likes hersell, and he eats it in the little red parlour off his bedroom. She canna get him to say that he likes ae thing better than anither; and she makes him tea in a morning, and he settles honourably wi' her every week.'

'But does he never stir abroad?'

'He has clean gi'en up walking, and he sits a' day in his room reading or writing; a hantle letters he has written, but he wadna put them into our post-house, though Mrs. Hadoway offered to carry them hersell, but sent them a' under ae cover to the sheriff; and it's Mrs. Mailsetter's belief, that the sheriff sent his groom to put them into the post-office at Tannonburgh; it's my puir thought, that he jaloused their looking into his letters at Fairport; and weel had he need, for my puir daughter Jenny'—

'Tut, don't plague me with your womankind, Caxon. About this poor young lad.—Does he write nothing but letters?'

'Ou, ay—hale sheets o' other things, Mrs. Hadoway says. She wishes muckle he could be gotten to take a walk; she thinks he's but looking very puirly, and his appetite's clean gane; but he'll no hear o' ganging ower the door-stane—him that used to walk sae muckle too.'

'That's wrong—I have a guess what he's busy about; but he must not work too hard neither. I'll go and see him this very day—he's deep, doubtless, in the Caledoniad.'

Having formed this manful resolution, Mr. Oldbuck equipped himself for the expedition with his thick walking-shoes and gold-headed cane, muttering the while the words of Falstaff which we have chosen for the motto of this CHAPTER; for the Antiquary was himself rather surprised at the degree of attachment which he could not but acknowledge be entertained for this stranger. The riddle was notwithstanding easily solved. Lovel had many attractive qualities, but he won our Antiquary's heart by being on most occasions an excellent listener.

A walk to Fairport had become somewhat of an adventure with Mr. Oldbuck, and one which he did not often care to undertake. He hated greetings in the market-place; and there were generally loiterers in the streets to persecute him, either about the news of the day, or about some petty pieces of business. So, on this occasion, he had no sooner entered the streets of Fairport, than it was 'Good-morrow, Mr. Oldbuck—a sight o' you's gude, for sair een: what d'ye think of the news in the Sun the day?—they say the great attempt will be made in a fortnight.'

'I wish to the Lord it were made and over, that I might hear no more about it.'

'Monkbarns, your honour,' said the nursery and seedsman, 'I hope the plants gied satisfaction?—and if ye wanted ony flower-roots fresh frae Holland, or' (this in a lower key) 'an anker or twa o' Cologne gin, ane o' our brigs cam in yestreen.'

'Thank ye, thank ye,—no occasion at present, Mr. Crabtree,' said the Antiquary, pushing resolutely onward.

'Mr. Oldbuck,' said the town-clerk (a more important person, who came in front and ventured to stop the old gentleman), 'the provost, understanding you were in town, begs on no account that you'll quit it without seeing him; he wants to speak to ye about bringing the water frae the Fairwell-spring through a part o' your lands.'

'What the deuce!—have they nobody's land but mine to cut and carve on?—I won't consent, tell them.'

'And the provost,' said the clerk, going on, without noticing the rebuff, 'and the council, wad be agreeable that you should hae the auld stones at Donagild's chapel, that ye was wussing to hae.'

'Eh!—what?—Oho! that's another story—Well, well, I'll call upon the provost, and we'll talk about it.'

'But ye maun speak your mind on't forthwith, Monkbarns, if ye want the stones; for Deacon Harlewalls thinks the carved through-stanes might be put with advantage on the front of the new council-house—that is, the twa cross-legged figures that the callants used to ca' Robin and Bobbin, ane on ilka door-cheek; and the other stane, that they ca'd Ailie Dailie, abune the door. It will be very tastefu', the Deacon says, and just in the style of