Edward, with horror and alarm, beheld the animal making his rounds, and thought with great anxiety upon the appropriate motto, ``Beware the Bear;'' but at the same time plainly foresaw, that as none of the guests scrupled to do him this extraordinary honour, a refusal on his part to pledge their courtesy would be extremely ill received.Resolving, therefore, to submit to this last piece of tyranny, and then to quit the table, if possible, and confiding in the strength of his constitution, he did justice to the company in the contents of the Blessed Bear, and felt less inconvenience from the draught than he could possibly have expected.The others, whose time had been more actively employed, began to show symptoms of innovation,---``the good wine did its good office.''<*> The frost of etiquette, * Southey's Madoc.
and pride of birth, began to give way before the genial blessings of this benign constellation, and the formal appellatives with which the three dignitaries had hitherto addressed each other, were now familiarly abbreviated into Tully, Bally, and Killie.
When a few rounds had passed, the two latter, after whispering together, craved permission (a joyful hearing for Edward) to ask the grace-cup.This, after some delay, was at length produced, and Waverley concluded that the orgies of Bacchus were terminated for the evening.He was never more mistaken in his life.
As the guests had left their horses at the small inn, or _change-house,_ as it was called, of the village, the Baron could not, in politeness, avoid walking with them up the avenue, and Waverley, from the same motive, and to enjoy, after this feverish revel, the cool summer evening, attended the party.
But when they arrived at Luckie Macleary's, the Lairds of Balmawhapple and Killancureit declared their determination to acknowledge their sense of the hospitality of Tully-Veolan, by partaking with their entertainer and his guest Captain Waverley, what they technically called _deoch an doruis,_ a stirrup-cup, to the honour of the Baron's roof-tree.<*>
* Note E.<! p78> Stirrup-cup.
It must be noticed, that the Bailie, knowing by experience that the day's joviality, which had been hitherto sustained at the expense of his patron might terminate partly at his own, had mounted his spavined grey pony, and, between gaiety of heart, and alarm for being hooked into a reckoning, spurred him into a hobbling canter (a trot was out of the question), and had already cleared the village.The others entered the change-house, leading Edward in unresisting submission; for his landlord whispered him, that to demur to such an overture would be construed into a high misdemeanour against the _leges conviviales,_ or regulations of genial compotation.Widow Macleary seemed to have expected this visit, as well she might, for it was the usual consummation of merry bouts, not only at Tully-Veolan, but at most other gentlemen's houses in Scotland, Sixty Years since.The guests thereby at once acquitted themselves of their burden of gratitude for their entertainer's kindness, encouraged the trade of his change-house, did honour to the place which afforded harbour to their horses, and indemnified themselves for the previous restraints imposed by private hospitality, by spending, what Falstaff calls the sweet of the night, in the genial license of a tavern.
Accordingly, in full expectation of these distinguished guests, Luckie Macleary had swept her house for the first time this fortnight, tempered her turf-fire to such a heat as the season required in her damp hovel even at Midsummer, set forth her deal table newly washed, propped its lame foot with a fragment of turf, arranged four or five stools of huge and clumsy form, upon the sites which best suited the inequalities of her clay floor; and having, moreover, put on her clean toy, rokelay, and scarlet plaid, gravely awaited the arrival of the company, in full hope of custom and profit.When they were seated under the sooty rafters of Luckie Macleary's only apartment, thickly tapestried with cobwebs, their hostess, who had already taken her cue from the Laird of Balmawhapple, appeared with a huge pewter measuring-pot, containing at least three English quarts, familiarly denominated a _Tappit Hen,_ and which, in the language of the hostess, reamed (i.e., mantled) with excellent claret, just drawn from the cask.
It was soon plain that what crumbs of reason the Bear had not devoured, were to be picked up by the Hen; but the confusion which appeared to prevail favoured Edward's resolution to evade the gaily circling glass.The others began to talk thick and at once, each performing his own part in the conversation, without the least respect to his neighbour.The Baron of Bradwardine sung French _chansons-<a`>-boire,_ and spouted pieces of Latin; Killancureit talked, in a steady unalterable dull key, of top-dressing and bottom-dressing,<*> and year-olds, and gimmers, * This has been censured as an anachronism; and it must be confessed * that agriculture of this kind was unknown to the Scotch Sixty Years since.
and dinmonts, and stots, and runts, and kyloes, and a proposed turnpike-act; while Balmawhapple, in notes exalted above both, extolled his horse, his hawks, and a greyhound called Whistler.In the middle of this din, the Baron repeatedly implored silence; and when at length the instinct of polite discipline so far prevailed, that for a moment he obtained it, he hastened to beseech their attention ``unto a military ariette, which was a particular favourite of the Marechal Duc de Berwick;'' then, imitating, as well as he could, the manner and tone of a French musquetaire, he immediately commenced,---Mon c<oe>ur volage, dit-elle, N'est pas pour vous, gar<c,>on Est pour un homme de guerre, Qui a barbe an menton.
Lon, Lon, Laridon.
Qui port chapeau <a`> plume, Soulier <a`> rouge talon, Que joue de la flute, Aussi de violon.
Lon, Lon, Laridon.