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Waverley

Chapter 10
Rose Bradwardine And Her Father
Miss Bradwardine was but seventeen; yet, at the last races of the county town of --, upon
her health being proposed among a round of beauties, the Laird of Bumperquaigh,
permanent feast-master and croupier of the Bautherwhillery Club, not only said MORE to
the pledge in a pint bumper of Bourdeaux, but, ere pouring forth the libation,
denominated the divinity to whom it was dedicated, 'the Rose of Tully-Veolan;' upon
which festive occasion, three cheers were given by all the sitting members of that
respectable society, whose throats the wine had left capable of such exertion. Nay, I am
well assured, that the sleeping partners of the company snorted applause, and that
although strong bumpers and weak brains had consigned two or three to the floor, yet
even these, fallen as they were from their high estate, and weltering --I will carry the
parody no further--uttered divers inarticulate sounds, intimating their assent to the
motion.
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.
 
 
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