for an English gentleman, who designed to be purchaser.  With this view, he recommended to him to visit the Bailie, who still lived at the factor’s house, called Little Veolan, about a mile from the village, though he was to remove at next term.  Stanley’s passport would be an answer to the officer who commanded the military; and as to any of the country people who might recognize Waverley the Baron assured him that he was in no danger of being betrayed by them.

‘I believe,’ said the old man, ’half the people of the barony know that their poor auld laird is somewhere hereabout; for I see they do not suffer a single bairn to come here a bird-nesting—­a practice whilk, when I was in full possession of my power as baron, I was unable totally to inhibit.  Nay, I often find bits of things in my way, that the poor bodies, God help them! leave there, because they think they may be useful to me.  I hope they will get a wiser master, and as kind a one as I was.’

A natural sigh closed the sentence; but the quiet equanimity with which the Baron endured his misfortunes, had something in it venerable, and even sublime.  There was no fruitless repining, no turbid melancholy; he bore his lot, and the hardships which it involved, with a good-humoured, though serious composure, and used no violent language against the prevailing party.

‘I did what I thought my duty,’ said the good old man, ’and questionless they are doing what they think theirs.  It grieves me sometimes to look upon these blackened walls of the house of my ancestors; but doubtless officers cannot always keep the soldier’s hand from depredation and spuilzie; and Gustavus Adolphus himself, as ye may read in Colonel Munro his Expedition with the worthy Scotch regiment called Mackay’s regiment, did often permit it.—­Indeed I have myself seen as sad sights as Tully-Veolan now is, when I served with the Mareschal Duke of Berwick.  To be sure, we may say with Virgilius Maro, FUIMUS TROES—­and there’s the end of an auld sang.  But houses and families and men have a’ stood lang eneugh when they have stood till they fall with honour; and now I hae gotten a house that is not unlike a DOMUS ultima’—­they were now standing below a steep rock.  ‘We poor Jacobites,’ continued the Baron, looking up, ’are now like the conies in Holy Scripture (which the great traveller Pococke calleth Jerboa), a feeble people, that make our abode in the rocks.  So, fare you well, my good lad, till we meet at Janet’s in the even; for I must get into my Patmos, which is no easy matter for my auld still limbs.’