The Antiquary — Volume 01. Вальтер Скотт

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СКАЧАТЬ — you — you — ," said the Antiquary, stammering between confusion and anger, "you strolling old vagabond, what the devil do you know about it?"

      "Ou, I ken this about it, Monkbarns — and what profit have I for telling ye a lie? — l just ken this about it, that about twenty years syne, I, and a wheen hallenshakers like mysell, and the mason-lads that built the lang dike that gaes down the loaning, and twa or three herds maybe, just set to wark, and built this bit thing here that ye ca' the — the — Praetorian, and a' just for a bield at auld Aiken Drum's bridal, and a bit blithe gae-down wi' had in't, some sair rainy weather. Mair by token, Monkbarns, if ye howk up the bourock, as ye seem to have began, yell find, if ye hae not fund it already, a stane that ane o' the mason-callants cut a ladle on to have a bourd at the bridegroom, and he put four letters on't, that's A. D. L. L. — Aiken Drum's Lang Ladle — for Aiken was ane o' the kale-suppers o' Fife."

      "This," thought Lovel to himself, "is a famous counterpart to the story of Keip on this syde." He then ventured to steal a glance at our Antiquary, but quickly withdrew it in sheer compassion. For, gentle reader, if thou hast ever beheld the visage of a damsel of sixteen, whose romance of true love has been blown up by an untimely discovery, or of a child of ten years, whose castle of cards has been blown down by a malicious companion, I can safely aver to you, that Jonathan Oldbuck of Monkbarns looked neither more wise nor less disconcerted.

      "There is some mistake about this," he said, abruptly turning away from the mendicant.

      "Deil a bit on my side o' the wa'," answered the sturdy beggar; "I never deal in mistakes, they aye bring mischances. — Now, Monkbarns, that young gentleman, that's wi' your honour, thinks little of a carle like me; and yet, I'll wager I'll tell him whar he was yestreen at the gloamin, only he maybe wadna like to hae't spoken o' in company."

      Lovel's soul rushed to his cheeks, with the vivid blush of two-and-twenty.

      "Never mind the old rogue," said Mr. Oldbuck; "don't suppose I think the worse of you for your profession; they are only prejudiced fools and coxcombs that do so. You remember what old Tully says in his oration, pro Archia poeta, concerning one of your confraternity —quis nostrum tam anino agresti ac duro fuit — ut — ut— I forget the Latin — the meaning is, which of us was so rude and barbarous as to remain unmoved at the death of the great Roscius, whose advanced age was so far from preparing us for his death, that we rather hoped one so graceful, so excellent in his art, ought to be exempted from the common lot of mortality? So the Prince of Orators spoke of the stage and its professor."

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      1

      The late George Constable of Wallace Craigie, near Dundee.

      2

      Note A. Mottoes.

      3

      Note B. Sandy Gordon's Itinerarium.

      4

      The "Fairport" of this novel is supposed to refer to the town of Arbroath, in Forfarshire, and "Musselcrag," post, to the fishing village of Auchmithie, in the same county.

      5

       Ars Topiaria, the art of clipping yew-hedges into fantastic figures. A Latin poem, entitled Ars Topiaria, contains a curious account of the process.

      6

      This bibliomaniacal anecdote is literally true; and David Wilson, the author need not tell his brethren of the Roxburghe and Bannatyne Clubs, was a real personage.

      7

      Of this thrice and four times rare broadside, the author possesses an exemplar.

      8

      A bonnet-laird signifies a petty proprietor, wearing the dress, along with the habits of a yeoman.

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1

The late George Constable of Wallace Craigie, near Dundee.

2

Note A. Mottoes.

3

Note B. Sandy Gordon's Itinerarium.

4

The "Fairport" of this novel is supposed to refer to the town of Arbroath, in Forfarshire, and "Musselcrag," post, to the fishing village of Auchmithie, in the same county.

5

Ars Topiaria, the art of clipping yew-hedges into fantastic figures. A Latin poem, entitled Ars Topiaria, contains a curious account of the process.

6

This bibliomaniacal anecdote is literally true; and David Wilson, the author need not tell his brethren of the Roxburghe and Bannatyne Clubs, was a real personage.

7

Of this thrice and four times rare broadside, the author possesses an exemplar.

8

A bonnet-laird signifies a petty proprietor, wearing the dress, along with the habits of a yeoman.

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