 than their physiognomy or aspect might
infer. - But I stand here talking to you two youngsters, when I should be in the
King's Park.«
    »But you will dine with Waverley and me on your return? I assure you, Baron,
though I can live like a Highlander when needs must, I remember my Paris
education, and understand perfectly faire la meilleure chère.«
    »And wha the deil doubts it,« quoth the Baron, laughing, »when ye bring only
the cookery, and the gude toun must furnish the materials? - Weel, I have some
business in the toun too: but I'll join you at three, if the vivers can tarry so
long.«
    So saying, he took leave of his friends, and went to look after the charge
which had been assigned him.
 

                             Chapter Forty-Second.

                              A Soldier's Dinner.

James of the Needle was a man of his word, when whisky was no party to the
contract; and upon this occasion Callum Beg, who still thought himself in
Waverley's debt, since he had declined accepting compensation at the expense of
mine Host of the Candlestick's person, took the opportunity of discharging the
obligation, by mounting guard over the hereditary tailor of Sliochd nan Ivor;
and, as he expressed himself, »targed him tightly,« till the finishing of the
job. To rid himself of this restraint, Shemus's needle flew through the tartan
like lightning; and as the artist kept chanting some dreadful skirmish of Fin
Macoul, he accomplished at least three stitches to the death of every hero. The
dress was, therefore, soon ready, for the short coat fitted the wearer, and the
rest of the apparel required little adjustment.
    Our hero having now fairly assumed the »garb of Old Gaul,« well calculated
as it was to give an appearance of strength to a figure, which, though tall and
well-made, was rather elegant than robust, I hope my fair readers will excuse
him if he looked at himself in the mirror more than once, and could not help
acknowledging that the reflection seemed that of a very handsome young fellow.
In fact, there was no disguising it. His light-brown hair - for he wore no
periwig, notwithstanding the universal fashion of the time - became the bonnet
which surmounted it. His person promised firmness and agility, to which the
ample folds of the tartan added an air of dignity. His blue eyes seemed of that
kind,
 
Which melted in love, and which kindled in war;
 
and an air of
