h which I have traced Waverley's pursuits, and the
bias which these unavoidably communicated to his imagination, the reader
may perhaps anticipate, in the following tale, an imitation of the
romance of Cervantes. But he will do my prudence injustice in the
supposition. My intention is not to follow the steps of that inimitable
author, in describing such total perversion of intellect as misconstrues
the objects actually presented to the senses, but that more common
aberration from sound judgment, which apprehends occurrences indeed in
their reality, but communicates to them a tincture of its own romantic
tone and colouring. So far was Edward Waverley from expecting general
sympathy with his own feelings, or concluding that the present state of
things was calculated to exhibit the reality of those visions in which he
loved to indulge, that he dreaded nothing more than the detection of such
sentiments as were dictated by his musings. He neither had nor wished to
have a confidant, with whom to communicate his reveries; and so sensible
was he of the ridicule attached to them, that, had he been to choose
between any punishment short of ignominy, and the necessity of giving a
cold and composed account of the ideal world in which he lived the better
part of his days, I think he would not have hesitated to prefer the
former infliction. This secrecy became doubly precious as he felt in
advancing life the influence of the awakening passions. Female forms of
exquisite grace and beauty began to mingle in his mental adventures; nor
was he long without looking abroad to compare the creatures of his own
imagination with the females of actual life.

The list of the beauties who displayed their hebdomadal finery at the
parish church of Waverley was neither numerous nor select. By far the
most passable was Miss Sissly, or, as she rather chose to be called, Miss
Cecilia Stubbs, daughter of Squire Stubbs at the Grange. I know not
whether it was by the 'merest accident in the world,' a phrase which,
from female lips, does not always exclude malice prepense, or whether it
was from a conformity of taste, that Miss Cecilia more than once crossed
Edward in his favourite walks through Waverley-Chase. He had not as yet
assumed courage to accost her on these occasions; but the meeting was not
without its effect. A romantic lover is a strange idolater, who sometimes
cares not out of what log he frames the object of his adoration; at
least, if nature