natural quality.
And though I give not in to such anilia, it is certain it has always been
esteemed a solemn standard cup and heirloom of our house; nor is it ever
used but upon seasons of high festival, and such I hold to be the arrival
of the heir of Sir Everard under my roof; and I devote this draught to
the health and prosperity of the ancient and highly-to-be-honoured house
of Waverley.'

During this long harangue, he carefully decanted a cob-webbed bottle of
claret into the goblet, which held nearly an English pint; and, at the
conclusion, delivering the bottle to the butler, to be held carefully in
the same angle with the horizon, he devoutly quaffed off the contents of
the Blessed Bear of Bradwardine.

Edward, with horror and alarm, beheld the animal making his rounds, and
thought with great anxiety upon the appropriate motto, 'Beware the Bear';
but, at the same time, plainly foresaw that, as none of the guests
scrupled to do him this extraordinary honour, a refusal on his part to
pledge their courtesy would be extremely ill received. Resolving,
therefore, to submit to this last piece of tyranny, and then to quit the
table, if possible, and confiding in the strength of his constitution, he
did justice to the company in the contents of the Blessed Bear, and felt
less inconvenience from the draught than he could possibly have expected.
The others, whose time had been more actively employed, began to show
symptoms of innovation--'the good wine did its good office.' [Footnote:
Southey's Madoc.] The frost of etiquette and pride of birth began to give
way before the genial blessings of this benign constellation, and the
formal appellatives with which the three dignitaries had hitherto
addressed each other were now familiarly abbreviated into Tully, Bally,
and Killie. When a few rounds had passed, the two latter, after
whispering together, craved permission (a joyful hearing for Edward) to
ask the grace-cup. This, after some delay, was at length produced, and
Waverley concluded the orgies of Bacchus were terminated for the evening.
He was never more mistaken in his life.

As the guests had left their horses at the small inn, or change-house, as
it was called, of the village, the Baron could not, in politeness, avoid
walking with them up the avenue, and Waverley from the same motive, and
to enjoy after this feverish revel the cool summer evening, attended the
party. But when they arrived at Luckie Macleary's the Laird