A HIGHLAND FEAST Ere Waverley entered the banqueting hall, he was offered the patriarchal refreshment of a bath for the feet, which the sultry weather, and the morasses he had traversed, rendered highly acceptable.

He was not, indeed, so luxuriously attended upon this occasion as the heroic travellers in the Odyssey; the task of ablution and abstersion being performed, not by a beautiful damsel, trained To chafe the limb, and pour the fragrant oil, but by a smoke-dried skinny old Highland woman, who did not seem to think herself much honoured by the duty imposed upon her, but muttered between her teeth, 'Our father's herds did not feed so near together, that I should do you this service.' A small donation, however, amply reconciled this ancient handmaiden to the supposed degradation; and, as Edward proceeded to the hall, she gave him her blessing, in the Gaelic proverb, 'May the open hand be filled the fullest.' The hall, in which the feast was prepared, occupied all the first storey of Ian nan Chaistel's original erection, and a huge oaken table extended through its whole length.

The apparatus for dinner was simple, even to rudeness, and the company numerous, even to crowding.

At the head of the table was the Chief himself, with Edward, and two or three Highland visitors of neighbouring clans; the elders of his own tribe, wadsetters, and tacksmen, as they were called, who occupied portions of his estate as mortgagers or lessees, sat next in rank beneath them, their sons, and nephews, and foster-brethren; then the officers of the Chief's household, according to their order; and, lowest of all, the tenants who actually cultivated the ground.

Even beyond this long perspective, Edward might see upon the green, to which a huge pair of folding doors opened, a multitude of Highlanders of a yet inferior description, who, nevertheless, were considered as guests, and had their share both of the countenance of the entertainer, and of the cheer of the day.