The Fair Maid of Perth

Walter Scott
The Fair Maid of Perth (St
Valentine's Day)

The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Fair Maid of Perth, by Sir Walter
Scott Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check
the copyright laws for your country before downloading or
redistributing this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook.
This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project
Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the
header without written permission.
Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the
eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is
important information about your specific rights and restrictions in how
the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a
donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved.
**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**
**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since
1971**
*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of
Volunteers!*****
Title: The Fair Maid of Perth
Author: Sir Walter Scott
Release Date: April, 2005 [EBook #7987] [This file was first posted on
June 9, 2003]
Edition: 10

Language: English
Character set encoding: iso-8859-1
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE FAIR
MAID OF PERTH ***

This etext was produced by Martin Robb

THE FAIR MAID OF PERTH
or
St. Valentine's Day
by Sir Walter Scott, Bart.

INTRODUCTORY.
The ashes here of murder'd kings Beneath my footsteps sleep; And
yonder lies the scene of death, Where Mary learn'd to weep.
CAPTAIN MARJORIBANKS.
Every quarter of Edinburgh has its own peculiar boast, so that the city
together combines within its precincts, if you take the word of the
inhabitants on the subject, as much of historical interest as of natural
beauty. Our claims in behalf of the Canongate are not the slightest. The
Castle may excel us in extent of prospect and sublimity of site; the
Calton had always the superiority of its unrivalled panorama, and has
of late added that of its towers, and triumphal arches, and the pillars of
its Parthenon. The High Street, we acknowledge, had the distinguished
honour of being defended by fortifications, of which we can show no
vestiges. We will not descend to notice the claims of more upstart
districts, called Old New Town and New New Town, not to mention
the favourite Moray Place, which is the Newest New Town of all. We
will not match ourselves except with our equals, and with our equals in
age only, for in dignity we admit of one. We boast being the court end
of the town, possessing the Palace and the sepulchral remains of
monarchs, and that we have the power to excite, in a degree unknown
to the less honoured quarters of the city, the dark and solemn
recollections of ancient grandeur, which occupied the precincts of our

venerable Abbey from the time of St. David till her deserted halls were
once more made glad, and her long silent echoes awakened, by the visit
of our present gracious sovereign.
My long habitation in the neighbourhood, and the quiet respectability
of my habits, have given me a sort of intimacy with good Mrs. Policy,
the housekeeper in that most interesting part of the old building called
Queen Mary's Apartments. But a circumstance which lately happened
has conferred upon me greater privileges; so that, indeed, I might, I
believe, venture on the exploit of Chatelet, who was executed for being
found secreted at midnight in the very bedchamber of Scotland's
mistress.
It chanced that the good lady I have mentioned was, in the discharge of
her function, showing the apartments to a cockney from London --not
one of your quiet, dull, commonplace visitors, who gape, yawn, and
listen with an acquiescent "umph" to the information doled out by the
provincial cicerone. No such thing: this was the brisk, alert agent of a
great house in the city, who missed no opportunity of doing business,
as he termed it--that is, of putting off the goods of his employers, and
improving his own account of commission. He had fidgeted through
the suite of apartments, without finding the least opportunity to touch
upon that which he considered as the principal end of his existence.
Even the story of Rizzio's assassination presented no ideas to this
emissary of commerce, until the housekeeper appealed, in support of
her narrative, to the dusky stains of blood upon the floor.
"These are the stains," she said; "nothing will remove them from the
place: there they have been for two hundred and fifty years, and there
they will remain while the floor is left standing-- neither water nor
anything else will ever remove them from that spot."
Now our cockney, amongst other articles, sold Scouring Drops, as
Continue reading on your phone by scaning this QR Code

 / 233
Tip: The current page has been bookmarked automatically. If you wish to continue reading later, just open the Dertz Homepage, and click on the 'continue reading' link at the bottom of the page.